"You don't mean to say
you are going to send that manuscript in as it is?"
"Good Lord!" I cried. "What under heaven have you been trying to
make me do for the last half hour?"
"Act like a sane being," said the demon. "If you send that
manuscript to Currier he'll know in a minute it isn't yours. He
knows you haven't an amanuensis, and that handwriting isn't yours.
Copy it."
"True!" I answered. "I haven't much of a mind for details to-night.
I will do as you say."
I did so. I got out my pad and pen and ink, and for three hours
diligently applied myself to the task of copying the story. When it
was finished I went over it carefully, made a few minor corrections,
signed it, put it in an envelope, addressed it to you, stamped it,
and went out to the mail-box on the corner, where I dropped it into
the slot, and returned home. When I had returned to my library my
visitor was still there.
"Well," it said, "I wish you'd hurry and complete this affair. I am
tired, and wish to go."
"You can't go too soon to please me," said I, gathering up the
original manuscripts of the story and preparing to put them away in
my desk.
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