The lion crept stealthily onward, ever onward, with his eyes fixedly staring at the unfortunate boy who cowered before him. The boy, trembling from head to foot, backed slowly toward a yawning precipice. He was on the edge! The loose earth was slowly crumbling under his feet! He was falling! The earth was coming up to meet him at a terrific rate. Another second, and he would be dashed to death on those rocks below!
Then a sweet voice called to him: “Time to get up, Johnnie.”
A most striking example of the power of suspense is Mark Twain’s story of “The Golden Arm.”
Once ’pon a time dey wuz a monsus mean man, ’en he live ’way out in de prairie all ’lone by hisself, ’cep’n he had a wife. En bimeby she died, en he tuck en toted her way out dah in de prairie en buried her. Well, she had a golden arm—all solid gold, fum de shoulder down. He wuz pow’ful mean—pow’ful; en dat night he couldn’t sleep, caze he want dat golden arm so bad.
When it come midnight he couldn’t stan’ it no mo; so he git up, he did, en tuck his lantern en shoved out throo de storm en dug her up en got de golden arm; en he bent his head down ’gin de win’, en plowed, en plowed, en plowed throo de snow. Den all on a sudden he stop (make a considerable pause here, and look startled, and take a listening attitude) en say: “My lan’, what’s dat!”
En he listen—en listen—en de win’ say (set your teeth together and imitate the wailing and wheezing singsong of the wind), “Bzzz-z-zzz”—en den, way back yonder whah de grave is, he hear a voice!—he hear a voice all mix’ up in de win’—can’t hardly tell ’em ’part—“Bzzz-zzz—W-h-o—g-o-t—m-y—g-o-l-d-e-n Arm?—zzz-zzz—W-H-O G-O-T M-Y G-O-L-D-E-N ARM?” (You must begin to shiver violently now.)
En he begin to shiver en shake, en say, “Oh, my! Oh, my lan’! en de win’ blow de lantern out, en de snow en sleet blow in his face en ’mos’ choke him, en he start a-plowin’ knee-deep towards home mos’ dead, he so sk’yerd—en pooty soon he hear de voice agin, en (pause) it is comin’ after him! Bzzz-zzz-zzz—W-h-o—G-o-t—M-y—G-o-l-d-e-n arm?”
When he git in de pasture he hear it agin—closter now, en a-comin’!—a-comin’ back dah in de dark en de storm—(repeat the wind and the voice). When he git to de house he rush upstairs en jump in de bed en kiver up, head and years, en lay dah shiverin’ en shakin’—en den way out dah he hear it ag’in!—en a-comin’! En bimeby he hear (pause—awed, listening attitude)—pat—pat—pat—hit’s a-comin’ upstairs! Den he hear de latch, en he know it’s in de room!
Den pooty soon he know it’s a-standin’ by his bed! (Pause.) Den—he know it’s a-bendin’ down over him—en he cain’t skasely git his breath! Den—den—he seem to feel somethin’ c-o-l-d, right down ’most agin his head! (Pause.)
Den de voice say, right at his ear—“W-h-o—g-o-t—m-y—g-o-l-d-e-n arm?” (You must wail it out plaintively and accusingly; then you stare steadily and impressively into the face of the farthest-gone auditor—a girl preferably—and let that awe-inspiring pause begin to build itself in the deep hush. When it has reached exactly the right length, jump suddenly at that girl and yell, “You’ve got it!” If you’ve got the pause right, she’ll fetch a dear little yelp and spring right out of her shoes. But you must get the pause right; and you will find it the most troublesome and aggravating and uncertain thing you ever undertook.)