He was never late, ever. Every Saturday at precisely two o’clock we met without fail. But today, on the very day that I needed him, he was sixteen minutes late. Sixteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds to be exact.

I slumped a little in the booth, then straightened and began typing in a nearly empty document.

Twenty-three year-old Tiana Black waited patiently—

I hit the backspace button, deleting the last word.

Straight off the door next morning, I said: "Noah Webster published his first dictionary in 1828." (I had done a bit of research.)
Wygate was, again, writing at his desk. Without looking up, he said, "That would have been more impressive had it come yesterday."
"Mr. Webster might have put off publishing to suit you—indeed, who wouldn’t try to suit you?—but could standardized spelling have withstood the delay?"