Downward progression

 When we got married I declared that we would never have an inside dog. Then we got an inside dog, and I declared that the dog would never sleep with us. Then he started sleeping on our bed. Now our granddog sometimes stays with us and sleeps UNDER the covers. So much for household discipline (sigh).

Parrot trouble

 "My parrot," said Lady Lakenheath, including me in the conversation, "had a most peculiar attack last night. I cannot account for it. His health has always been so particularly good. I was dressing for dinner at the time, and so was not present at the outset of the seizure, but my niece, who was an eye-witness of what occurred, tells me he behaved in a most unusual way. Quite suddenly, it appears, he started to sing very excitedly; then, after a while, he stopped in the middle of a bar and appeared to be suffering. My niece, who is a most warm-hearted girl, was naturally exceedingly alarmed. She ran to fetch me, and when I came down poor Leonard was leaning against the side of his cage in an attitude of complete exhaustion, and all he would say was, "Have a nut!" He repeated this several times in a low voice, and then closed his eyes and tumbled of his perch. I was up half the night with him, but now he seems mercifully to have turned the corner. This afternoon he is almost his old bright self again, and has been talking in Swahili, always a sign that he is feeling cheerful."

(from "Ukridge Rounds a Nasty Corner," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Count to ten

 Julia Ukridge was a civilized woman, and this handicapped her in the contest. For people may say what they like about the artificialities of modern civilization and hold its hypocrisies up to scorn, but there is no denying that it has one outstanding merit. Whatever its defects, civilization prevents a gently-bred lady of high standing in the literary world from calling a man a liar and punching him on the nose, however convinced she may be that he deserves it. Miss Ukridge's hands twitched, her lips tightened, and her eyes gleamed bluely - but she restrained herself.

(from "Ukridge Rounds a Nasty Corner," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Never sleep with a parrot

 For a man like myself, who finds at least eight hours of sleep essential if that schooogirl complexion is to be preserved, it was unfortunate that Leonard the parrot should have proved to be a bird of high-strung temperament, easily upset. The experiences which he had undergone since leaving home had, I was to discover, jarred his nervous system. He was reasonably tranquil during the hours preceding bedtime, and had started his beauty-sleep before I myself turned in; but at two in the morning something in th nature of a nightmare must have attacked him, for I was wrenched from slumber by the sounds of a hoarse soliloquy in what I took to be some native dialect. This lasted without a break till two-fifteen, when he made a noise like a steam-riveter for some moments; after which, apparently soothed, he fell asleep again. I dropped off at about three, and at three-thirty was awakened by the strains of a deep-sea chanty. From then on our periods of sleep never seemed to coincide.

(from "Ukridge Rounds a Nasty Corner," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Best she could get for the money

The widow of the Administrator was tall, angular, and thin, with a sun-tanned face of a cast so determined as to make it seem a tenable theory that in the years previous to 1906 she had done at least her share of the administrating. Her whole appearance was that of a wman designed by Nature to instil law and order into the bosoms of boistrous cannibal kings. She surveyed me with an appraising glance, and then, as if reconciled to the fact that, poor specimen though I might be, I was probably as good as anything else that could be got for the money, received me into the fold by pressing the bell and ordering tea.

(from "Ukridge Rounds a Nasty Corner," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

A knockout with emphasis

 The air was full of that electrical thrill that precedes the knock-out. And the next moment it came. But it was not Lloyd Thomas who delivered it. From some mysterious reservoir of vitality Wilberforce Billson, the pride of Bermundsey, who an instant before had been reeling under his antagonist's blows like a stricken hulk before a hurricane, produced that one last punch that wins battles. Up it came, whizzing straight to its mark, a stupendous, miraculous uppercut which lurched forward to complete his task. It was the last word. Anything milder Llunindnno's favourite son might have borne with fortitude, for his was a teak-like frame impervious to most things short of dynamite; but this was final. It left no avenue for argument or evasion. Lloyd Thomas spun round once in a complete circle, droped his hands, and sank slowly to the ground.

(from "The Exit of Battling Billson, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

But only for a friend

 There was no vacillation or uncertainty now about Wilberforce Billson. He plainly considered that he had done all that could reasonably be expected of any pacifist. A man has only two cheeks. He flunt up a mast-like arm, to block a third blow, countered with an accuracy and spirit which sent his aggressor reeling to the ropes; and then, swiftly removing his coat, went into action with the unregenerate zeal that had made him the petted hero of a hundred waterfronts. And I, tenderly scooping Ukridge up as he dropped from the ring, hurried him away along the corridor to his dressing room. I would have given much to remain and witness a mix-up which, if the police did not interfere, promised to be the battle of the ages, but the claims of friendship are paramount.

(from "The Exit of Battling Billson, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Blue-blooded mush mouth

The principle on which chairmen at these meetings are selected is perhaps too familiar to require recording here at length, but in case some of my readers are not acquainted with the workings of political machines, I may say that no one under the wage of eighty-five is eligible and the preference is given to those with adenoids. For Boko Lawlor the authorities had extended themselves and picked a champion of his class. In addition to adenoids, the Right Hon. the Marquess of Cricklewood had - or seemed to have - a potato of the maximum size and hotness in his mouth, and he had learned his elocution in one of those correspondence schools which teach it by mail. [I am reminded of Eric Blore's performance in the Bob Hope movie Fancy Pants.]

(from "The Long Arm of Looney Coote," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Biscuit Row's firm opinion

 The whole question of canvassing is one which I would like some time to go into at length. I consider it to be an altogether abominable practice. An Englishman's home is his castle, and it seems to me intolerable that, just as you have got into shirt-sleeves and settled down to a soothing pipe, total strangers should be permitted to force their way in and bother you with their nauseous flattery and their impertinent curiosity as to which way you mean to vote. And, while I prefer not to speak at length of my experiences in Biscuit Row, I must say this much, that practially every resident of that dingy quarter appeared to see eye to eye with me in this matter. I have never encountered a body of men who were consistently less chummy. They looked at me with lowering brows, they answered my limping civilities with gruff monosyllables, they snatched their babies away from me and hid them, yelling, in distant parts of the house. Altogether a most discouraging experience, I should have said, and one which seemed to indicate that, as far as Biscuit Row was concerned, Boko Lawlor would score a blank at the poll.

(from "The Long Arm of Looney Coote," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Painful to observe

 I could not but feel that the electors of Redbridge were in an uncommonly awkward position, having to choose between Boko, as exhibited in the street we had just passed, and this horror before me now. Mr. Herbert Huxtable, the opposition candidate, seemed to run as generously to ears as his adversary did to nose, and the artist had not overlooked this feature. Indeed, except for a mean, narrow face with close-set eyes and a murderer's mouth, Mr. Huxtable appeared to be all ears. They drooped and flapped about him like carpet-bags, and I averted my gaze, appalled.

(from "The Long Arm of Looney Coote," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Last chance

 Whether I was technically correct in describing as guiding the ship of state a man who would probably spend his entire Parliamentary career in total silence, voting meekly as the Whip directed, I had not stopped to inquire. All I knew was that it sounded well, and I wanted to hear it. In addition to which, there was the opportunity, never likely to occur again, of seeing Ukridge make an ass of himself before a large audience.

(from "The Long Arm of Looney Coote," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Fool's child

 My mother-in-law was born on April 1st, which led to a lot of jokes about her among family and friends. And to a certain extent, she played her role. She actually was a very sweet lady who fed me very well, and I appreciated it greatly.

Minor detail

     "You seem to have taken on the job of acting as a sort of unofficial keeper to the man," said George. "You'll have to help him now."

    "Well, I'll go and see him."

    "The whole thing is too absurd," said George Tupper. "How can Ukridge get married to anyone! He hasn't a bob in the world."

    "I'll point that out to him. He's probably overlooked it."

(from "No Wedding Bells for Him," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Not as bad as her!

      "Do you know what has happened? That poor ass had gone and got himself engaged to be married to a girl at Clapham!'

      "What?"

    "Engaged! Girl at Clapham. Clapham Common," added George Tupper, as if in his opinion that made the matter even worse.

    "You're joking!'

    "I'm not joking," said George peevishly. "Do I look as if I were joking? I met him in Battersea Park with her, and he introduced me. She reminded me," said George Tupper, shivering slightly, for that fearful evening had seared his soul deeply, "of that ghastly female in pink he brought with him the night I gave you two dinner at the Regent Grill - the one who talked at the top of her voice all the time about her aunt's stomach trouble."

    Here I think he did Miss Price an injustice. She had struck me during our brief acquaintance as something of a blister, but I had never quite classed her with Battling Billson's Flossie. 

(from "No Wedding Bells for Him," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Keep him locked up!

 Her cheerful smile as she went out struck me as one of the most pathetic sights I had ever seen. Poor child, bustling off so brightly when her whole future rested on Ukridge's ability to raise a hundred pounds! I presumed that he was relying on one of those Utopian schemes of his which were to bring him in thousands - "at a conservative estimate, laddie!" - and not for the first time in a friendship of years the reflection came to me that Ukridge ought to be in some sort of home. A capital fellow in many respects, but not a man lightly to be allowed at large.

(from "The Return of Battling Billson," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Don't pop her bubble

 She was a nice girl, the only noticeable flaw in her character being an absurd respect for Ukridge's intelligence and abilities. I, who had known that foe of the human race since boyhood up and was still writhing beneath the memory of the night when he had sneaked my dress clothes, could have corrected her estimate of him, but it seemed unkind to shatter her girlish dreams.

(from "Ukridge Sees Her Through," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Cauliflower brain

 Like all writers, I had a sturdy distaste for solid work, and this seemed to offer a pleasant way out, turning literary composition into a jolly tete-a-tete chat. It was only when those gleaming eyes looked eagerly into mine and that twitching pencil poised itself to record the lightest of my golden thoughts that I discovered what I was up against. For fifteen minutes I had been experiencing all the complex emotions of a nervous man who, suddenly called upon to make a public speech, realizes too late that his brain has been withdrawn and replaced by a cheap cauliflower substitute: and I was through.

(from "Ukridge Sees Her Through," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Not much chance

 "Alf Todd [a boxer]," said Ukridge, soaring to an impressive burst of imagery, "has about as much chance as a one-armed blind man in a dark room trying to shove a needle of melted butter into a wildcat's left ear with a red-hot needle."

(from "The Return of Battling Billson," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Not Cecil!

     "A lot there is the matter with your ankle."

    "Sprained it yesterday, old man. Nothing serious," said Ukridge, reassuringly. Just enough to lay me up for a couple of days."

    "Yes, till that ghastly female and her blighted boy had got well away."

    Pained astonishment was written all over Ukridge's face. "You don't mean to say you didn't like her? Why, I thought you two would be all over each other."

    "And I suppose you thought that Cecil and I would be twin souls."

    "Cecil?" said Ukridge, doubtfully. "Well, to tell you the truth, old man, I'm not saying that Cecil doesn't take a bit of knowing. He's the sort of boy you have to be patient with and bring out, if you understand what I mean. I think he grows on you."

    "If he ever tries to grow on me, I'll have him amputated."

(from "The Return of Battling Billson," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

I forgot to mention him

 I perceived a small, shiny boy by the window. Ukridge, realizing with the true artist's instinct that the secret of all successful prose is the knowledge of what to omit, had not mentioned him in his letter; and, as he turned reluctantly to go through the necessary civilities, it seemed to me that the burden was more than I could bear. He was a rat-faced, sinister-loking boy, and he gazed at me with a frigid distaste which reminded me of the barman at the Prince of Wales public house in Ratcliff Highway.

(from "The Return of Battling Billson," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

A fine fellow

 The farther I penetrated over the polished floor, the more vividly was it brought home to me that I was one of the submerged tenth and could have done with a haircut. I had not been aware when I left home that my hair was unusually long, but now I seemed to be festooned by a matted and offensive growth. A patch on my left shoe which had had a rather comfortable look in Ebury Street stood out like a blot on the landscape. No, I was not at my ease; and when I reflected that in a few moments I was to meet Ukridge's aunt, that legendary figure, face to face, a sort of wistful admiration filled me of the beauty of the nature of one who would go through all this to help a girl he had never even met. There was no doubt about it - the facts spoke for themselves - I was one of the finest fellows I had ever known. Nevertheless, there was no getting away from it, my trousers did bag at the knee.

(from "First Aid For Dora," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Not here, not now

 As she preceded us down the long dining room, her arm linked in George Tupper's - she seemed to have taken a liking to George - I had ample opportunity for studying her, from her patent-leather shoes to the mass of golden hair beneath her picture-hat. She had a loud, clear voice, and she was telling George Tupper the rather intimate details of an internal complaint which had recently troubled an aunt of hers. If George had been the family physician, she could not have been franker; and I could see a dull glow spreading over his shapely ears.

(from "The Debut of Battling Billson, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

The strangeness in the proportion

 "There is no excellent beauty that hath not some strangeness in the proportion." 

Several decades ago, when I first saw that quote from Sir Francis Bacon in a pictoral collection in Readers Digest, it quickly became one of my favorites. By way of explanation, a face can be so perfect that it becomes almost uninteresting, whereas those with some slight defect by contrast become fascinating, or even hypnotic, and thus an "excellent" beauty.

An example might be the picture that I use for the character of Elliane McDermott in my Sir Cuthbert stories. In the first of the stories, Cuthbert Solves a Case, a friend asks Percy to tell her what it is that he doesn't like about her face, and he lists several supposed defects. She teases him that for someone who doesn't like her face he evidently has spent a good bit of time studying it. And defects they may justly have been, but he ends up marrying her anyway.

He needs inspiration

     "What guarantee have I," demanded Ukridge, "that if I go to enormous trouble and expense getting him another match, he won't turn aside and brush away a silent tear in the first round because he's heard that the blighter's wife has got an ingrowing toenail?"

    "You could match him only against bachelors."

    "Yes, and the first bachelor he met would draw him into a corner and tell him his aunt was down with whooping-cough, and the chump would heave a sigh and stick his chin out to be walloped. A fellow's got no business to have red hair if he isn't going to live up to it. And yet," said Ukridge, wistfully, "I've seen that man - it was in a dance-hall at Naples - I've seen him take on at least eleven Italians simultaneously. But then, one of them stuck a knife about three inches into his leg. He seems to need something like that to give him ambition."

    "I don't see how you are going to arrange to have him knifed just before each fight."

(from "The Debut of Battling Billson," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Why worry about technicalities?

     "Gentlemen," said Ukridge, "It would seem that the company requires more capital. Hw about it, old horses? Let's get together in a frank, business-like cards-on-the-table spirit, and see what can be done. I can raise ten bob."

    "What!" cried the entire assembled company, amazed. "How?"

    "I'll pawn a banjo."

    "You haven't got a banjo."

    "No, but George Tupper has, and I know where he keeps it."

(from "Ukridge's Accident Syndicate," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Too confounded healthy

 All over the inhabited globe, so the well-informed sheet gave one to understand, every kind of accident was happening every day to practically everybody in existence except Teddy Weeks. Farmers in Minnesota were getting mixed up with reaping machines, peasants in India were being bisected by crocodiles; iron girders from skyscrapers were falling hourly on the heads of citizens in every town from Philadelphia to San Fransisco; and the only people who were not down with ptomaine poisoning were those who had walked over cliffs, driven motors into walls, tripped over manholes, or assumed on too slight evidence that the gun was not loaded. In a crippled world, it seemed, Teddy Weeks walked alone, whole and glowing with health. It was one of those grim, ironical, hopeless, grey, despairful situations which the Russian novelists love to write about.

(from "Ukridge's Accident Syndicate," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Not the brightest bulb

 If the leading incidents of S. F. Ukridge's disreputable career are to be given to the public - and not, as some might suggest, decently hushed up - I suppose I am the man to write them. Ukridge and I have been intimate since the days of school. Together we sported on the green, and when he was expelled no one missed him more than I. An unfortunate business, this expulsion. Ukridge's generous spirit, ever ill-attuned to school rules, caused him eventually to break the solemnest of them all by sneaking out at night to try his skill at the coco-nut-shies of the local village fair; and his foresight in putting on scarlet whiskers and a false nose for the expedition was completely neutralized by the fact that he absent-mindedly wore his school cap throughout the entire proceedings. He left the next morning, regretted by all.

(from "Ukridge's Dog College," by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Admiral of the Navy

 You may not ever have heard of it, but there was once a rank of Admiral of the Navy, which was given to Admiral George Dewey after his victory at the Battle of Manila Bay in 1898. However, there was never a insignia created that had more stars than the standard one for Admiral. By 1955, the Navy had established that the rank was honorary, and when the rank of Fleet Admiral was created (with five stars), it was specified in a memo that "the rank of Fleet Admiral of the United States Navy shall be considered the senior most rank of the United States Navy."

Don't drop it!

 Some of us would go to the compound dump and root out old dry hard bread. If you scraped off the dirt etc. you could re-wet it, then squeeze out the excess water and eat it. I would scavenge the old discarded prune seeds, crack them open and eat the kernels. Bitter, but food. That potato bread was something else. As long as it wasn't sliced, it wasn't bad, but slice it or cut it and you had better eat it, because it would quickly get as hard as a brick. And whatever you do, don't drop a loaf on your foot.

(from Behind the Wire, by Philip Kaplan and Jack Currie)

Blurred line of distinction

     Miriam spoke suddenly. "Pete Shoyer has killed men for a few hundred dollars of reward money. Wouldn't such a man kill for what gold was on one of those mules?"

    Swante Taggart drew a long breath. It was this he had been considering. There were men he knew who would not kill except in the name of the law - but there were others who would. The distinction between the peace officers of the time and the outlaw was either sharply drawn or it was scarcely drawn at all.

(from Taggart, by Louis L'Amour)

There is always that one heretic

 Outside the door Taggart paused to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. It was true that Apaches rarely attacked by night, or they believed the soul of a warrior killed in darkness must wander forever, lost in the vast emptiness of a night without stars. But Swante Taggart was not inclined to be killed by the one Apache who might be willing to take a chance.

(from Taggart, by Louis L'Amour)

Hell afloat

 Prison ships, often called "death ships" for their deplorable conditions, were routinely used by the British during the war, and the Jersey had a reputation for being the worse, earning the nickname "Hell." Disease and vermin ran rampant among the starving prisoners. The bodies of inmates who died might not be recovered for a week or more, left to rot in the cramped, airless hulls in which the unfortunate passengers were forced to spend twenty-four hours a day. By the end of the war, approximately eight thousand people were estimated to have died aboard prison ships in New York alone.

(from George Washington's Secret Six, by Brian Kilmeade)

Vega

 Our next-door neighbor has a female Staffordshire Terrier named Vega. I get to take walks with her frequently. According to Wikipedia, "The Stafford is considered a family pet and companion dog, and is among the breeds recommended by the KC for families. Relative to the breed's ancestral progenitors, the AKC states: 'From his brawling past, the muscular but agile Staffordshire Bull Terrier retains the traits of courage and tenacity. Happily, good breeding transformed this former gladiator into a mild, playful companion with a special feel for kids.'"

Watchman, a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, is a military mascot of the now-disbanded Staffordshire Regiment, and continues his duties as part of the Staffordshire Regimental Association. There have been five Watchman since 1949, and the current mascot is LCpl Watchman VI, who took up his duties on 5 March 2019.

Always the silence

     The sky was faintly gray when Miriam Stark climbed the thread of a trail to the top of Rockinstraw Mountain, a single rose-tinted cloud above the horizon giving only a suggestion of the glory to come with sunrise. Yet there was enough light to see the web of faint trails, each leading to some vantage point from which the country could be observed.

    She loved this place, for even on the hottest day there was a faint stirring of wind, and always there was silence, an unbelievable silence that left the mind free to wander without interruption.

(from Taggart, by Louis L'Amour)

When everything goes wrong

 The jig was up. [Benedict] Arnold's worst fears had all been realized: The Americans were aware (or soon would be) of the depth of his treachery, but the British had yet to do anything to capture the fort and, without the plans, likely never would be able to do so. Thus, he was a traitor to one group, but hardly the hero he had anticipated becoming to the other. Now he would be nothing more than a failed turncoat - if he was even able to escape with his life, that is.

(from George Washington's Secret Six, by Brian Kilmeade)

Saltbox style

 In his book, George Washington's Secret Six, author Brian Kilmeade mentions a house constructed in "the saltbox style." According to Wikipedia, that is "a gable-roofed residential structure that is typically two stories in the front and one in the rear. It is a traditional New England style of home, originally timber framed, which takes its name from its resemblance to a wooden lidded box in which salt was once kept."

The Stinking City

What destruction and politics didn't drive out, filth did. Nicholas Cresswell, an Englishman visiting New York, recorded his disgust with the state of the city following the winter thaw in the spring of 1777. He complained about the sheer number of people crowded into the city's confines, "almost like herrings in a barrel, most of them very dirty and not a small number sick of some disease, the Itch, Pox, Fever, or Flux." He further opined, "If any author had an inclination to write a treatise upon stinks and ill smells, he never could meet with more subject matter than in New York."

(from George Washington's Secret Six, by Brian Kilmeade)

The family rebel

 He had never consiered himself cut from the same fabric as the rest of the prominent landowners, and had gone to some pains to distinguish himself from their upright and uptight behavior. Abraham Woodhull was proud of being the black sheep of his straitlaced family, and he assumed the burden of familial duty with reluctance; it smacked of Old World thinking. If he was to reject King George's authority on the basis that the monarch had simply been born into his position, why could he not also reject his own family's expectations for him to pick up the mantle of Woodhull respectability simply because he was the sole surviving son-of-a-son-of-a-son-of-a-son?

(from George Washington's Secret Six, by Brian Kilmeade)

Washington's dilemma

 "You can form no idea of the perplexity of my situation. No man, I believe, ever had a greater choice of difficulties and less means to extricate himself from them."

(General George Washington, writing to his brother Samuel in 1776)

But no fear

 He was mad now - I could see that plain as anything. I could also see that he thought well of himself and liked folks to fear him. Kill me he might before this was over, but make me fear him he couldn't. He was just another man with a gun, and I'd seen a-plenty of them.

(from Galloway, by Louis L'Amour)

Wrong Tennyson

 We sat there, sipping coffee and eating those cakes and talking. She started in about the weather just like we hadn't had those other words at all. I asked her about her Pa, and she asked me about Parmalee and Logan, and then somehow she got started telling me about a poem she'd been reading called the Idylls of the King, by somebody named Tennyson. I knew a puncher back in the Cherokee nation by that name but it couldn't be the same one. The last time I saw him I don't think he could even read a book, let alone write one.

(from Galloway, by Louis L'Amour)

Just take a nap

 Galloway was no doubt eating his belly full in some fine resturant or house, filling up on beef and frijoles whilst I starved in the woods. It is rare enough that I feel sorry for myself but that night I did, but what is the old saying the Irish have? "The beginning of a ship is a board; of a kiln, a stone; and the beginning of health is sleep."

(from Galloway, by Louis L'Amour)

The real deal

 I had Shore pegged now. He was a good steady man, a fighter by trade, with no pretense to being a real gunman. He was no fast-draw artist, but his kind could kill a lot who thought they were.

(from The Sky-Liners, by Louis L'Amour)

A woman will do that to you

     Judith, she slept - slept like a baby. But she worried me some, looking at her. She didn't look much like a little girl any more, and looking at a girl thataway can confuse a man's thinking.

    My fingers touched my jaw. It had been some time since I'd shaved, and I'd best be about it before we got to riding westward again.

(from The Sky-Liners, by Louis L'Amour)

Stuff to leave alone

 "I found some Jimson weed and cut a few leaves to put in my moccasins. I'd used it for saddle sores and knew it eased the pain and seemed to help them heal, but it was dangerus stuff to fool around with and many Indians won't touch it." (from Galloway, by Louis L'Amour. Image from Franz Eugen Köhler, Köhler's Medizinal-Pflanzen)

"It has also been used as a hallucinogen (of the anticholinergic/antimuscarinic, deliriant type), taken entheogenically to cause intense, sacred or occult visions. It is unlikely ever to become a major drug of abuse owing to effects upon both mind and body frequently perceived as being highly unpleasant, giving rise to a state of profound and long-lasting disorientation or delirium (anticholinergic syndrome) with a potentially fatal outcome." (from Wikipedia)

One nervy man

    Galloway whipped the dust from his clothes with his hat, then started for the door. A glance at a powerful black horse stopped him. He looked at the brand and whistled softly.

    Originally the brand must have been a Clover Three, but now it was a Flower. A reverse 3 had been faced to each of the other 3's, then another set had been added, a stem and tendrils to join the petals to the stem. The job was beautifully done, obviously by a rewrite man who knew his business and enjoyed it.

    "That's a man I've got to see," Galloway muttered. "He'd wear a Sherman button to a Georgia picnic!"

(from Galloway, by Louis L'Amour)

Worried? Who, me?

 Galloway was sitting easy. Nobody ever did fluster that boy. He was a soft-talking man, but he was tough, and so rough he wore out his clothes from the inside first. There were Fetchens ready to fire, but Galloway wasn't worried so's a body could see, and I was half a mind to leave it all to him. It would serve them right.

(from The Sky-Liners, by Louis L'Amour)

He wore a derby

 Bat Masterson was sheriff of Ford County, and we went next to see him. He was a right handsome young man about twenty-four or -five years old, wearing a dark suit and black derby hat. You had to be quite a man to wear a hard hat in those days; it was such a temptation for some half-drunk cowpoke to try to shoot it off your head. Bat's didn't carry any bullet marks that I could see.

(from The Sky-Liners, by Louis L'Amour)

Fighters they were

     Not that we minded a fight. We Sacketts never had much time for anything else. If we weren't fighting for our country we were fighting men who still believed in rule by the gun, and no Sackett I ever heard of had ever drawn on a man except in self-defense, or in defense of his cpuntry or his honor.

    Right then I was glad Galloway stood beside me. Nobody ever needed an army when they had Galloway, and maybe one other Sackett - it didn't make much difference which one.

(from The Sky-Liners, by Louis L'Amour)

Survivors

 No, this [Revolutionary] War would be different from any other that had come before it. Of that Washington felt sure. It would not be a fight to the death, nor could it be simply a clash of armies. If the Americans wanted to emerge victorious from this conflict, they would not try to overpower their enemy; they would simply refise to back down or go away. They didn't need to be conquering heroes - they just needed to survive.

(from George Washington's Secret Six, by Brian Kilmeade)

A new bunch of enemies

     So James Black Fetchen rode out of town with all that rowdy gang of his, and we stood with our rifles and watched them go.

    "Looks like we made us some enemies, Flagan," Galloway said.

    "Sufficient to the day is the evil thereof," I commented, liking the mood, "Just don't you mind. We've had enemies before this."

(from The Sky-Liners, by Louis L'Amour)

People of the night

 Lying on the veranda at the corner of the house, Flint thought how quickly a man takes on the qualities of darkness! Men who live by night, the soldier, the thief, the traveler by night, the vagabond - theirs is a different way of thinking, and they do not fear the dark now what may come upon them by night because they themelves are of the night, a part of it.

(from Flint, by Louis L'Amour)

Never start running

He had come to New Mexico wanting no trouble. He had wanted no trouble at Horse Springs, and wanted none on North Plain, but long ago he had discovered that one has to make a stand. If a man starts to run, there is nothing to do but keep running. And if a man must die, he could at least die proud of his manhood. It was better to live one day as a lion, than a dozen years as a sheep.

(from Flint, by Louis L'Amour)

You have to pay the price

     "He's waiting on me," Flint said roughly. "You take your turn."

    "The young man turned like a cat. "Why, you - !"

    The sentence was never completed. Jim Flint, far from the marts of capital and bonds, struck viciously. The young man had started to move in, and the punch caught him flush on his completely unprotected chin. He hit the floor on his face, as if struck with a mallet.

    Jim Flint looked across the fallen man at the three who were with him. "He was hunting trouble. He found it. There's more if you want to buy."

    The other youngster started to speak, but the older, neatly dressed man interrupted. "You're quick," he said, "and you hit hard. How are you with a gun?"

    Flint looked across the room and said coolly, "As you see, I am wearing one. If you wish to know how good I am with it, you will have to pay to learn."

(from Flint, by Louis L'Amour)

Not a good way to die

 A sharp pain struck him suddenly and he stopped abruptly, bending far over and retching violently. He dropped to his knees, caught by a sudden weakness, and remained there, frightened at the agony. He had never known physical pain - although often hunger - and anything that robbed him of strength left him shaken, for his strength was all he had. Now, here at the end, he needed it desperately.

(from Flint, by Louis L'Amour)

An unreasonable hope?

 It was clear that there was a sense of growing excitement that this wild, untested experiment in personal freedom and individual rights just might prove more powerful than the most disciplined and well-equipped fighting force on earth.

(from George Washington's Secret Six, by Brian Kilmeade)

Too honest

     "Too simple," Pam North said. "The too-perfect murder."

    "As you said," Bill agreed. "But you see - you don't have to be right, Pam. I do, in the end. That's the catch. I can't just say 'too perfect' and close my eyes." He nodded, slowly. "Nine to one," he said, "It was Peggy Mott. Only - "

    "Only the one," Pam said. "Your trouble is, you're honest." She looked at Dorian. "Isn't he?" Dorian said, lightly, "An inconvenience, sometimes."

(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)

Sometimes the obvious is just wrong

 Bill wondered if he were creating difficulties where there were none: if a tired mind were inventing phantoms. Nine times out of ten, perhaps ninety-nine out of a hundred, the obvious was the true. O'Malley had had a long and reasonably successful career merely by playing on those odds. You could not very well miss, granted you were bright enough to see the obvious. Justice might miscarry here and there, but justice would in any case. Not for the first time, Bill Weigand wished he could adjust his behavior to this evident logic. But it was no good.

(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)

When an easy answer is already there

 A problem had been presented and, almost simultaneously, a solution which appeared to be in all respects neat and adequate. Under such circumstances it was desirable, as always, to keep an open mind, but it was very difficult. The digging you would do, the police machine would do, was still done, but almost unavoidably in perfunctory fashion. The machine had its answer, the machine's heart was not in further research. The machine was, after all, humanly susceptible.

(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)

Stick with professional criminals

 "Amateurs are hard to catch, Loot," Mullins said. "A couple of pros, now, you'd know where to look. Amateurs'll go anywhere." He was mildly resentful. "With pros you know where you are," Mullins said.

(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)

Some people just look that way

     "Can you prove you didn't?"

    "I can say I didn't," Peggy said. She looked for a long moment at Pam Noth. "Is it any good?"

    What remarkable eyes she has, Pam thought.  They must be inches long.

    "Yes," Pam said. She was surprised, momentarily, at hearing herself speak the word. "You know why?" she then said, and now she included all of them. "Because nobody could be as guilty as she looks."

(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)

You have to sleep sometime

     Bill Weigand lifted his head and looked at the wall opposite, and did not see it, and the fingers of his right hand tapped on his desk. Wrapped up, finished off. Was it, after all? He got Mullins in, told him to sit on it.

    "O.K., Loot," Mullins said. He looked at Weigand and nodded. "Shuteye," he said. "That's what you need, all right. No use killing yourself, Loot."

    But Weigand shook his head.

    "There's a guy I want to talk to," he said. "A guy named Leonard. Remember Leonard?"

    Mullins looked momentarily puzzled. Then he nodded, and said, "O.K."

    "Just the same," he said, reasonably, "you gotta sleep sometime, Loot. You know that."

    Bill Weigand said, "Right," but there was no conviction in the word."

(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)

Difficulties at breakfast

     Jerry heard the oven door open; heard Pam North say "Oh!" Then she came to the kitchen door, shaking her head.

    "I don't know," she said. "Maybe we can eat a little of the insides. Of course, I could make pancakes, I suppose. Only with Mr. Foster coming so soon - ?" She ended, her voice enquiring. They ate the insides of the biscuits, and bacon and boiled eggs. The cats, shouldering one another only slightly, finished the egg remaining in the cups. Pam watched them, considering.

    "After all," she said, "I guess they're as sanitary as we are, really. Unless you don't like cats."

(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)

Get it right, Loot!

 "Lies," [Lieutenant] Weigand said. "More lies. Prove it. Who were you with? Who can - " He saw her face. "You see," he said, "it's no go. You see that."

(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)

No, Lieutenant. She doesn't have to prove anything. YOU are the one who has to prove that she is guilty. You are just hoping that she will give in and confess and do your work for you.

When you are afraid

 She had eaten nothing, or almost nothing. He had watched her not eating, watched her pushing food around her plate, sometimes trying to eat. Her mouth would be dry inside; she would be chewing food and it would be turning to dry flavorlessness, to something you would choke on if you swallowed. It could be that way when you were afraid, and there was nothing much you could do about it. There was always some time when you were afraid, and this was her time. You couldn't swallow the first time, if that was the way it hit you.

(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)

Never listens

 Cecily Breakwell, the advance guard of the hat-check girls, was sitting down. She stood up and said, "Good morning, sir," as she had at about this hour each day for the past two weeks. Andre looked at her and said, "Good morning, my dear," as he had each day except the first, when he had said, "What is your name, my dear?" and had not, so far as she could tell, listened at all to her reply.

(from Murder Is Served, by Richard and Frances Lockridge)