"Yes, that is fair, I think."
"Well, then, give me your hand upon it, and remember the compact is sealed; we are friends henceforth! Stay, what shall we have as a reminder of this promise? Some pledge, some security is necessary, for we might forget, in the lapse of years, you know."
He went up to an escritoire in a distant corner of the room, and unlocking it, took from a secret drawer two or three little boxes, and from these selecting one, replaced the others, turned the key, and came back to the table. The box contained a bracelet of curious foreign coins, handsomely mounted—a very unique and elegant ornament. This Mr. Rutledge proceeded to fit around my wrist, and with my assistance (having the use of only one hand) clasped.
"Are you willing to wear it always," he said, "in memoriam?"
"Yes."
"Well, then good bye to liberty!" and he turned a tiny gold key that I had not noticed in the clasp, and took it out. I must confess to a feeling not unlike bondage when the lock was snapped and the key withdrawn; and involuntarily exclaimed:
"But what if I want to take it off?"
"You must not want to, the thing is irrevocable," he said coolly, fastening the key upon his watch-chain, "help me with this. I have but one hand, you know."
"I don't altogether like the idea," I said obeying him nevertheless, and arranging the little key on his chain.
"You should have thought of that before," he said with a laugh. "It is too late to retract. You may well look serious," he continued noticing my expression. "You forgot, when you made it, what a solemn thing a promise was; but now you'll have something to remind you of its weight, and of the impossibility of getting rid of it. There's no danger now that you'll forget you promised to be my friend; you are bound, irrevocably, solemnly, forever!"