I now withdraw
those words, for I find that I am unable to make them good."
"I guess you ain't--what the divil did ye expect? Me to sit back with me
hands behind me and leave ye--"
"I earnestly desire to thrash you, but it is plain to me that I am not,
at present, in position to do so."
"Fergit it! What's afther ye, Mr. Queed--?"
"To get in position to thrash you, would take me a year, two years, five
years. It is not--no, it is _not_ worth my time."
"Well, who asked f'r any av your time? But as f'r that, I'll give ye
your chance to get square--"
"I suppose you feel yourself free now to take all sorts of detestable
liberties with my articles?"
"Liberties--what's bitin' ye, man? Don't I read revised proof on the
leaded stuff every night, no matter what the rush is? When did ye ever
before catch me--?"
"Physically, you are my superior, but muscle counts for very little in
this world, my man. Morally, which is all that matters, I am your
superior--you know that, don't you? Be so good as to keep your
disgusting vermin out of my articles in the future."
He walked away with a face which gave no sign of his inner turmoil.
Pages:
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146