"Don't wobble, confound you!" snorted Mr. Wheeler.
"Yes, but, my dear old artist," said Archie, "what you don't seem to grasp - what you appear not to realize - is that I'm getting a crick in the back."
"You weakling! You miserable, invertebrate worm. Move an inch and I'll murder you, and come and dance on your grave every Wednesday and Saturday. I'm just getting it."
"It's in the spine that it seems to catch me principally."
"Be a man, you faint-hearted string-bean!" urged J. B. Wheeler. "You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Why, a girl who was posing for me last week stood for a solid hour on one leg, holding a tennis racket over her head and smiling brightly withal."
"The female of the species is more india-rubbery than the male," argued Archie.
(from Indiscretions of Archie, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)
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