_AND YOU THINK YOU'RE BETTER THAN POE? HOW RIDICULOUS!_ "I think nothing of the sort! Besides, that has nothing at all to do with it. I simply can't go around writing stories another man has already written." _WHY NOT?_ "Well.... I can't, that's all. It isn't done!" _HA!_ "It isn't done in polite circles." _HA! HA!_ "Well, I won't do it, and that's all there is to it." _RELAX. IF YOU DIDN'T LIKE THAT STORY, I KNOW A LOT OF OTHERS._ "Why are you doing this to me? Why don't you just go back where you came from?" _WHY AM I DOING WHAT TO YOU? I'M TRYING TO HELP YOU, YOU IDIOT._ "I don't want your help. I want to muddle along on my own. I want to...." _STOP SHOUTING!_ "I'm not shouting. Besides, with your damned upper case, you always look as if you're shouting." _IT WAS YOU WHO SUGGESTED UPPER CASE._ "You won't get away with this," I said, shaking my finger at the machine. "I'll get to the bottom of it, and when I do I'll have you licked. You wait and see." _I'LL WAIT_, the machine typed. I nodded my head emphatically. It was almost noon, and I had a lot to do. I tossed one more fiery glance at the typewriter, and then left it alone on the table. * * * * * I went into twelve pawn shops before I found the fat old man. When he saw me step through the doorway, he tried to duck into the back room, but I stopped him with my voice. "No you don't!" I shouted. "I want to talk to you." He came back to the counter furtively, awaiting my approach like a man about to be hanged. "What is it?" he asked tiredly. "You know what it is," I told him. "Poe," he said. "Shakespeare." "Just Poe so far," I said. "No Shakespeare yet?" he asked, surprised. "In a little while, I suppose. It's probably just warming up. Yes, that's right. The Poe came first, and then the Shakespeare." "You know about the typewriter then?" The old man nodded his bald head sadly. "I know." "And you say it'll go on to Shakespeare. God, no." "God, yes." "How? Why?" The old man shook his head forlornly. "I don't know. I think it's an acquired habit." "A habit? How can a typewriter...." "I got it from a doctor," he said. "A physician? What would a doctor be doing with Poe and Shakespeare?" "A PhD," he said. "He got his doctorate in American literature. His specialty is Poe. Shakespeare is just a sideline with him. He told me this when he hocked the machine." "But still, why would the machine...." "The doctor made a lot of collections. Poe, mostly. Shakespeare, too. He typed the manuscripts on this machine, he said. I suppose the machine just ... picked it up." "I want my money back," I said firmly. The old man backed away from the counter. "Oh no. No. Definitely no." "You sold me a defective machine." "I made no claims. You bought a typing machine. The machine types, so you got no kicks." "But it types Poe! What the hell can I do with a machine that types only Poe?" "Not only Poe. Shakespeare, too."