“Can’t write it? Why, you’re crazy, man. What are you talking about?”
The city editor was thoroughly angry now. He arose from his chair and stood towering before Herbert. In his rage he threw his freshly lighted cigar into the cuspidor with a savage movement of his hand. He stamped his foot on the floor fiercely.
“There is no use talking about this matter any longer. You go to your desk and write this thing and have your copy ready as soon as possible.”
“I can’t write it,” said Herbert, now speaking in a voice that was scarcely audible.
Blakeley was silent, trying hard to control his rising passion. When he spoke his voice sounded almost like a hiss.
“You understand what this means, don’t you—you know what it will cost you?”
“Yes,” said Herbert, looking up; “I understand, and I resign my position as a reporter on the Argus.”
“Your resignation is accepted,” said the other shortly; “but I call upon you to do the work that you were assigned to perform, before leaving this office.”
“I can’t do it,” said Herbert; “on my honor I cannot do it.”
“But what explanation have you to give?”