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middle…aged man in the Pew； knows scarcely more of the affairs of
the Peerage； than any crossing…sweeper in Holborn。
The red bit； the black bit； the inkstand top； the other inkstand
top； the little sand…box。 So！ You to the middle； you to the right； you
to the left。 This train of indecision must surely be worked out now
or never。—Now！ Mr Tulkinghorn gets up； adjusts his spectacles；
puts on his hat； puts the manuscript in his pocket； goes out； tells
the middle…aged man out at elbows； “I shall be back presently。”
Very rarely tells him anything more explicit。
Mr Tulkinghorn goes； as the crow came—not quite so straight；
but nearly—to Cook’s Court； Cursitor street。 To Snagsby’s Law
Stationer’s； Deeds engrossed and copied； Law…Writing executed in
all its branches； etc。； etc。； etc。
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
… Page 187…
Bleak House 187
It is somewhere about five or six o’clock in the afternoon； and a
balmy fragrance of warm tea hovers in Cook’s Court。 It hovers
about Snagsby’s door。 The hours are early there； dinner at half…
past one； and supper at half…past nine。 Mr Snagsby was about to
descend into the subterranean regions to take tea； when he looked
out of his door just now； and saw the crow who was out late。
“Master at home？”
Guster is minding the shop； for the ’prentices take tea in the
kitchen； with Mr and Mrs Snagsby； consequently； the robemaker’s
two daughters； combing their curls at the two glasses in the two
second…floor windows of the opposite house； are not driving the
two ’prentices to distraction； as they fondly suppose； but are
merely awakening the unprofitable admiration of Guster； whose
hair won’t grow； and never would； and； it is confidently thought；
never will。
“Master at home？” says Mr Tulkinghorn。
Master is at home； and Guster will fetch him。 Guster
disappears； glad to get out of the shop； which she regards with
mingled dread and veneration； as a store house of awful
implements of the great torture of the law： a place not to be
entered after the gas is turned off。
Mr Snagsby appears： greasy； warm； herbaceous； and chewing。
Bolts a bit of bread and butter。 Says； “Bless my soul； sir！ Mr
Tulkinghorn！”
“I want half a word with you； Snagsby。”
“Certainly； sir！ Dear me； sir； why didn’t you send your young
man round for me？ Pray walk into the back shop； sir。” Snagsby
has brightened in a moment。
The confined room； strong of parchment grease； is warehouse；
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
… Page 188…
Bleak House 188
counting…house； and copying…office。 Mr Tulkinghorn sits； facing
round； on a stool at the desk。
“Jarndyce and Jarndyce； Snagsby。”
“Yes； sir。” Mr Snagsby turns up the gas； and coughs behind his
hand； modestly anticipating profit。 Mr Snagsby； as a timid man； is
accustomed to cough with a variety of expressions； and so to save
words。
“You copied some affidavits in that cause for me lately。”
“Yes； sir； we did。”
“There was one of them；” says Mr Tulkinghorn； carelessly
feeling—tight； unopenable Oyster of the old school！—in the wrong
coat pocket； “the handwriting of which is peculiar； and I rather
like。 As I happened to be passing； and thought I had it about me； I
looked in to ask you—but I haven’t got it。 No matter； any other
time will do—Ah！ here it is！—I looked in to ask you who copied
this？”
“Who copied this； sir？” says Mr Snagsby； taking it； laying it flat
on the desk； and separating all the sheets at once with a twirl and
a twist of the left hand peculiar to law…stationers。 “We gave this
out； sir。 We were giving out rather a large quantity of work just at
that time。 I can tell you in a moment who copied it； sir； by
referring to my Book。”
Mr Snagsby takes his Book down from the safe； makes another
bolt of the bit of bread and butter which seemed to have stopped
short； eyes the affidavit aside； and brings his right forefinger
travelling down a page of the Book。 “Jewby—Packer—Jarndyce。”
“Jarndyce！ Here we are； sir；” says Mr Snagsby。 “To be sure！ I
might have remembered it。 This was given out； sir； to a Writer who
lodges just over on the opposite side of the lane。”
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
… Page 189…
Bleak House 189
Mr Tulkinghorn has seen the entry； found it before the Law…
stationer； read it while the forefinger was coming down the hill。
“What do you call him？ Nemo？” says Mr Tulkinghorn。
“Nemo； sir。 Here it is。 Forty…two folio。 Given out on the
Wednesday night； at eight o’clock； brought in on the Thursday
morning at half after nine。”
“Nemo！” repeats Mr Tulkinghorn。 “Nemo is Latin for no one。”
“It must be English for some one； sir； I think；” Mr Snagsby
submits； with his deferential cough。 “It is a person’s name。 Here it
is； you see； sir！ Forty…two folio。 Given out Wednesday night； eight
o’clock； brought in； Thursday morning； half after nine。”
The tail of Mr Snagsby’s eye becomes conscious of the head of
Mrs Snagsby looking in at the shop…door to know what he means
by deserting his tea。 Mr Snagsby addresses an explanatory cough
to Mrs Snagsby； as who should say； “My dear； a customer！”
“Half after nine； sir；” repeats Mr Snagsby。 “Our law…writers；
who live by job…work； are a queer lot； and this may not be his
name； but it’s the name he goes by。 I remember now； sir； that he
gives it in a written advertisement he sticks up down at the Rule
Office； and the King’s Bench Office； and the Judges’ Chambers；
and so forth。 You know the kind of document； sir—wanting
employ？”
Mr Tulkinghorn glances through the little window at the back
of Coavins’s； the sheriff’s officer’s； where lights shine in Coavins’s
windows。 Coavins’s coffee…room is at the back； and the shadows of
several gentlemen under a cloud loom cloudily upon the blinds。
Mr Snagsby takes the opportunity of slightly turning his head； to
glance over his shoulder at his little woman； and to make
apologetic motions with his mouth to this effect：
Charles Dickens ElecBook Classics
… Page 190…
Bleak House 190
“Tul…king…horn—rich—in…flu…en…tial！”
“Have you given this man work before？” asks Mr Tulkinghorn。
“O dear； yes； sir！ Work of yours。”
“Thinking of more important matters； I forget where you said
he lived？”
“Across the lane； sir。 In fact； he lodges at a—” Mr Snagsby
makes another bolt； as if the bit of bread and butter were
insurmountable—“at a Rag