I've Been Thinking; or, the Secret of SuccessRoe, A. S. (Azel Stevens)
General
I've Been Thinking; or, the Secret of Success
Roe, A. S. (Azel Stevens)
Conduct of life -- Fiction; Diligence -- Fiction; Success -- Fiction
'Well, let's have the story,' said the eldest of the gang; 'if there is
any thing to do to-night, it's time to be about it.'
'You are the fellow, Dick;'--and Cross laid his hand familiarly on the
ruffian, and gave him one or two hearty slaps on the back, in
manifestation of his warm approval, and as a stimulant to the
performance of his reasonable request.
The demand of Mr. Cross upon their services was made in a low tone, and
listened to by them with the deepest attention, each head drooping, and
with eyes in a gazing attitude fixed upon the floor.
His directions were given with great clearness; the horses they were to
ride, the part of the premises they were to fire, which of them was to
enter the house and seize the trunk, and who the individual that should
bear it with, the utmost speed to the dark rendezvous, where he, Cross,
would be in waiting to receive it.
'And if it goes well, you shall be made men--you hear _that_?'
'Yes.' But they had heard the same before, and were yet the drudges of
his will. His power over them they knew--his frown they feared; and his
command must be obeyed.
Every word that passed came up with painful distinctness to the ears of
the young man who lay above them, almost breathless in his dread lest
some sound, even the beat of his heart against the planks, should be
heard, and his presence discovered. He knew well the desperate character
of the men, and that he must move with wary steps.
Every thing is at length arranged, and he hears them again fortifying
their spirits by a deep draught. The door is opened, and one by one they
steal out, but apparently with little zest for the work before them.
Cross waited a moment on the threshold, until they disappeared amid the
dark pines, and then, muttering curses on the men who were about to
blacken their souls with a heinous crime for his sake, he stepped back
into the store, poured out some gin from his bottle, took a long drink,
threw himself into one of the chairs, and, leaning back against the
counter, amused himself with swinging his heel against one of the rungs.
Bill Brown--for it was he who had been the providential listener to this
vile scheme, had learned more in one short lesson than through his whole
life before. Light, as though from heaven, flashed upon him; the
dreadful character of his employer was revealed in all its blackness.
Fear, likewise, had taken hold upon him; a groan, a movement, even too
loud a breath, might place him in an instant on the verge of eternity.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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