Nothing wrong with being a teapot

    It was not so long ago, she reflected with pride, that she had induced Ruth to refuse to marry Basil Milbank - a considerable feat, he being a young man of remarkable personal attractions and a great match in every way. Mrs. Porter's objection to him was that his father had died believing to the last that he was a teapot.

    There is nothing evil or degrading in believing oneself a teapot, but it argues a certain inaccuracy of the thought processes, and Mrs. Porter had used all her influence with Ruth to make her reject Basil. It was her success that first showed her how great that influence was. She had come now to look on Ruth's destiny as something for which she was personally responsible - a fact which was noted and resented by others, in particular Ruth's brother Bailey, who regarded his aunt with a dislike and suspicion akin to that which a stray dog feels towards the boy who saunters towards him with a tin can in his hand.

(from The Coming of Bill, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

The truth is a rare thing

     "Been waiting long?"

    "Long enough to have eaten if I'd thought of it. As it was, all I got was the coffee."

    That made the second lie. She had not been here for some time, and she had not come right here from home. He tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Maybe the visit to the Upshaw Building was so much a habit that she did not consider it. Still, it was out of her way in coming here.

    He wanted to believe her. Maybe that's why cops get cynical - they are lied to so often.

(from "I Hate To Tell His Widow," by Louis L'Amour)

Thought he was too smart

 Pete Merrano was like all of his kind who live by fear and terror. When that failed, they're backed into a corner. He had been sure he would win. He had still been sure when things started going against him because he simply believed he was too smart. He had forgotten the old adage that cops can make many mistakes, a crook need only make one.

(from "Stay Out of My Nightmare," by Louis L'Amour)

A weird situation

     "Are you Mr. Ramsey?" He neither spoke nor blinked, and I stepped pat the old woman and stopped abruptly. I was staring into the eyes of a dead man.

    Turning, overcome with horror, I looked at the old woman who was puttering among some dirty dishes. "Don't mind him," she said. "Earl was never one for talking. Only when he takes the notion."

    My skin crawled. She turned her head and stared at me with expressionless eyes. Gray hair straggled about a face that looked old enough to have worn out two bodies, and her clothing was drab, misshapen, and soiled. She fumbled at her pocket, staring at me.

    It gave me the creeps. The hot, stuffy room and that aged and obviously imbecilic woman and her dead son.

    Stepping past the table, I saw the knife. It had been driven into the left side of his back, driven up from below as he sat at the table, and driven to the hilt. I touched the hand of Earl Ramsey. It was cold.

    The old woman as puttering among the dishes, unaware and unconcerned.

(from "Stay Out of My Nightmare," by Louis L'Amour)

A resolute lady

     "Who are you?" she repeated.

    "Let's say that I am an old army friend of Sam Bradley's."

    Her eyes hardened. "Oh? So you admit you're one of them?" Before I could reply, she said, "I'll just call the police."

    "It might be the best idea. But why don't you pout that gun down and let' talk this over. Sam left word he wanted to see me, and if you're a friend of his, we should compare notes. When he said he was in trouble, I hurried right over."

    "I'll bet you did! Now back against the wall. I am going to use the telephone, and if you have any doubts whatever I'll use this gun, just start something."

    I had no doubts.

(from "Stay Out of my Nightmare," by Louis L'Amour)

    

Quite a scrap

     He had been coming in, and I used his impetus. He went over flying and hit the table in front of me with a crash; the table collapsed like a sick accordion and with about the same sound. Being on my knees, I grabbed the legs of the nearest man with Milly and jerked hard. His head hit the table when he fell, and I was up fast to see Milly break away and the other man clawing at his hip.

    It was a bad move, leaving him as open as a Memphis crap game, and I threw my right down the groove with everything on it but my shoelaces. When a man grabs suddenly at his hip, his face automatically comes forward. His did, and brother, it was beautiful!

    His face came forward as if it had a date with my fist, and it was a date they kept. You could have heard the smack of that fist clear into the street, and his feet went from under him as if they'd been jerked from behind. He went down to all fours. Naturally, I didn't kick him. In police reports that might not look good, so when I sort of bent over him, my knee sort of banged into his temple. It was what might have been termed a fortuitous accident.

(from "With Death in his Corner," by Louis L'Amour)

She grew up!

     "If you can help me," I said, "it would mean a lot. Garzo was my pal."

    "Sure, I know. I'm Mildred Casey, remember? I lived down the block from Rock's old man. You two used to fix my bike."

    That made me look again. Blue eyes, the ghosts of freckles over the bridge of her nose, and shabby clothes. An effort to be lively with nothing much to be lively or happy about, but great courage. She still had that, with a fine sort of pride. There was hurt in her eyes where her heart showed, eyes that had kept looking at men wondering if this was the right one.

(from "With Death in His Corner," by Louis L'Amour)