"Why, on the publishers."
"Ah, of course!" (This with fine irony.)
"Yes, on the publishers. Most authors do this during life, and now I begin to see that all authors do it sooner or later. For my part, I shall defer it to the future state."
"Why?"
"Obviously because there will be no publishers thereabouts to contradict me."
"And of what will you accuse them?"
"That they never issued my work in the form it deserved."
"I see. Poor fellow! You have the 'Edinburgh' Stevenson or something of that sort on your mind, and are filled with nasty envy."
Upon this the other part of me fairly lost its temper.
"The 'Edinburgh' Stevenson! The 'Edinburgh' Ste—, and you have known me all these years! The 'Edinburgh' Stevenson is a mighty handsome edition of a mighty fine writer, but I have no more desire to promenade the ages in that costume than to jump the moon. No, I am not going to break any more of the furniture. I am handing you this chair that you may seat yourself and listen… Now! The book which I shall accuse my publishers of not having produced will be in one volume—"