It looks as if I have been trifled with, much as I dislike to think so.

One minute they crowd letters on to me, praising me up to the skies, and print pieces in the paper saying that nothing is too good for me and my departure is a public loss, and why won't I remain and be a credit to the town and a lot more like that, good and strong.

Then when I do consent to remain, why, what do they do?
Do they grasp my hand and say, 'Ah, good old Potts--stanch Potts, loyal Potts--good for you--you won't desert the town!' Do they talk that way?
No, they do _not_.

Instead of talking like a body would think they'd talk after all those letters and things, why, they turn and fling abuse at me--and now--now they've gone and done _this_ hellish thing! I won't say a word against any man, but in my opinion they're a passel of knaves and lunatics.

Look at me, Joe.