Then he threw himself back into his chair,--thought, thought,
thought. At length Jake obtained the mastery, as patience and
perseverance always will, and the pen became his willing slave,
though his mind, being the slave-driver, did not hurry it on very
fast. He was able to pen a few words, and wrote "The war with
Mexico-"
Well, he had got so far; that was very original, and if he never
wrote anything else, would stamp him a man of talent. Into the ink,
on the paper, and his pen wrote the little word are. "The war with
Mexico are." Ten minutes more of steady thought, and three more
words brought him to a full stop. "The war with Mexico are a
indisputable fact." That last but one was a long word, and a close
observer could have seen his head expand with the effort.
"Copy, sir, copy!" shouted the printer's boy, as he stood with his
arms daubed with ink, and a straw hat upon his head that had seen
service, and looked old enough to retire and live on a pension.
"Copy what?" inquired the editor, who began to feel indignant,
imagining that the publisher had seen his labor to write an article,
and had sent him word to copy from some paper.
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