But come, time is growing
short. Take that story. The writer gave it to you. Begged you to use
it as your own. It is yours. It will make your reputation, and save
you with your publishers. How can you hesitate?"
"I shall not use it!" I cried, desperately.
"You must--consider your children. Suppose you lose your connection
with these publishers of yours?"
"But it would be a crime."
"Not a bit of it. Whom do you rob? A man who voluntarily came to
you, and gave you that of which you rob him. Think of it as it is--
and act, only act quickly. It is now midnight."
The tempter rose up and walked to the other end of the room, whence,
while he pretended to be looking over a few of my books and
pictures, I was aware he was eyeing me closely, and gradually
compelling me by sheer force of will to do a thing which I abhorred.
And I--I struggled weakly against the temptation, but gradually,
little by little, I yielded, and finally succumbed altogether.
Springing to my feet, I rushed to the table, seized my pen, and
signed my name to the story.
"There!" I said. "It is done. I have saved my position and made my
reputation, and am now a thief!"
[Illustration: "DOESN'T DARE TO LOOK ME IN THE EYE"]
"As well as a fool," said the other, calmly.
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