Mr John Utterson was a lawyer and he lived in London. He seemed
to be a cold man, without feeling. He never smiled, and he spoke
only when it was necessary. But people liked him. There was
something in his eyes that showed kindness. It showed his
understanding of other people. Men and women came to him about
the law, and he helped them all. It did not matter who they were.
He lived a quiet and simple life. He enjoyed the theatre, but he
did not visit it any more. His friends were people from his family,
and very old friends from his old school.
Then there was Mr Enfield. Other people could see no reason
for Mr Utterson and Mr Richard Enfield to be friends. Mr
Enfield was quite different from Mr Utterson. He was younger,
and enjoyed going to the theatre, to parties and good restaurants.
'Wh y are they friends?' people asked. 'What do they talk
about when they are together ?'
And the reply was: 'I f you see them on their Sunday walks,
they never say any thing. They don't seem to enjoy themselves.'
But the two men thought that their Sunday walks were an
important part of the week. They enjoyed being together, and
they enjoyed the walks. But they were often silent walks.
On one of their walks the two men found themselves in a
narrow street in one of the busier parts of London. It was a quiet
street on a Sunday, but during the week the little shops on each
side were very busy. Because the shops were successful, they were
clean and brightly painted. The road was clean. It was a pleasant
street to walk along.
Near one end of this street, there was a break in the line of
shops. There was a narrow entrance to a courtyard, and next to it
was the windowless end of a tall, dark, ugly house. A door in this
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wall was unpainted and needed repair. Old men sometimes slept
in the doorway, and small boys sometimes played on the steps and
wrote their names on the door with their pocket knives.
Mr Enfield and the lawyer were on the other side of the street,
but Mr Enfield pointed to it with his walking stick.
' Have you ever noticed that door before, John?' he asked.
'Yes. Ugly, isn't it? ' replied Mr Utterson.
' Every time I pass it,' said Mr Enfield,' I think about a day last
winter. A very strange thing happened.'
' Oh ?' said Mr Utterson.' What was it ?'