Bret Harte

“ The principal merchant of the town, and purveyor to the mining settlements beyond, appeared the next morning at the office of the Clarion. "Ye wouldn't mind puttin' this 'ad.' in a column alongside o' the Dimmidge one, would ye?" The young editor glanced at it, and then, with a serpent-like sagacity, veiled, however, by the suavity of the dove, pointed out that the original advertiser might think it called his bonâ fides into question and withdraw his advertisement. "But if we secured you by an offer of double the amount per column?" urged the merchant. ”

“ Rather the solitude of the great woods without seemed to enter through that door and encompassed him with its protecting loneliness. There was occasionally a faint "peep" in the scant eaves, or a "pat-pat" ending in a frightened scurry across the roof, or the slow flap of a heavy wing in the darkness below. ”

“ THE editorial sanctum of the Calaveras Clarion opened upon the "composing room" of that paper on the one side, and gave apparently upon the rest of Calaveras County upon the other. For, situated on the very outskirts of the settlement and the summit of a very steep hill, the pines sloped away from the editorial windows to the long valley of the South Fork and infinity. The little wooden building had invaded Nature without subduing it. It was filled night and day with the murmur of pines and their fragrance. Squirrels scampered over its roof when it was not pre-occupied by woodpeckers ”

“ Dimmidge expected something more than this reply, for after a moment's hesitation he said with an odd smile—
"Ye ain't seein' the meanin' o' that, lad?"
"No," said the editor lightly; "but I suppose R. B. does, and it isn't intended that anyone else should."
"Mebbee it is, and mebbee it isn't," said Mr. Dimmidge with a self-satisfied air. "I don't mind saying atween us that R. B. is the man as I've suspicioned as havin' something to do with my wife goin' away; and ye see, if he writes to E. J. B.—that's my wife's initials—at Elktown, I'll get that letter and so make sure." ”

“ Whereas my husband, Micah J. Dimmidge, having given out that I have left his bed and board—the same being a bunk in a log cabin and pork and molasses three times a day—and having advertised that he'd pay no debts of my contractin'—which, as thar ain't any, might be easier collected than debts of his own contractin'—this is to certify that unless he returns from Elktown Hill to his only home in Sonora in one week from date, payin' the costs of this advertisement, I'll know the reason why.—Eliza Jane Dimmidge. ”

“ He was, however, conscious that there was a singular significance in his foreman's manner, and an eager apparition of the other printer over the foreman's shoulder.
"He's carryin' a shot-gun, and is a man twice as big as you be," said the foreman gravely.
The editor quickly recalled his own brief and as yet blameless record in the Clarion. "Perhaps," he said tentatively, with a gentle smile, "he's looking for Captain Brush (the absent editor) ." ”

“ And yet he was not so greatly absorbed as to be unmindful of the murmur of the pines without, his half-savage environment, and the lazy talk of his sole companions—the foreman and printer in the adjoining room.
"Bet your life! I've always said that a man inside a newspaper office could hold his own agin any outsider that wanted to play rough or tried to raid the office! ”

“ His upper lip and chin were clean-shaven, still showing the blue-black roots of the beard which covered the rest of his face and depended in a thick fleece under his throat. He carried a small bundle tied up in a silk handkerchief in one hand, and a "shot-gun" in the other, perilously at half-cock. Entering the sanctum, he put down his bundle and quietly closed the door behind him. He then drew an empty chair towards him and dropped heavily into it with his gun on his knees. The editor's heart dropped almost as heavily, although he quite composedly held out his hand. ”

“ Then, quick as lightnin', Spoffrel tilts him over agin it, and he throws out his hand and ketches hold o' the forme to steady himself, when Spoffrel just runs the forme and the hand under the press and downs with the lever! And that held the feller fast as grim death! And when at last, he begs off, and Spoff lets him loose, the hull o' that 'ere lampooning article he objected to was printed right onto the skin o' his hand! Fact, and it wouldn't come off, either."
"Gosh, but I'd like to hev seen it," said the printer. "There ain't any chance, I reckon, o' such a sight here. ”