Then he thought a while.  Having said that, there was not much stronger that he could say.  He had reached his climax too soon.

“Scratch that out,” he said, and began walking again.  He looked at Flannery’s letter and scowled.

Miss Merrill waited patiently.  It gave her an opportunity to primp.

“Never mind, Miss Merrill,” said the president finally.  “I will call you later.”  He was wondering whether he should discharge Flannery, or issue Webster’s Unabridged as General Order Number 720, or what he should do.

And Flannery went on with his letter to Mary O’Donnell, for it was a work of several days with him.  A love-letter was alone enough to worry him, but, when he had to think of things to say and still keep one eye on the list of three hundred words, his thoughts got away from him before he could find whether they had to be put in simplified words or in the good old go-as-you-please English that he usually wrote.

He was sitting at the desk when a messenger from the head office came in.  The messenger had been sent down to Westcote by the president, and had just been across to the tag company to fix things up with Mr. Warold.  He had fixed them, and the lever he had used was a paper he held in his hand.  It had mollified Mr. Warold.

As the messenger entered, Flannery looked up from his letter, and he smiled with pleasure.  He was glad to see some one from the head office.  He wanted information about some of the words he was ordered to use.  He was puzzled about “stript.”  Did it mean “striped” or “stripped”?  And was “tost” the kind of toast you eat or the kind you drink?  And how about that funny-looking combination of letters “thru,” and a dozen others?

“I’m glad t’see th’ sight av ye,” he said, holding out his hand, “for I do be wantin’ some help on these three hunderd worrds th’ prisidint has been simplifyin’ down.  ’T is a turrible job they be, thim three hunderd!  Some av thim I never will be after learnin’.  Look at this, now,” he said, putting his finger on “orthopedic.”  “And this wan,” he said, touching “esophagus.”  “Thim be tough wans!  But it’s thankful I am there be but three hunderd av thim.  There w’u’d be no ind t’ th’ day’s worrk sh’u’d th’ prisidint take a notion t’ reforrm th’ whole dic-shunnery.  If he was t’ shorten all th’ worrds in th’ English language, I w’u’d have a long job av it, niver knowin’ whin th’ worrds was spelled right or wrong.  They be a powerful increase of worrk, thim three hunderd worrds.  Take this wan, now—­’thoroly’—­’t is a bird, that wan is!  But Flannery will stick t’ th’ list!”

The messenger laid the paper he had been holding upon Flannery’s desk.

“I will be needin’ an assistant sh’u’d th’ prisidint promulgate any more worrds like thim,” said Flannery; “and I w’u’d recommind he be Corbett or Sullivan or wan of th’ other sluggers, for th’ patrons av th’ company be not all easy-goin’ like Mr. Warold.  But progress is th’ worrd of th’ day, and I stand for shorter worrds, no matter how much extry worrk they mek.  Th’ prisidint has a great head on him.”