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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England"


'Now,' said I. 'Here is the key for you; I will hold the lid with
both hands in the meanwhile.' He turned the key. 'Bring up all
the candles in the room, and range them along-side. What is it to
be? A live gorgon, a Jack-in-the-box, or a spring that fires a
pistol? On your knees, sir, before the prodigy!'
So saying, I turned the despatch-box upside down upon the table.
At sight of the heap of bank paper and gold that lay in front of
us, between the candles, or rolled upon the floor alongside, I
stood astonished.
'O Lord!' cried Mr. Rowley; 'oh Lordy, Lordy, Lord!' and he
scrambled after the fallen guineas. 'O my, Mr. Anne! what a sight
o' money! Why, it's like a blessed story-book. It's like the
Forty Thieves.'
'Now Rowley, let's be cool, let's be businesslike,' said I.
'Riches are deceitful, particularly when you haven't counted them;
and the first thing we have to do is to arrive at the amount of my-
-let me say, modest competency. If I'm not mistaken, I have enough
here to keep you in gold buttons all the rest of your life. You
collect the gold, and I'll take the paper.'
Accordingly, down we sat together on the hearthrug, and for some
time there was no sound but the creasing of bills and the jingling
of guineas, broken occasionally by the exulting exclamations of
Rowley.


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