assassinate, or even hurt, Mr. Pat, and that the net result of another
endeavor to do so would be merely a second mortifying atmospheric
journey. Was it not unreasonable for a man, in a hopeless attempt to
gratify irrational passion, to take a step the sole and certain
consequences of which would be a humiliating soaring and curveting
through the air?
It was a terrible struggle, the marks of which broke out on the young
man's forehead in cold beads. But he was a rationalist among
rationalists, and in the end his reason subdued his demon. Therefore,
the little knot of linotypers and helpers who had stood wonderingly by
while the two adversaries stared at each other, through a tense
half-minute, now listened to the following dialogue:--
"I believe I said that I would give you a good thrashing. I now withdraw
those words, for I find that I am unable to make them good."
"I guess you ain't--what the divil did ye expect? Me to sit back with me
hands behind me and leave ye--"
"I earnestly desire to thrash you, but it is plain to me that I am not,
at present, in position to do so."
"Fergit it! What's afther ye, Mr. Queed--?"
"To get in position to thrash you, would take me a year, two years, five
years. It is not--no, it is _not_ worth my time."
"Well, who asked f'r any av your time? But as f'r that, I'll give ye
your chance to get square--"
"I suppose you feel yourself free now to take all sorts of detestable
liberties with my articles?"
"Liberties--what's bitin' ye, man? Don't I read revised proof on the
leaded stuff every night, no matter what the rush is? When did ye ever
before catch me--?"
"Physically, you are my superior, but muscle counts for very little in
this world, my man. Morally, which is all that matters, I am your
superior--you know that, don't you? Be so good as to keep your
disgusting vermin out of my articles in the future."
He walked away with a face which gave no sign of his inner turmoil. Mr.
Pat looked after him, stirred and bewildered, and addressed his friends
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