never had a case in hand, anywhere, but Carton was there, with

his hands in his pockets, staring at the ceiling of the court; they

went the same Circuit, and even there they prolonged their usual

orgies late into the night, and Carton was rumoured to be seen at

broad day, going home stealthily and unsteadily to his lodgings,

like a dissipated cat. At last, it began to get about, among such as

were interested in the matter, that although Sydney Carton would

never be a lion, he was an amazingly good jackal, and that he

rendered suit and service to Stryver in that humble capacity.

“Ten o’clock, sir,” said the man at the tavern, whom he had

charged to wake him“ten o’clock, sir.”

“What’s the matter?”

“Ten o’clock, sir.”

“What do you mean? Ten o’clock at night?”

“Yes, sir. Your honour told me to call you.”

“Oh! I remember. Very well, very well.”

After a few dull efforts to get to sleep again, which the man

dexterously combated by stirring the fire continuously for five

minutes, he got up, tossed his hat on, and walked out. He turned

into the Temple, and, having revived himself by twice pacing the

pavements of King’s Bench-walk and Paper-buildings, turned into

Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics

the Stryver chambers.

The Stryver clerk, who never assisted at these conferences, had

gone home, and the Stryver principal opened the door. He had his

slippers on, and a loose bed-gown, and his throat was bare for his

greater ease. He had that rather wild, strained, seared marking

about the eyes which may be observed in all free livers of his class,

from the portrait of Jeffries downward, and which can be traced,

under various disguises of Art, through the portraits of every

Drinking Age.

“You are a little late, Memory,” said Stryver.

“About the usual time; it may be a quarter of an hour later.”

They went into a dingy room lined with books and littered with

papers, where there was a blazing fire. A kettle steamed upon the

hob, and in the midst of the wreck of papers a table shone, with

plenty of wine upon it, and brandy, and rum, and sugar, and

lemons.

“You have had your bottle, I perceive, Sydney.”

“Two tonight I think. I have been dining with the day’s client;

or seeing him dineit’s all one!”

“That was a rare point, Sydney, that you brought to bear upon

the identification. How did you come by it? When did it strike

you?”

“I thought he was rather a handsome fellow, and I thought I

should have been much the same sort of fellow, if I had had any

luck.”

Mr. Stryver laughed till he shook his precocious paunch.

“You and your luck, Sydney! Get to work, get to work.”

Sullenly enough, the jackal loosened his dress, went into an