In 500... (or less)

Divorce Papers

Memminger's quill flew furiously across the page. He had to finish by tomorrow.

"Christopher," his wife beckoned softly from the other room. "Mr. Duncan has come to call on you."

"Ugh," he groaned. "Send him in."

Duncan was on the committee, and to turn him away would have been an insult, even if Memminger had little time for him and even less time to make any proposed revisions. He prayed that was not the reason for Duncan's visit.

"Hard at work, Mr. Memminger?" Duncan carried a faint odor of whisky along with him. No doubt the rest of the committee were all sipping on drinks as Memminger slaved away at the document.

"I should say so," Memminger replied, not looking up from the document.

"So Mr. Wardlaw dispatched me to come call on you," Duncan said. "He wanted to revise some of the language at the beginning."

Memminger sighed. "What now?"

"He wanted 'increasing hostility' instead of 'growing unfriendliness'," Duncan said, not all acknowledging his friend's frustrations. "He doesn't think unfriendliness is enough to justify what we're doing."

"And..." Memminger knew there would be more.

"He doesn't like 'oversight of their obligations' either. Too genial. You know, such as, 'I'm sure you simply forgot to do this'." 

"How about..." Memminger paused and put the tip of the quill in his mouth in thought, only to realize too late it still had ink on it. "..."disregard' instead of 'oversight'?"

"Perfect," Duncan said as he sat down. Memminger made a quizzical face, he thought Duncan would leave him to his work.

"Perhaps you should go and inform Mr. Wardlaw and the others that the corrections will be made and the final draft completed by morning," Memminger said curtly.

"It's fine," Duncan said as he lit a cigar. "I've been instructed to wait. They want to deliver it first thing tomorrow to the printer for typesetting."

"But," Memminger complained as he looked over the stack of papers. "I was hoping to be finished before much longer. I should like to retire for the evening, and my hand is quite sore."

"We've got a schedule to keep, Mr. Memminger," Duncan said. "This has to be out long before he takes over, so that it's clear why we're doing it. We need time to prepare. Lord knows Mr. Buchanan will not bother us in the meantime."

"Let me work then," Memminger snipped. "I will need to revise that entire page for the typesetter. I wish you all had not waited so long in formulating the draft."

Duncan said nothing. Puffs of smoke billowed from him as he chuckled at Memminger's whining.

He worked quickly and had a suitable draft finished within an hour.

"There," he said, jamming the folded papers into Duncan's chest. "I shall see you in the morning, sir."

Memminger felt at ease the next morning, with the burden of his task lifted. He met the others in the committee at the appointed time. Wardlaw had a scowl on his face.

"Mr. Memminger," Wardlaw said. "Excellent work on the document, but the title leaves something to be desired."

Memminger billowed with anger.

"What's wrong with 'Declaration of the Immediate Causes Which Induce and Justify the Secession of South Carolina from the Federal Union?!"