Ere revolving any complicated project, however, adapted to this end, I first simply suggested to Bartleby the propriety of his permanent departure.  In a calm and serious tone, I commanded the idea to his careful and mature consideration.  But, having taken three days to meditate upon it, he apprised me, that his original determination remained the same; in short, that he still preferred to abide with me.

What shall I do?  I now said to myself, buttoning up my coat to the last button.  What shall I do? what ought I to do? what does conscience say I should do with this man, or, rather, ghost.  Rid myself of him, I must; go, he shall.  But how?  You will not thrust him, the poor, pale, passive mortal—­you will not thrust such a helpless creature out of your door? you will not dishonor yourself by such cruelty?  No, I will not, I cannot do that.  Rather would I let him live and die here, and then mason up his remains in the wall.  What, then, will you do?  For all your coaxing, he will not budge.  Bribes he leaves under your own paper-weight on your table; in short, it is quite plain that he prefers to cling to you.

Then something severe, something unusual must be done.  What! surely you will not have him collared by a constable, and commit his innocent pallor to the common jail?  And upon what ground could you procure such a thing to be done?—­a vagrant, is he?  What! he a vagrant, a wanderer, who refuses to budge?  It is because he will not be a vagrant, then, that you seek to count him as a vagrant.  That is too absurd.  No visible means of support:  there I have him.  Wrong again:  for indubitably he does support himself, and that is the only unanswerable proof that any man can show of his possessing the means so to do.  No more, then.  Since he will not quit me, I must quit him.  I will change my offices; I will move elsewhere, and give him fair notice, that if I find him on my new premises I will then proceed against him as a common trespasser.

Acting accordingly, next day I thus addressed him:  “I find these chambers too far from the City Hall; the air is unwholesome.  In a word, I propose to remove my offices next week, and shall no longer require your services.  I tell you this now, in order that you may seek another place.”

He made no reply, and nothing more was said.

On the appointed day I engaged carts and men, proceeded to my chambers, and, having but little furniture, everything was removed in a few hours.  Throughout, the scrivener remained standing behind the screen, which I directed to be removed the last thing.  It was withdrawn; and, being folded up like a huge folio, left him the motionless occupant of a naked room.  I stood in the entry watching him a moment, while something from within me upbraided me.

I re-entered, with my hand in my pocket—­and—­and my heart in my mouth.

“Good-by, Bartleby; I am going—­good-by, and God some way bless you; and take that,” slipping something in his hand.  But it dropped upon the floor, and then—­strange to say—­I tore myself from him whom I had so longed to be rid of.