“I wish I could,” he said, and I think he meant it. “I'd like nothing better. I'D keep you alive, you can bet on that. But I can't leave the literature works just now. I'll do my best to find someone who will, though. I know a lot of good fellows who travel—”
I held up my hand. “That's enough,” I interrupted. “They can't travel with me. They wouldn't be good fellows long if they did.”
He struck the chair arm with his fist.
“You're as near impossible as you can be, aren't you,” he exclaimed. “Never mind; you're going to do as I tell you. I never gave you bad advice yet, now did I?”
“No—o. No, but—”
“I'm not giving it to you now. You'll go and you'll go in a hurry. I'll give you a week to think the idea over. At the end of that time if I don't hear from you I'll be down here again, and I'll worry you every minute until you'll go anywhere to get rid of me. Kent, you must do it. You aren't written out, as you call it, but you are rusting out, fast. If you don't get away and polish up you'll never do a thing worth while. You'll be another what's-his-name—Ase Tidditt; that's what you'll be. I can see it coming on. You're ossifying; you're narrowing; you're—”
I broke in here. I didn't like to be called narrow and I did not like to be paired with Asaph Tidditt, although our venerable town clerk is a good citizen and all right, in his way. But I had flattered myself that way was not mine.
“Stop it, Jim!” I ordered. “Don't blow off any more steam in this ridiculous fashion. If this is all you have to say to me, you may as well stop.”
“Stop! I've only begun. I'll stop when you start, and not before. Will you go?”
“I can't, Jim. You know I can't.”