Queed

re to thrash a Proof-Reader, makes a Humiliating Discovery

arians seemed an inoffensive thesi

of the Secretary of the Tax Reform League, and the Assistant Secretary of the State Department of Charities. But not by any such device, either, can a man elude his Fate. On

ts momentous designs. Had he not taken the car-he was on the point of not taking it, when one whizzed invitingly up-he would never have heard of the insult that the Pos

fleas harassed the diet.' No

t had a horrible familiarity, like a ghastly parody on something known and dear. With a q

article they were mocking at-HIS article. He remembered the passage perfectly. He had written: "A lengthy procession of pleas harassed the Diet." His tra

a beauty of her complexion. No insult to his character could have enraged him like a slight put upon the least of these his articles. He sat back in his seat, feeling white, and something clicked inside his head. He reme

rsonal reparation from the criminal who had made Him and His Work the butt of street-car loafers.

for typographical errors, and Mr. Pat did not "come on" till 6.30. It was now but 5.50. Queed sa

"-here the Colonel opened a drawer and consulted a schedule-"I shall receive wit

ed tables not on castors, and Mergenthaler machines, and slanting desk-like structures holding fonts of type. Rou

ded toward a tall, gangling, mustachioed fellow in

byhole where the proof-readers and copy-h

, head proof-rea

and he turned with rather a sh

er for making my article rid

divil may you

Post, with the typographical enormity heavily underscored in blue. "What do you mean by falsifyin

was tortured with the recollection that, only three days before, he had permitted the Post to refer to old Major Lamar as "that immortal veterinary," and upon the P

hat way. Ye've got me-I'll give ye that! But what do ye expect?-e

o slips with my articles. I'm

t! Say th

ng to give you a good th

ter than Mr. Pat, and his face advertised his unmartial customs. But Mr. Pat had the swift fierce passions of his race; and it became t

t men working two stories below looked up to ask each other who was dead. Typesetters left their machines and hurried up, fearing that here was a case for ambu

on his threshhold. "

t a pace away and s

I don't want no mor

offensively by his side, stare

Mr. Pat, obsessed as he was by a sudden sense of

sorry I hit ye, and I niver w

what under heaven this little Four-eyes meant by standing there

could not thrash Mr. Pat. He could not thrash anybody. Anybody in the world that desired could put gross insult

e suddenly discovered his mistake, and the discovery was going hard with him. Inside him there was raging a demon of surprising violence of deportment; it urged him to lay hold of some instrument of a rugged, murderous nature and assassinate Mr. Pat. But higher up in him, in his head, there spoke the stronger voice of his reason. While the demon screamed homicidally, reason coldly reminded the

g rationalists, and in the end his reason subdued his demon. Therefore, the little knot of linotypers and helpers who had stood w

od thrashing. I now withdraw those words, fo

did ye expect? Me to sit back with

but it is plain to me that I am not

at's afther ye

d take me a year, two years, five years

time? But as f'r that, I'll giv

e now to take all sorts of detes

ed proof on the leaded stuff every night, no matter

my man. Morally, which is all that matters, I am your superior-you know that, don't

ner turmoil. Mr. Pat looked after him, stirred and bewi

y, as ye might have surmised

paid the sum of twenty-seven dollars per week to peruse everything that went

hat and coat. Having heard his feet upo

s, do you know? It sounded a

fall, though not a

ied the edi

I

people's bodies counted for nothing so long as they kept them under. But the fall that this body's self-esteem had gotten was no such trivial affair. It struck the young man as d

, as luck would have it, stood a tal

, ther

ou do, Mr

ing to arrange a mill at the Mercury between Smithy of

mil

y' know. Done up your

aper writ

t, Klinker was looking at Mr. Queed narrow

es

's right. I'll

id kindly: "You ain't feelin' good, are you,

ank you. As for color, I ha

the headache, haven't you? Have it ab

te frequently, but I never

I've been watching you at the supper table for some time now. That pallor you got ain't natural pallor. You're p

infer how such a dish feels-it is rea

f you don't believe me. But I got your dia'nosis now, same as a medical man tha

t, Mr. K

erc

lack of

"that you're fadin' out

Queed glanced up at Klinker's six feet of red beef with a flash of envy which would have been unimaginable to him so short a

inker. "I got something to show you

obliged to admit

icals. And a great rondy-vooze for the sporting men, politicians, and rounders of the town, if I do say it.

ve no time this

. You can't do any studyin' before supper-time, anyhow, b

he front. To a white-coated boy who lounged upon the fount, Klinker spoke winged words, and the next moment Que

g their back views to all who cared to see. Klinker was chewing a tooth-pick; and either a toot

a gymnas

ed that the

and the Mercuries have fitted it up as a gymnasier and athletic club. Only they're dead

es you th

n's broke too. A bit of nice raw beefsteak clapped

of no con

ur mind counts, and that's just where you make your mistake. Your bo

dy lie down on me, as you put it, Mr. Kli

ee with my own eyes? You're committing slo

of the sort. I have been working

and when she does hit you she'll hit to kill. Where'll your mind an

eparing to rise, he said: "I am obliged to

e all go

uld give me the name of the med

said

have heard

and I ain't going to give it to you. Why, that slop only covers up the trouble, Doc-does more harm than good in

afr

uble, Doc-matching seconds against your studies. It won't take a minut

s totally ignorant, was persuaded. The two groped their way down a long dark passage at the rear

tic Club gymnasier

boxes. The remaining space, including wall-space, was occupied by the most curious and puzzling contrivances that Queed had ever

er sleeps her

ook around you, Doc

om the floor and hurled it with deadly preci

your medi

bag and trapeze. Klinker lingered over the ceremonial; it was plain that the gymnasier was very dear to him. In fact, he loved everything pertaining to bodily exercise and manly sport; he caressed a boxing-glove as he never caressed a lady's hand; the smell of witch

't take it-well, it may be the long good-by

Mr. Klinker-ther

n hour's hardest kind of work right

e had been stung. He clea

al-in a sense, but I cannot affo

ration, and it'll wipe you out like a fly. Why, Doc," said Klinker, impressively, "you don't realize the kind of life you're leading-all indoors and sedentary and working twenty hours a day. I come in pretty late some

you, Mr. Klinker. I shall never let matters pro

ver do. Old prostration catches 'em first every crack. You think an hour a day exercise wo

ainly d

ome days as if mebbe you could do better writing a

frankly confess

a little time for reg'lar exercise, you'd find when bedtime

in the world, and now at last Klinker had pro

ne hour a day exercise, and you do more work in twenty-four hours than yo

as silent. On

a month," said Kl

me an hour a day for just a month, and I'll bet you the d

for a moment. But now, driving him irresistibly toward the terrible idea, working upon him far more powerfully than his knowledge of headache, even than Klinker's promise of a net gain in his w

e of work without pains and anguish, and it was with a

e to make the experiment, tentativel

You'll never be sor

s nostrils. He assumed charge of the ceded hour with skilled sureness. Rain or shine, the Doctor was to take half an hour's hard walking in the air every day, over and above the walk to the office. Every aft

ghtfully, "and see first what you need. Then I'll lay out a reg'lar

have one small one-a stea

and the Doctor feared that his wa

Hand Tom's they used to be, him that died of

el

'll teach you. Never mist

laboriously, and presently

, the same as

an object made of red velveteen abou

orrow. You can have 'em. Left Hand Tom'

? What does on

r trunks. Yo

what portio

little pants,"

nted nothing in the world so much as to be let alone. But honest Buck Klinker remained unresponsive to his mood. All the way to Mrs. Paynter's he told his new pupil gris