"So they all say, and I hope you will."

"You do not believe that I will; you have no confidence in me."

"None whatever."

I turned to my work, broken-hearted, crushed in spirit, paralyzed in
energy, feeling how low I had sunk in the esteem of prudent and
sober-minded men. Suddenly the small iron bar I had in my hand began
to move; I felt it move, I gripped it; still it moved and twisted; I
gripped still harder; yet the thing would move till I could feel it,
yes, feel it, tearing the palm out of my hand, then I dropped it, and
there it lay, a curling, shiny snake! I could hear the paper shavings
rustle as the horrible thing writhed before me! If it had been a snake
I should not have minded it. I was never afraid of a snake. I should
have called some one to look at it, I could have killed it, I should
not have been terrified at a thing; but I knew it was a cold dead bar
of iron, and there it was, with its green eyes, its forked, darting
tongue, curling in all its shiny loathsomeness, and the horror filled
me so that my hair seemed to stand up and shiver, and my skin lift from
the scalp to the ankles, and I groaned out, "I cannot fight this
through! Oh! my God, I shall die!" when a gentleman came into the shop
with a cheerful "Good-morning, Mr. Gough."

"Good-morning, sir."

"I saw you sign the pledge last night."

"Yes, sir, I did it."