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Adams, Samuel Hopkins, 1871-1958

"From a Bench in Our Square"


Who are you to say how much good you may yet do before the curtain is
rung down?"
"Or how much evil! Well, as a suitable finish, suppose I go down into
that garden and kill Ely Crouch," he suggested, smiling. "That would be
a beneficial enough act to entitle me to a prompt and peaceful death,
wouldn't it?"
"Theoretically sound, but unfortunately impracticable," I answered,
relieved at his change of tone.
"I suppose it is." He looked at me, still smiling, but intent. "Chris,
what do you believe comes after?"
"Justice."
"A hard word for cowards. What do I believe, I wonder? At any rate, in
being sport enough to play the game through. You're right, old
hard-shell. I'll stick it out. It will only mean spending _this_"--he
swept the money back into its repository--"a little more slowly."
"I was sure I could count on you," I said. "Now I can give you the
talisman." I set on the desk before him a small pasteboard box. "Pay
strict attention. You see that label? That's to remind you. One tablet
if you can't sleep."
"I couldn't last night."
"Two if the pain becomes more than you can stand."
He nodded.
"But three at one time and you'll sleep so sound that nothing will ever
awaken you."
"Good old Chris!" Opening the box, he fingered the pellets curiously. "A
blessed thing, your science! Three and the sure sleep.


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