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“No, Jerry, no!” said the messenger, harping on one theme as he rode. “It
wouldn’t do for you, Jerry. Jerry, you honest tradesman, it wouldn’t suit YOUR
line of business! Recalled—! Bust me if I don’t think he’d been a
drinking!”
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“No, Jerry, no!” the messenger repeated to himself as he traveled. “That
wouldn’t do, Jerry. You’re an honest worker. It wouldn’t suit your type of
business! Brought back—! He must have been drunk!”
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His message perplexed his mind to that degree that he was fain, several times,
to take off his hat to scratch his head. Except on the crown, which was raggedly
bald, he had stiff, black hair, standing jaggedly all over it, and growing down
hill almost to his broad, blunt nose. It was so like Smith’s work, so much more
like the top of a strongly spiked wall than a head of hair, that the best of
players at leap-frog might have declined him, as the most dangerous man in the
world to go over.
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He was so confused by the message that he kept taking off his hat to scratch
his head. Except on the very top of his head, which was bald, he had stiff,
black hair that stuck up in spikes all over his head and grew almost down to his
large, wide nose. His hair looked so much like metal spikes that the world’s
best leapfrog players might have refused to jump over him, thinking it too
dangerous.
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While he trotted back with the message he was to deliver to the night watchman
in his box at the door of Tellson’s Bank, by Temple Bar, who was to deliver it
to greater authorities within, the shadows of the night took such shapes to him
as arose out of the message, and took such shapes to the mare as arose out of
HER private topics of uneasiness. They seemed to be numerous, for she shied at
every shadow on the road.
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He rode back with the message, which he was to deliver to the night watchman
at the door of Tellson’s Bank, next to Temple Bar. The watchman was to deliver
it to important people inside. While the messenger rode, the shadows of the
night seemed to take the form of the dead returning to life, like the message
had said. His horse also saw shapes in the darkness arising out of her private
fears. Those fears must have been numerous, for she jumped at every shadow on
the road.
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What time, the mail-coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped upon its
tedious way, with its three fellow-inscrutables inside. To whom, likewise, the
shadows of the night revealed themselves, in the forms their dozing eyes and
wandering thoughts suggested.
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The mail coach lumbered, jolted, rattled, and bumped along slowly, with its
three passengers inside. They must have also seen shapes in the forms as they
dozed off and let their thoughts wander.
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Tellson’s Bank had a run upon it in the mail. As the bank passenger—with an
arm drawn through the leathern strap, which did what lay in it to keep him from
pounding against the next passenger, and driving him into his corner, whenever
the coach got a special jolt—nodded in his place, with half-shut eyes, the
little coach-windows, and the coach-lamp dimly gleaming through them, and the
bulky bundle of opposite passenger, became the bank, and did a great stroke of
business. The rattle of the harness was the chink of money, and more drafts were
honoured in five minutes than even Tellson’s, with all its foreign and home
connection, ever paid in thrice the time. Then the strong-rooms underground, at
Tellson’s, with such of their valuable stores and secrets as were known to the
passenger (and it was not a little that he knew about them), opened before him,
and he went in among them with the great keys and the feebly-burning candle, and
found them safe, and strong, and sound, and still, just as he had last seen
them.
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A great number of customers withdrew their money from Tellson’s Bank through
the mail carried by the mail coach. As Mr. Lorry nodded off, with his arm
through a leather strap to keep him from banging against the passenger beside
him and pushing him into the corner, he dreamed the mail coach was the bank
itself on a busy day. The sound of the rattling harness became the jingle of
coins, and more checks were cashed in five minutes than Tellson’s, with its many
local and foreign clients, had cashed in three times that period. He dreamt that
the bank vaults under Tellson’s, with all of their valuables and secrets (and he
knew plenty about them), opened up in front of him. He walked through them with
his large keys and a dim candle and found everything safe and sound, just as he
had left it.
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But, though the bank was almost always with him, and though the coach (in a
confused way, like the presence of pain under an opiate) was always with him,
there was another current of impression that never ceased to run, all through
the night. He was on his way to dig some one out of a grave.
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Although he thought constantly of the bank, and although he remained vaguely
aware that he was still in the coach (the way you are only vaguely aware of pain
when on a pain-killer), another thought ran through his mind all night. He had
the feeling that he was on his way to dig someone out of a grave.
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