We stopped.
“What do you know about what is fair and what isn’t, or what is good business and what isn’t?”
“I may not know much about b-b-business,” says Mark, “but anybody knows what’s f-fair. Here I am—a customer of your railroad just like a man that buys a steak from a b-butcher is a customer of the butcher. If folks wouldn’t use your railroad to send stuff on you would have to go out of b-business. It looks to me like I was doing something you ought to appreciate when I ship a car of freight, and that when I come to see you about railroad b-business, that is goin’ to put m-money into your p-pocket, the least you could do and be fair would be to l-listen. I’m always mighty anxious to keep my customers feelin’ f-f-friendly toward me.”
“H’m!” says the president.
Mark went on along toward the door and never looked back.
“Just a minute,” says the president. “What’s your hurry?”
“We thought you wanted us to g-go.”
“Come back here,” says he. “Come back here. What do you mean, anyhow, coming into my office and talking to me like this? How dare you talk to me like this?”
I tell you I was pretty scared, but I looked at Mark and his eyes were twinkling.
“I know I was right about you, sir,” says he.