"Thet's only what one o' them smart New York publishers allowed it
was worth arter hearin' me tell it," said Dan'l dryly.

"Go way! You or him must be crazy. Why, it ain't ez good as that
story 'bout a man who had a balky hoss that could be made to go
only by buildin' a fire under him, and arter the man sells that
hoss and the secret, and the man wot bought him tries it on, the
blamed hoss lies down over the fire, and puts it out."

"I've allus allowed that the story ye hev to tell yourself is a
blamed sight funnier than the one ye're listenin' to," said Dan'l.
"Put that down among my sayin's, will ye?"

"But your story was never anythin' more than one o' them snippy
things ye see in the papers, drored out to no end by you. It's
only one o' them funny paragraphs ye kin read in a minit in the
papers that takes YOU an hour to tell."

To her surprise Dan'l only looked at his sister with complacency.

"That," he said, "is jest what the New York publisher sez. 'The
'Merrikan people,' sez he, 'is ashamed o' bein' short and peart and
funny; it lacks dignity,' sez he; 'it looks funny,' sez he, 'but it
ain't deep-seated nash'nul literature,' sez he. 'Them snips o'
funny stories and short dialogues in the comic papers--they make ye
laff,' sez he, 'but laffin' isn't no sign o' deep morril purpose,'
sez he, 'and it ain't genteel and refined. Abraham Linkin with his
pat anecdotes ruined our standin' with dignified nashuns,' sez he.
'We cultivated publishers is sick o' hearin' furrin' nashuns
roarin' over funny 'Merrikan stories; we're goin' to show 'em that,