"Soon as you get to writing a line or two that seems kind of promising, you begin to take a morbid interest in that blamed crack.

It's busted up enough copy for me, the last eight days, to have filled her up twenty times over.

I don't know as I ever care to see that crack again.

I turned my back on it, but there wasn't any use in that, because if a fly lights on you I watch him like a brother, and if there ain't any fly I've caught a mania for tapping my teeth with a pencil, that is just as good." To these two gentlemen, thus disengaged, reentered (after a much longer absence than Miss Selina's quatrain justified) Mr.Ross Schofield, a healthy glow of exertion lending pleasant color to his earnest visage, and an almost visible laurel of success crowning his brows.

In addition to this imaginary ornament, he was horned with pencils over both ears, and held some scribbled sheets in his hand.
"I done a good deal down there," he announced cheerfully, drawing up a chair to the desk.