Ninety-five, ninety-six, ninety-seven,” Tony heard him count; “that makes nine hundred and seventy dollars, all gold, good, beautiful gold. Nobody knows the old man is so rich. There’s another bag, too. There are one hundred pieces in that. Three more and this will be full, too. Nobody must know, nobody must know.”
He put back the pieces, replaced the bag in its hiding place, and then, putting back the plank, lay down once more on his heap of rags.
How uneasy he would be,” thought Tony, “if he knew I had seen his treasures. But I wouldn’t rob him for the world, although the money would do me good, and he makes no use of it except to look at it.”
Tony slept till six when he was awakened by a piteous groaning.
“What’s the matter?” he asked.
Who’s there?” demanded Ben, terrified.
It’s only I. Don’t you remember you let me sleep here last night?”
“Oh, yes. I remember now. I’m sick; very sick.”
“How do you feel?”
“I’m aching and trembling all over. Do you think I’m going to die?” he asked, with a startled look.