"Thank you," said the editor, as he dipped his pen.
"Do you know,"—John began to bluster—"there are vipers in human form, in this city, who have dared to sting that woman's reputation?"
"I know nothing of the kind," replied the editor.
"You ought to know it; and I am authorized to say this: Fanny expects her friends to vindicate her character, and crush these vipers. There is that rascal, Mr. Blank——"
"Mr. Blank is a friend of mine, sir."
"But"—John waxed bombastic—"You cannot be a friend of his and a friend of Fanny Fern's. He said, in his paper, that she has a husband living——"
"Which is true, I believe," remarked the editor, quietly.
"But sir"—here John choked—"she is a woman, and no gentleman will make remarks of the kind about a WOMAN,—a woman, sir, is sacred; and Fanny Fern is one of the noblest of her sex. From your character as an editor and a man, I had every reason to believe that you would not hesitate to espouse her cause——"
"Mr. Walter," interrupted the editor, "your assumption is somewhat astounding, but it has not quite taken away my breath—I have still a modest word to say. I do not see that it is my duty to go and cudgel Mr. Blank, nor do I consider the inducement you hold out, quite sufficient to authorize me to engage in any quarrels except my own. I will not trouble you to introduce me to Miss Fern. I wish you a good morning, sir!"
John varied his manner with different people. To some he was insinuating and smooth; to others, bluff and lowering; but all his efforts were unsuccessful. Nobody would go and whip Mr. Blank; nobody cared much about meeting Fanny Fern. And here let us not be misunderstood. It was no fault of John's, that he did not succeed. He was zealous to the last degree. Still less was it Fanny's fault. She was, as he expressed it, "the noblest of her sex." The truth is,—and to the shame of that city be it spoken,—there was no Don Quixote in Boston! If Boston could have boasted of so much chivalry, Mr. Blank would have been cudgelled, and Fanny avenged.