Explore "The Postmaster" by Joseph C. Lincoln on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
There's no use dwelling on unpleasantness. And there's no use tellin' what Ike Hamilton said. I'd be liable to the law, if I did tell it, and, besides, I've been away from seafarin' so long that my memory for such language ain't as good as 'twas. Ike wa'n't only mad now: he was ha'f crazy, and pale and scared-lookin' besides. The interview ended by my takin' him by the arm and leadin' him to the door.
"You get out of here," I told him, "and I'll leave this door open so's to sweeten the air after you. That letter of yours has turned up missin' and I'm mighty sorry. I'll find it, though, or die a-tryin'. Meanwhile, unless you can behave like a decent human bein'-which I doubt-you'll find it turrible unhealthy for you on these premises. Understand?"