“Yes, indeed; but why did you stammer so when we first got in? You had liked to have blown us all up.”
“I was so ashamed,” said Lawrence, hanging down his head.
“Ashamed! but you must not talk of shame now you are in for it, and I sha’n’t let you off; you owe us half a crown, recollect, and I must be paid to-night, so see and get the money somehow or other.” After a considerable pause he added, “I answer for it he’d never miss half a crown out of all that silver.”
“But to steal,” said Lawrence, drawing back with horror, “I never thought I should come to that—and from poor Jem, too—the money that he has worked so hard for, too.”
“But it is not stealing; we don’t mean to steal; only to borrow it; and if we win, which we certainly shall, at the cock-fight, pay it back again, and he’ll never know anything about the matter, and what harm will it do him? Besides, what signifies talking, you can’t go to the cock-fight, or the fair either, if you don’t; and I tell ye we don’t mean to steal it; we’ll pay it by Monday night.”
Lawrence made no reply, and they parted without his coming to any determination.
Here let us pause in our story. We are almost afraid to go on. The rest is very shocking. Our little readers will shudder as they read. But it is better that they should know the truth, and see what the idle boy came to at last.
In the dead of the night, Lawrence heard somebody tap at his window. He knew well who it was, for this was the signal agreed upon between him and his wicked companion. He trembled at the thoughts of what he was about to do, and lay quite still, with his head under the bedclothes, till he heard the second tap. Then he got up, dressed himself, and opened his window. It was almost even with the ground. His companion said to him, in a hollow voice, “Are you ready?” He made no answer, but got out of the window and followed.
When he got to the stable a black cloud was just passing over the moon, and it was quite dark. “Where are you?” whispered Lawrence, groping about, “where are you? Speak to me.”
“I am here; give me your hand.” Lawrence stretched out his hand. “Is that your hand?” said the wicked boy, as Lawrence laid hold of him; “how cold it feels.”