My friend the murderer, and other mysteries and adventuresDoyle, Arthur Conan
General
My friend the murderer, and other mysteries and adventures
Doyle, Arthur Conan
Detective and mystery stories, English
The weather was sultry and the room close, yet the miners listened
with exemplary patience. There was a sense of novelty in the situation
which had its attractions. To some it was entirely new, others were
wafted back by it to another land and other days. Beyond a disposition
which was exhibited by the uninitiated to applaud at the end of certain
prayers, by way of showing that they sympathized with the sentiments
expressed, no audience could have behaved better. There was a murmur
of interest however, when Elias B. Hopkins, looking down on the
congregation from his rostrum of casks, began his address.
He had attired himself with care in honor of the occasion. He wore a
velveteen tunic, girt round the waist with a sash of China silk, a pair
of moleskin trousers, and held his cabbage-tree hat in his left hand.
He began speaking in a low tone, and it was noticed at the time that
he frequently glanced through the small aperture which served for a
window, which was placed above the heads of those who sat beneath him.
“I’ve put you straight now,” he said, in the course of his address;
“I’ve got you in the right rut, if you will but stick in it.” Here he
looked very hard out of the window for some seconds. “You’ve learned
soberness and industry, and with those things you can always make up
any loss you may sustain. I guess there isn’t one of ye that won’t
remember my visit to this camp.” He paused for a moment, and three
revolver shots rang out upon the quiet summer air. “Keep your seats,
damn ye!” roared our preacher, as his audience rose in excitement. “If
a man of ye moves, down he goes! The door’s locked on the outside, so
ye can’t get out anyhow. Your seats, ye canting, chuckle-headed fools!
Down with ye, ye dogs, or I’ll fire among ye!”
Astonishment and fear brought us back into our seats, and we sat
staring blankly at our pastor and each other. Elias B. Hopkins, whose
whole face and even figure appeared to have undergone an extraordinary
alteration, looked fiercely down on us from his commanding position
with a contemptuous smile on his stern face.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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