"Babies take paregoric because they like it. Pshaw, Renwick, you're absurdly sensitive. Writing-men must live, somehow—usually by wishy-washiness. Unpleasant work is the common lot of mankind. Where's your title to exemption? Really, you're lucky. Miss Minnely perceives zest in your improvements of copy. She says you are naturally gifted with 'The Blessing's' taste."
"For Heaven's sake, Buntstir!"
"She did—Miss Heartly told me so. And yet—if she sees that placard—no one can ever guess what she may do in discipline. You can't wish to be bounced, dear boy, with your family to provide for. Come, you've blown off steam. Take the placard off your door."
"All right. I will. But Miss Minnely can't bounce me without a year's notice. That's how I engaged."
"A year's notice to quit a life of intellectual shame!"
"Well, it is one thing to jump out of the window, and another to be bounced. I wouldn't stand that."
Buntstir laughed. "I fancy I see you, you sensitive Cuss, holding on, or jumping off or doing anything contra to Miss Minnely's intention." He went to the door. "Hello, where's the placard?" he cried, opening it.
"Gone!" Renwick sprang up.
"Gone, sure. No matter how. It is already in Miss Minnely's hands. Well, I told you to take it down twenty minutes ago."
"Wait, Buntstir. What is best to be done?"