“Where you g-g-goin’?” asks Mark.
“Far, far away,” says he, moving toward the door.
“What d’you m-mean?” says Mark.
“I’ve lost my taste for this employment,” says he. “The sweetness of the job got worn off as soon as I read that paper. I’m a peaceful man, Mark Tidd. I hain’t never carried no weapons, and I regard those that seek for warfare and strife as not havin’ the necessary quantity of brains. I’ll admit,” says he, “that I’ve participated in a couple of riots and a few fights, but it wasn’t of my own free will and accord. Furthermore, and you can take the word of Tecumseh Androcles Spat for it, the newspaper business hain’t as safe as knittin’ socks, anyhow, but when you start to call down trouble onto yourself, like this challenge will call it down, then it’s time for a man who’s set up as many almanacs as I have, and is steeped in wisdom, to go and enlist in a regiment bound to fight Injuns.”
“Mr. Spat,” says Mark, “what in the world are you talkin’ about?”
“You’ll see,” says he. “Wait till them enraged wimmin start besiegin’ this office. Wait till they jam into the place bristlin’ with hatpins and dignity. Wait till the full awfulness of what’s goin’ to happen begins to occur, and then you’ll think of Tecumseh Androcles Spat and regret you cast aside his wise words with scorn.”
“Shucks!” says Mark. “Those ladies will get us a wad of s-s-subscriptions.”
“At what a cost!” says he.
“Tecumseh Androcles Spat,” says Mark, “be you goin’ to f-f-fail us when we need you most, eh? Be you g-goin’ to desert us, carryin’ away the wisdom and experience we can’t spare? Lemme ask you, how d-d-do you s’pose we can git along without you to advise us? If t-t-trouble should come,” says he, “who would git us out of it if you was g-g-gone?”
“Hum!” says Spat.