Digital primer

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'_Me!_' exclaimed Sponge; 'bless your heart, man, I can't write
anything--nothing fit to print, at least.'
'Hout, fiddle!' retorted Spraggon, 'you can write as well as any other man;
see what lots of fellows write, and nobody ever finds fault.'
'But the spellin' bothers one,' replied Sponge, with a shake of his elbow
and body, as if the idea was quite out of the question.
'Hang the spellin',' muttered Jack, 'one can always borrow a dictionary; or
let the man of the paper--the editor, as they call him--smooth out the
spellin'. You say at the end of your letter, that your hands are cold, or
your hand aches with holdin' a pullin' horse, and you'll thank him to
correct any inadvertencies--you needn't call them errors, you know.'
'But where's the use of it?' exclaimed Sponge; 'it'll do us no good, you
know, praisin' Puff's pack, or himself, or anything about him.'
'That's just the point,' said Jack, 'that's just the point. I can make it
answer both our purposes,' said he, with a nudge of the elbow, and an
inside-out squint of his eyes.


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