"Then don't go to the devil," answered Moore, still scribbling. "Call on some other relative."
"My employer says it is high time you paid this bill," persisted the clerk, thrusting the statement of Moore's account beneath the poet's nose, as Buster quietly investigated the contents of the basket the newcomer had brought with him.
"You must n't believe all you hear, Mr. Dabble," replied Moore. "Many casual statements are grossly incorrect. Really, the aggregate amount of misinformation current these days is most appalling. Just consider it for a moment if you have never given it thought before."
"I have no time for consideration, Mr. Moore."
"If you had more consideration for time--that is my time--and its value, you would not be delaying the completion of this poem in this manner," Moore answered, laying down the quill with a sigh of endurance. "Sit down, Mr. Dibble."
"My name is Dabble."
"Well, it would n't bend your name if you sat down, would it, Dibble?"
"Dabble, sir, Dabble."
"Quite true, sir. I frequently do in literature, but how did you know?"
"Sir," said the clerk impressively, "time flies and time is money."