An Imagined Dialogue With Betancourt the Shortstoppener

"Betancourt," said I, "are you aware that you are the cause of great tribulation to me, by persisting in swinging at terrible pitch after terrible pitch?"

No answer.

"Now one of two things must take place. Either you must do something, or something must be done to you. Now what sort of batting would you like to engage in? Would you like to try switch-hitting?"

"No; I would prefer not to make any change."

"Would you like to bunt more frequently?"

"You do not take enough pitches in bunting. No, I would not like to bunt; but I am not particular."

"Don't take enough pitches," I cried, "why you never take pitches anyway!"

"I would prefer not to bunt," he rejoined, as if to settle that little item at once.

"Well then, would you like to learn to steal bases? That would improve your value to the team--how would that suit you?"

"Not at all. I like to be stationary. But I am not particular."

"Stationary you shall be then," I cried, now losing all patience, and for the first time in all my exasperating connection with him fairly flying into a passion. "If you do not go away from these premises before night, I shall feel bound—indeed I am bound—to—to—to quit the premises myself!" I rather absurdly concluded, knowing not with what possible threat to try to frighten his immobility into compliance. Despairing of all further efforts, I was precipitately leaving him, when a final thought occurred to me—one which had not been wholly unindulged before.

"Betancourt," said I, in the kindest tone I could assume under such exciting circumstances, "will you go home with me now—not to my office, but my dwelling—and remain there till we can conclude upon some convenient arrangement for you at our leisure? Come, let us start now, right away."

"No: at present I would prefer not to make any change at all."

Ah Betancourt! Ah humanity!

HT: Herman Melville, in deference to whom we've allowed Seth to employ first-person singular