Queed," said Sharlee, who quite
failed to appreciate his morbid tenderness for even the least of his
intellectual offspring. "You have taken no pride in the newspaper work;
you look down on it as altogether beneath you. You cannot mind this in
any personal way--"
"I mind it," said he, "like the devil."
The word fell comically from his lips, but Sharlee, leaning against the
shut door, looked at him with grave sympathy in her eyes.
"Mr. Queed, if you had tried to write nursery rhymes and--failed, would
you have taken it to heart?"
"Never mind arguing it. In fact, I don't know that I could explain it to
you in a thoroughly logical and convincing way. The central fact, the
concrete thing, is that I do object most decidedly. I have spent too
much time in equipping myself to express valuable ideas in
discriminating language to be kicked out of a second-rate newspaper
office like an incompetent office-boy. Of course I shall not submit to
it."
"Do you care to tell me what you mean to do?"
"Do!" He hit the door-post a sudden blow with an unexpectedly large
hand. "I shall have myself elected editor of the _Post_.
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