Long ago. This is the business man's age, Mr.
Gratz-and-the-rest-of-it. Yes, sir! And you, as a business man, should
be proud of this concession made by our most noted scholars to the needs
of the business man."
"Look at 'em!" sneered Mr. Gratz, patting the list of three hundred
revised words with his finger, and shoving the newspaper under Mr.
Smalley's nose. "Poor bob-tailed, one-eyed mongrels! Progress! It is
anarchy--impudence--Look at this--'t-h-r-u!' What kind of a word is
that? 'T-h-o!' What kind of a thing is that? What in the world is a
's-i-t-h-e,' I would like to know?"
Mr. Smalley had not been sufficiently interested in the matter of new
spelling to save his morning paper. He had not even read through the
list of three hundred words. But he was interested now. The new spelling
had become the thing most dear to his heart, and he pulled the paper
from Mr. Gratz's hand and slapped the list of words warmly.
"Progress! Yes, progress! That is the word. And economy!" he cried.
"That is the true American spirit! That is what appeals to the man who
is not a fossil!" This was a delicate compliment to Mr.
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