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Updated: June 28, 2025
Mike Flannery, the Westcote agent of the Interurban Express Company, leaned over the counter of the express office and shook his fist. Mr. Morehouse, angry and red, stood on the other side of the counter, trembling with rage. The argument had been long and heated, and at last Mr. Morehouse had talked himself speechless. The cause of the trouble stood on the counter between the two men.
You won't know about that, though. You'll be wiped out!" "I wouldn't call our friends vassals, or say the system was jury-rigged," Flannery objected. "Ever hear of paradynamics? The papers call it the ability to manipulate relationships, when we let them write a speculative article.
But he'd quit believing in fairy tales even before then. Now he was even sicker of Earth's self-justification. Flannery frowned, and then shrugged. "It's no secret I need a good man on Throm, and you're the logical candidate, if I can pound some facts into your head. I've found that sending an Earthman they know as a competent enemy works wonders.
'What's th' news of th' day? says th' prisidint. 'Nawthin' doin', says th' janitor. 'Then wake up and sind Flannery a gineral order t' learn th' Declaration av Indepindince by hearrt, says th' prisidint. 'Mebby he do be gittin' lazy! 'And shall I add on th' Constitution av th' United States? says th' janitor. 'Sure! says th' prisidint, ''t will do Flannery no harm t' be busy."
"An' what have I been tellin' th' dudes in th' head office all th' while?" asked Flannery with asperity. "What but that th' late deceased dead cat was defunct an' no more? An' thim insultin' an honest man with their 'Have ye stholen th' cat out av th' box, Flannery, an' put in an inferior short-haired cat? I want no more av thim! Here's the key. Good day t' ye!"
'Paleography! Thim be nice words t' order th' agints av th' ixpriss company t' be usin'!" He pulled at a lock of his hair thoughtfully. "I wonder, now," he said, "do they want Mike Flannery t' learn all thim words by hearrt, and use thim all. Should I be usin' thim all in one letter, or distribute thim throughout th' correspondince, or what?
'T is a grand lot of worrds if I only knew what anny of thim meant, but 't will be hard t' find a subject t' write on t' run in this word of 'homonym. There has not been one of thim about th' office since Mike Flannery has been here."
He looked up at the inspector with a snort of anger. "Wan wagonload more an, I'll be quit of thim, an' niver will ye catch Flannery wid no more foreign pigs on his hands. No, sur! They near was the death o' me. Nixt toime I'll know that pigs of whaiver nationality is domistic pets an' go at the lowest rate." He began shoveling again rapidly, speaking quickly between breaths.
Flannery showed the message to Mr. Warold, and then took up his pen again. "President Interurban, Franklin," he wrote, "Consinor Westcote tag company, tags in it. o is in phenix and ph in sulfur and u in armordale. Westcote." The president sitting in his private office, received the message and wrinkled his brow as he read it. Telegraphing does not always improve the legibility of a message.
Monsieur Jules fidgeted and looked at his watch. "Be easy," said Flannery. "There's no hurry. I'm waitin' for a frind of mine, an' 't is fine t' talk over th' tariff with educated min once in a while. Th' frind I'm lookin' for anny minute now is a fine expert on th' subject of th' tariff himself. O'Halloran is th' name of him.
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