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
After securing them in this manner, he opened his pocket-book, and
deposited them in it; and then, in the same careful manner, thrust the
whole into an inside pocket of his threadbare coat. Mr. Tucker was
about to do a very dirty job, and he was a man well fitted for the duty.
He had a heart, doubtless, that beat and threw the vital current about
his frame, just as other men have; and he had bones, and sinews, and
flesh, and these could suffer pain as other flesh and blood; but to say
that Mr. Tucker had a heart as others have, that would beat in sympathy
with his fellow in distress, or that he could be made to feel shame, or
pain, or sorrow, or regard, in that secret fountain where springs so
much that sweetens or embitters life, would be wrong--wrong to him,
because it would be saying that of him which was not true--wrong to the
mass of mankind, who _have_ feelings that can be touched. Mr. Tucker's
appearance was in keeping with his character--little leaden-colored
eyes, sunk deep in his head, over which scowled dark shaggy brows; a
pale, cadaverous countenance, with no expression that one could lay hold
of in an hour of distress, on which to found a hope that any compassion
might be felt, or any mercy shown. A fit minister was he of that stern
and barbarous code which legalised the torturing of the _poor_
man--which allowed the tearing him away from the charities of home, and
entombing him in the charnel-house of vice, debauchery, and filth.
Some feelings of compunction seemed yet to be lingering in the breast of
Mr. Grizzle; for as Mr. Richard put his hat on his head, and buttoned up
his coat, and fumbled about in the act of departing, he stammered out--
'It's right, you know; I ought to have my own. Folks cannot expect me to
wait always for 'em--pay-day must come.'
'_Right!_ to be sure it's right; and as you say he's running against
you, and setting up his boy and others to hurt your trade--why, muzzle
him, I say--who wouldn't?'
'I suppose it wouldn't be much use taking the timber and stuff that he
is building that boat with?--there is nothing else to take.'
'No use in that; he hasn't done much to it but put the ribs
together--it's of no value as it is. No--shut him up; that's the
way--that will stop boat and all.'
'Well, well; you know the law, Dick, let it work. I shall have to find
him in bread and water--that won't cost much.'
The day was drawing to a close, and the shades of evening were deepened
by a heavy cloud which was rising in the west, and into which the sun
was sinking. A muttering of distant thunder hastened the departure of
Mr. Tucker. He sprang into his crazy old gig, and drove off at a quick
pace to his deed of mischief.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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