Part 2 (1/2)

Look here, George Wayne, don't drive me to desperation. You ought to come up and face the situation yourself. I can't fire a poet with eight helpless children, can I? And while I'm about it, let me inform you that every time you telegraph me it costs me five dollars for a carrier to bring the despatch over from the station; and every time I telegraph you I am obliged to walk five miles to send it and five miles back again. I'm mad all through, and my shoes are worn out, and I'm tired. Besides, I'm too busy to telegraph.

BRIGGS.

(13)

Do you expect me to stop my cruise and travel up to that hole on account of eight extenuating kids?

WAYNE.

(14)

I do.

BRIGGS.

(15)

Are you mad?

WAYNE.

(16)

Thoroughly. And extremely busy.

BRIGGS.

(17)

For the last time, Stuyve Briggs, are you going to bounce one defaulting poet and progeny, arrange to have survey and warnings posted, order timber and troughs for hatchery, engage extra patrol--or are you not?

WAYNE.

(18)

No.

BRIGGS.

(19)

(_Received a day later by Mr. Wayne._)

Are you coming?

BRIGGS.

(20)

I'm coming to punch your head.