Thus he reasoned over the matter, and thus he got rid of the objections as fast as they occurred to him. While he was thinking about it, Tim continued to describe in glowing colors the fun they could have; occasionally relating some adventure of "Mike Martin," "Dick Turpin," or other villain, whose lives and exploits were the only literature he ever read.
But Charles could not fall at once. There were some difficulties which he could not get over. It was wrong to do as Tim proposed; it was so written on his soul. The "still small voice" could not be silenced. As fast as he reconciled one objection, another came up, and something in his bosom kept saying, "You must not do it."
The more he thought, the more imperative was the command. "Run away as fast as you can!" said the voice within him. "You are tempted; flee from the temptation."
"I guess I won't join you, Tim," said he.
"You won't, eh?" replied Tim, with a sneer.
"I think not; I don't believe it is right. But I won't say anything about it."
"I rather guess you won't. It wouldn't be safe for you to do so."
"I won't, upon my honor, Tim," replied Charles, rising from his seat, and edging away from his dangerous companion.
"Look here, Charley Hardy; in one word, you've got to join the Rovers."
"The what?"