You
see, you don't want any trifling in such matters. You write well enough,
my boy," continued he, turning over his paper, "but what you're lacking
in is editorial dignity. But go on with your work. Don't mind me."
Thus admonished, the editor again bent over his desk, and his friend
softly took up his suspended song. The editor had not proceeded far in
his corrections when Jack's voice again broke the silence.
"Where are those d----d verses, anyway?"
Without looking up, the editor waved his pencil towards an uncut copy of
the "Excelsior Magazine" lying on the table.
"You don't suppose I'm going to READ them, do you?" said Jack,
aggrievedly. "Why don't you say what they're about? That's your business
as editor."
But that functionary, now wholly lost and wandering in the non-sequitur
of an involved passage in the proof before him, only waved an impatient
remonstrance with his pencil and knit his brows. Jack, with a sigh, took
up the magazine.
A long silence followed, broken only by the hurried rustling of sheets
of copy and an occasional exasperated start from the editor.
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