“Mr Wisdom,' said the girl who had led him into the presence.'Ah,' said Howard Saxby, and there was a pause of perhaps three minutes, during which his needles clicked busily. 'Wisdom, did she say?''Yes. I wrote "Cocktail Time"''You couldn't have done better,' said Mr Saxby cordially. 'How's your wife, Mr Wisdom?'Cosmo said he had no wife.'Surely?'"I'm a bachelor.'Then Wordsworth was wrong. He said you were married to immortal verse. Excuse me a moment,' murmured Mr Saxby, applying himself to the sock again. 'I'm just turning the heel. Do you knit?''No.''Sleep does. It knits the ravelled sleave of care.'(After a period of engrossed knitting, Cosmo coughs loudly to draw attention to his presence.)'Goodness, you made me jump!' he (Saxby) said. 'Who are you?''My name, as I have already told you, is Wisdom''How did you get in?' asked Mr Saxby with a show of interest.'I was shown in.''And stayed in. I see, Tennyson was right. Knowledge comes, but Wisdom lingers. Take a chair.''I have.''Take another,' said Mr Saxby hospitably.”

“But, Ed! Say! Are you going to let him get away with it?""Am I going to let him get away with it!" said Mr. Cootes, annoyed by the foolish question. "Wake me up in the night and ask me!" "But what are you going to do?""Do!" said Mr. Cootes. "Do! I'll tell you what I'm going to..." He paused, and the stern resolve that shone in his face seemed to flicker. "Say, what the hell am I going do?" he went on somewhat weakly.”

“Wait a minute while I think," said Miss Peavey. There was a pause. Miss Peavey sat with knit brows."How would it be..." ventured Mr. Cootes."Cheese it!" said Miss Peavey.Mr. Cootes cheesed it.”

“Mr Beach was too well bred to be inquisitive, but his eyebrows here not.'Ah!' he said.'?', cried the eyebrows. '? ? ?'Ashe ignored the eyebrows....Mr Beach's eyebrows were still mutely urging him to reveal all, but Ashe directed his gaze at that portion of the room which Mr Beach did not fill. He was hanged if he was going to let himself be hypnotized by a pair of eyebrows into incriminating himself.”

“Mr. Carlisle became brisk. "Baby," he said, as Napoleon might have said to one of his Marshals when instructing him in his latest plan of campaign . . .”

“He was one of those supercilious striplings who give you the impression that you went to the wrong school and that your clothes don't fit."This is Oswald," said Bingo."What," I replied cordially, "could be sweeter? How are you?""Oh, all right," said the kid."Nice place, this.""Oh, all right," said the kid."Having a good time fishing?""Oh, all right," said the kid.Young Bingo led me off to commune apart."Doesn't jolly old Oswald's incessant flow of prattle make your head ache sometimes?" I asked.Bingo sighed.”

“Mr. Bradford," she said. "I'm not going to propose to you."The twinkle in Mr. Bradford's eyes faded. So did his smile. He managed to keep it on his face. It looked painful."Oh," he said."Mr. Bradford?""Yes?""Would you mind it so very much if...you know...you proposed to me?"The light in Mr. Bradford's eyes jumped to life. He beamed so largely it almost wasn't crooked."If you want.”