He never troubled to answer the letter. He simply returned it to me
with this scribbled across the bottom: "Your bad manners are
exceeded only by your bad manners." True, I had blundered, and
perhaps I deserved this rebuke. But, being human, I resented it. I
resented it so sharply that when I read of the death of Richard
Harding Davis ten years later, the one thought that still persisted in
my mind - I am ashamed to admit - was the hurt he had given me.