"'Copy o' what?' says Mis' Sykes, our editor.
"'Why, copy,' says Riddy. 'Stuff for the paper.'
"Mis' Sykes looked at him, majestic.
"'Stuff,' she says. 'You will please to speak,' she says, 'more respectfully than that to us ladies, Mr. Styles.'
"'It was meant right,' says Riddy, stubborn. 'It's the word we always use.'
"'It ain't the word you use, not with us,' says Mis' Sykes, womanly.
"'Well,' says Riddy, 'we'd ought to get to settin' up somethin' by half past twelve, if we start in on the dictionary.'
"Then he went off to his dinner, and the other men with him, and Mis' Sykes leaned back limp.
"'I been writin' steady,' she says, 'since half past eight o'clock this mornin', an' I've only got one page an' one-half composed.'