Nafferton got a copy of that letter, and sent it, with the essay on the
Dravidian Pig, to a down-country paper, which printed both in full. The essay
was rather highflown; but if the Editor had seen the stacks of paper, in
Pinecoffin's handwriting, on Nafferton's table, he would not have been so
sarcastic about the "nebulous discursiveness and blatant self-sufficiency of
the modern Competition-wallah, and his utter inability to grasp the practical
issues of a practical question." Many friends cut out these remarks and sent
them to Pinecoffin.
I have already stated that Pinecoffin came of a soft stock. This last stroke
frightened and shook him. He could not understand it; but he felt he had been,
somehow, shamelessly betrayed by Nafferton.
He realized that he had wrapped himself up in the Pigskin without need, and
that he could not well set himself right with his Government. All his
acquaintances asked after his "nebulous discursiveness" or his "blatant self-
sufficiency," and this made him miserable.
He took a train and went to Nafferton, whom he had not seen since the Pig
business began. He also took the cutting from the paper, and blustered feebly
and called Nafferton names, and then died down to a watery, weak protest of the
"I-say-it's-too-bad-you-know" order.
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