The Last of the Foresters Part 69

"Anan?" said Verty.

"I am a victim, sir!"

"Yes, you look angry."

"I am!"

Verty shook his head.

"That is not right," he replied; "Redbud says it is wrong to be angry--"

"Redbud!"

"Yes, sir."

"Consign Miss Redbud--!"

"Oh, no!" said Verty, "don't do that."

"I have a right to be angry," continued Roundjacket, flouris.h.i.+ng his ruler; "it would be out of the question for me to be anything else."

"How, sir?"

"Do you see that?"

And Roundjacket held up the paper, flouris.h.i.+ng his ruler at it in a threatening way.

"The paper, sir?" said Verty.

"Yes!"

"What of it?"

"Abomination!"

"Oh, sir."

"Yes! utter abomination!"

"I don't understand, sir."

"Mark me!" said Roundjacket.

"Yes, sir."

"That is the 'Virginia Gazette.'"

"Is it, sir?"

"Published at Williamsburg."

"I think I've heard of it, sir."

"Williamsburg, the centre of civilization, cultivation, and the other ations!" cried Roundjacket, flouris.h.i.+ng his ruler savagely, and smiling with bitter scorn.

"Ah!" said Verty, finding that he was expected to say something.

"Yes! the Capital of Virginia, forsooth!"

"Has Williamsburg made you angry, sir?"

"Yes!"

"But the 'Gazette'--?"

"Is the immediate cause."

Verty sat down.

"I'm sorry, sir," he said, smiling; "but I don't understand. I never read the newspapers. Nothing but the Bible--because Redbud wants me to: I hope to like it after awhile though."

"I trust you will never throw away your time on this thing!" cried Roundjacket, running the end of his ruler through the paper; "can you believe, sir, that the first canto of my great poem has been murdered in its columns--yes, murdered!"

"Killed, do you mean, sir?"

"I do--I mean that the illiterate editor of this disgraceful sheet has a.s.sa.s.sinated the offspring of my imagination!"

"That was very wrong, sir."

"Wrong? It was infamous? What should be done with such a man!" cried Roundjacket.

"Arrest him?" suggested Verty.

"It is not a statutable offence."

"What, sir?"

"Neglecting to send sheets to correct."

"Anan?" said Verty, who did not understand.

"I mean that I have not had an opportunity to correct the printed verses, sir; and that I complain of."

Verty nodded.

"Mark me," said Roundjacket; "the publisher, editor, or reviewer who does not send sheets to the author for correction, will inevitably perish, in the end, from the tortures of remorse!"

"Ah?" said Verty.