"Aw, Arthur," I said. "Use your head, will you? I couldn't carry that
old typewriter of yours all the way down through the Bronx. It was
getting pretty beat-up. Anyway, I've only got two hands--"
YOU LOUSE, it rattled, ARE YOU TRYONXXX TRYING TO INSULT ME BECAUSE I
DONT HAVE ANY Q Q
"Arthur!" I said, shocked. "You know better than that!"
The typewriter slammed its carriage back and forth ferociously a
couple of times. Then he said: ALL RIGHT SAM YOU KNOW YOUVE GOT ME BY
THE THROAT SO YOU CAN DO ANYTHING YOU WANT TO WITH ME WHO CARES ABOUT
MY FEELINGS ANYHOW
"Please don't take that attitude," I coaxed.