He now sat down, and began to open his letters.
"Do you hear ?" the old man roared at him.

"I want you to turn him off." "Excuse me, Mr.Dryfoos," said March, succeeding in an effort to speak calmly, "I don't know you, in such a matter as this.

My arrangements as editor of 'Every Other Week' were made with Mr.Fulkerson.I have always listened to any suggestion he has had to make." "I don't care for Mr.Fulkerson?
He has nothing to do with it," retorted Dryfoos; but he seemed a little daunted by March's position.
"He has everything to do with it as far as I am concerned," March answered, with a steadiness that he did not feel.

"I know that you are the owner of the periodical, but I can't receive any suggestion from you, for the reason that I have given.

Nobody but Mr.Fulkerson has any right to talk with me about its management." Dryfoos glared at him for a moment, and demanded, threateningly: "Then you say you won't turn that old loafer off?
You say that I have got to keep on paying my money out to buy beer for a man that would cut my throat if he got the chance ?" "I say nothing at all, Mr.Dryfoos," March answered.