'Oh, see here, Hen--I won't talk to you! Not till you get over this excitement.' 'I'm not excited. Or, at least----' Humphrey gave a shrug. Henry, gripping the roll of manuscript, started out. 'Wait a minute, Hen! What do you think you're going to do?' 'What do you s'pose? Only one thing I _can_ do!' 'Going after the old man?' 'Of course! You would yourself, if----' 'No, I wouldn't. Not in any such rush as that. It's upsetting to have your good work pawed over and cut to pieces, but twelve a week is----' 'Oh, Hump, it's everything! He's made it impossible for me. I could stand some of it, but not all this. He ain't fair! He _wants_ to make it hard for me! He's just thinking up ways to be mean. And he's spoiled my work--best thing I've ever done in my life! And now people will never know how well I can write.' 'Oh, yes, they will!' 'No, they won't. I'll never feel just that way again. It's a feeling that comes. And then it goes. You can't do anything about it. It was Corinne and the way I felt about her. And a lot o' things. Seemed to make me different. Lifted me up. I was red-hot.' He reached out and struck the paper from the table to the floor. 'You bet I'll go to old Boice! 'I'll tell him a thing or two I He'll know something's happened before he gets through with me. I've had something to say to him for a good while. Going to say it now. Guess he don't know I'll be twenty-one in November. Have a little money then. He can't put it over me. I'll buy his old paper. Or start another one. I'll make the town too hot for him. Thinks he owns all Sunbury. But he _don't!_' 'Hen,' said Humphrey bravely, when the irate youth paused for breath, 'you simply must not try to talk to him while you're mad as this.' 'But don't you see, Hump,' cried Henry, his face working with vexation, tears close to his eyes; 'it's just the time! When I'm mad. If I wait, I'll never say a word.' He rolled the manuscript tightly in his hand, bit his lip, then abruptly rushed out. 'Look here,' cried Humphrey. 'Don't you go showing that----' But the only reply was the noisy slam of the screen door. Face set, eyes wild behind their glasses, Henry hurried down Simpson Street toward the post-office. Miss Hemple, at the money-order window, said that Mr Boice was having a talk with Mr Waterhouse in the back office and wasn't to be disturbed. Henry turned away. For a little time he studied the weather-chart hanging on the wall. He went to the wide front window and gazed out on the street. His determination was already oozing away. He found himself slouching and straightened up. Repeatedly he had to do this. Four times he went back to the money-order window; four times Miss Hemple smiled and shook her head.