"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
assassinated 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.
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