Al: (Closes door)
What happened there? (Walks downstairs)

Merrick:
Not only was my press disabled, but my office was ransacked and feces mounded in the corner. A message of objection to my handling of Yankton’s notice on the claims.

Al:
Posting rather than publishing, huh?

Merrick:
The camp’s new school teacher, a lovely woman, was so traumatized by what happened that she left!

Al:
Cy Tolliver.

Merrick:
Who didn’t even trouble, when confronted, to deny it.

Al: (Sits, lets out a sigh)
Why ain’t you up and running again?

Merrick:
I’m in despair. The physical damage is repairable, but the psychic wound may be permanent.

Al: (Leans forward, concern on his face.)
You ever been beaten, Merrick?

Merrick: (Rolls his eyes)
Once, when I thought I had the smallpox, Doc Cochran slapped me in the face. (Al slaps him quickly) Ah! (He stares at Al, touching his cheek – he leans forward) Stop it, Al.

Al:
Are you dead?

Merrick:
Well, (touches cheek) I’m in pain, but no, I’m obviously not dead.

Al:
And obviously you didn’t fucking die when the Doc slapped you.

Merrick:
No.

Al:
So including last night, that’s three fucking damage incidents that didn’t kill you. Pain or damage don’t end the world, or despair or fuckin’ beatin’s. The world ends when you’re dead. Until then, you got more punishment in store. Stand it like a man—and give some back.