But not fish!

 "I suppose you get ideas for your poetry from all sorts of things," said Lord Emsworth, nobly resisting the temptation to collar the conversation again. He was feeling extremely friendly towards this poet fellow. It was deuced civil of him not to be put out and huffy at being left alone in the smoking-room.

 "From practically everything," said Psmith, "except fish."

"Fish?"

"I have never written a poem about fish."

"No?" said Lord Emsworth, again feeling that a pin had worked loose in the machinery of the conversation.

"I was once offered a princely sum," went on Psmith, now floating happily along on the tide of his native exuberance, "to write a ballad for the Fishmonger's Gazette entitled 'Herbert the Turbot.' But I was firm. I declined."

"Indeed?" said Lord Emsworth.

"One has one's self-respect," said Psmith.

"Oh, decidedly," said Lord Emsworth.

"It was painful, of course. The editor broke down completely when he realized that my refusal was final. However, I sent him on with a letter of introduction to John Drinkwater, who, I believe, turned him out quite a good little effort on the theme."

(from Leave It To Psmith, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Oh, you meant a carnation!

 "I asked you to wear a pink chrysanthemum. So I could recognize you, you know."

"I am wearing a pink chrysanthemum. I should have imagined that that was a fact that the most casual could hardly have overlooked."

"That thing?" The other gazed disparagingly at the floral decoration. "I thought it was some kind of cabbage. I meant one of those little what-d'you-may-call-its that people do wear in their button-holes."

"Carnation, possibly?"

"Carnation! That's right."

Psmith removed the chrysanthemum and dropped it behind his chair. He looked at his companion reproachfully.

"If you had studied botany at school, comrade," he said, "much misery might have been averted. I cannot begin to tell you the spiritual agony I suffered, trailing through the metropolis behind that shrub."

(from Leave It To Psmith, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Anything but fish!

 "But my uncle and I are about to part company. From now on he, so to speak, will take the high road and I'll take the low road. I dine with him tonight, and over the nuts and wine, I shall hand him the bad news that I propose to resign my position in the firm. I have no doubt that he supposed he was doing me a grand turn by starting me in his fish business, but even what little experience I have had of it has convinced me that it is not my proper sphere. The whisper flies round the clubs, 'Psmith has not found his niche.'"

(from Enter Psmith, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Of butlers and pigs

 Beach was in his pantry. From time to time he sipped port, from time to time raised his eyes thankfully heavenwards. He, too, was thinking kindly of Gally. Mr. Galahad might ask a man to steal rather more pigs than was agreeable, but in the larger affairs of life, such as making cheques for five hundred pounds grow where none had been before, he was a rock to lean on.

(from Pigs Have Wings, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Move a pig? Who couldn't!

 "Yes," said Penny. "Isn't Parsloe's pig pretty big?"

"Enormous. It bestrides the narrow world like a Colossus."

"Then how are you going to remove it?"

"My dear child, pigs have rings through their noses. This facilitates pulling and hauling."

"You'll never be able to do it."

"What do you mean, "I'll never be able to do it? Of course I'll be able to do it. When Puffy Benger and I stole old Wivenhoe's pig the night of the Bachelor's Ball at Hammer's Easton, we had to get it up three flights of stairs before we could put it in Plug Basham's bedroom, and we found the task an absurdly easy one. A little child could have led it. Why, my nephew Ronald, from motives which I have not the leisure to go into now, once stole the Empress, and I resent the suggestion that I am incapable of performing a task within the scope of a young poop like Ronnie Fish. Never be able to do it, forsooth!" said Gally, burning with honest indignation. "I can do it on my head. I can do it blindfolded, with one arm tied behind me. So if you wish to be in on this, Penny Donaldson, get moving.  Come, Watson, come. The game is afoot!"

(from Pigs Have Wings, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

More in depth than we are

 During the last fifteen years of [William Jenning Bryan's] life, he again found a series of issues which proved susceptible to easy dichotomization: entry into war, prohibition, soman suffrage, the teaching of evolution as fact. So far as he was concerned, all these issues had but two sides. Most other politicians of the day shared that view. In a day when politicians think routinely of the thirty-second television commercial, it seems peculiar to criticize Bryan for oversimplifying issues, for his favorite campaign tactic was to present himself to as many people as possible, to speak to them for an hour or more, then to publish those speeches and distribute them as widely as possible.

(from A Righteous Cause, by Robert W. Czerny)

He left a big footprint

 [William Jennings] Bryan's compelling voice and engaging smile won a personal following in 1896, which he could call upon in future years in support of his principles. By that dramatic campaign, he became the symbol of the transformation taking place within his party, and hence, within politics more generally. By spending the next twenty-nine years traveling about the nation, speaking to grass-roots leaders of his party, lecturing to throngs of citizens, sending out his views through his newspaper, The Commoner, and boldly battling in convention after convention, he built upon the following he had created in 1896 to carve out an unusual role in American politics. He spent little time in office - only four years in the House of Representatives and twenty-seven months as secretary of state. Nonetheless, the Commoner left a greater impression on public policy than at least ten of the fifteen presidents who held office during his lifetime.

(from A Righteous Cause, by Robert W. Czerny)

Let them do their own stumbling

 [William Jennings Bryan] did not claim that the majority could do no wrong, only that "the people have a right to make their own mistakes."

(from A Righteous Cause, by Robert W. Cherny)

Whom does the government serve?

 "Shall the people control their own Government and use that Government for the protection of their rights and for the promotion of their welfare? Or shall the representatives of predatory wealth prey upon a defenseless public, while the offenders secure immunity from subservient officials whom they raise to power by unscrupulous methods?" (William Jennings Bryan)

I wish we had someone with the eloquence and boldness of Bryan today.

The foundation of tyranny

 "Once admit that some people are capable of self-government and that others are not and that the capable people have a right to seize upon and govern the incapable and you make force - brute force - the only foundation of government and invite the reign of a despot." (William Jennings Bryan)

Name them after me

More than seven hundred babies were named for [William Jennings] Bryan during the year [of his first presidential campaign], including three sets of triplets, each named "William," "Jennings," and "Bryan."

(from A Righteous Cause, by Robert W. Cherny)

Cross of Gold

 The [Cross of Gold] speech immediately transformed [William Jennings] Bryan from a presumptuous youngster in the rear ranks of the peripheral candidates into a top contender for the nomination. His performance became the standard example of the ability of an orator to sway a convention. In 1953, a poll of 277 professors of American history or government ranked the "Cross of Gold" speech among the fifty most significant documents in American history.

(from A Righteous Cause, by Robert W. Cherny)

Not about people

 "This is not a contest between persons. The humblest citizen in all the land, when clad in the armor of righteous cause, is stronger than all the hosts of error." (William Jennings Bryan)

Fighting alone

 "I must continue to fight the battles of the people, for what I think is right and just, if I have to do so single-handed and alone. I care naught whether I am ever elected to an office or not." (William Jennings Bryan, 1894)

Too much starch

 A waiter brought roast beef, underdone, and she took a thin slice. Jerry took two slices, with potatoes, and Gloria in her austere way advised him to be very careful how he tucked into those things, because that had made Sir Gregory Parsloe the man he was . . . or, rather, she added, for she was a girl who liked exactness, the two men he was.

(from Pigs Have Wings, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Crudely but eloquently put

     "So here you are," said Sir Gregory, having completed his tale. "What do you make of it?"

    George Cyril Wellbeloved was a man who went in for a certain verbal polish in his conversation. "To speak expleasantly, sir," he said, "I think the old ___ meant to do the dirty on us."

    It would perhaps have been more fitting had Sir Gregory at this point said, "Come, come, my man, be more careful with your language," but the noun ___ expressed so exactly what he himself was thinking of the Hon. Galahad Threepwood that he could not bring himself to chide and rebuke. As a matter of fact, though ___ is admittedly strong stuff, he had gone even further than his companion, labelling Gally in his mind as a ***** and a !!!!!.

(from Pigs Have Wings, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

A forceful mode of expression

     "Bertie," said Aunt Dahlia, "I am only a weak woman, but if you won't tread on this insect and throw the remains outside, I shall have to see what I can do. The most tremendous issues hanging in the balance - out plan of action still to be decided on - every second of priceless importance - and he comes in here, telling us the story of his life. Spink-Bottle, you ghastly goggle-eyed piece of gorgonzola, will you hop it or will you not?"

    There is a compelling force about the old flesh-and-blood, when stirred, which generally gets her listened to. People have told me that in her hunting days she could make her wishes respected across two ploughed fields and a couple of spinneys. The word "not" had left her lips like a high-powered shell, and Gussie, taking it between the eyes, rose some six inches into the air.

(from The Code of the Woosters, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Entirely different matter

 "You aren't going to do a bolt?"

 "Of course, I'm going to do a bolt. Immediately. You heard what Spode said."

"You aren't afraid of Spode?"

"Yes, I am."

"But you were saying yourself that he's a mere mass of beef and brawn, obviously slow on his feet."

"I know. I remember. But that was when I thought he was after you. One's views change."

(from The Code of the Woosters, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Stinker Pinker

I had watched Harold Pinker through the formative years of his life, and I knew him for what he was - a large, lumbering, Newfoundland puppy of a chap - full of zeal, yes - always doing his best, true; but never quite able to make the grade; a man, in short, who is there was a chance of bungling an enterprise and landing himself in the soup, would snatch at it. At the idea of him being turned on to perform the extraordinarily delicate task of swiping Constable Oates's helmet, the blood froze. He hadn't a chance of getting away with it.

I thought of Stinker, the youth. Built rather on the lines of Roderick Spode, he had played Rugby football not only for his university but also for England, and at the art of hurling an opponent into a mud puddle and jumping on his neck with cleated boots had had few, if any, superiors. If I had wanted someone to help me out with a mad bull, he would have been my first choice. If by some mischance I had found myself trapped in the underground den of the Secret Nine, there was nobody I would rather have seen coming down the chimney than the Rev. Harold Pinker.

But mere thews and sinews do not qualify a man to pinch policemen's helmets. You need finesse.

(from The Code of the Woosters, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Revenge of the terrier

     The constable, I say, was riding without his hands; and but for this the disaster, when it occurred, might not have been so complete. I was a bit of a cyclist myself in my youth - I think I have mentioned that I once won a Choir Boys handicap at some village sports - and I can testify that when you are riding without your hands, privacy and a complete freedom from interruption are of the essence. The merest suggestion of an unexpected Scottie connecting with the ankle-bone at such a time, and you swoop into a sudden swerve. And, as everybody knows, if the hands are not firmly on the handle-bars, a sudden swerve spells a smeller.

    And so it happened now. A smeller - and among the finest I have ever been privileged to witness - was what this officer of the law came. One moment he was with us, all merry and bright; the next, he was in the ditch, a sort of macedoine of arms and legs and wheels, with the terrier standing on the edge, looking down at him with that rather offensive expression of virtuous smugness which I have often noticed on the faces of Aberdeen terriers in their clashes with humanity.

(from The Code of the Woosters, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Not his favorite person

 Even to an unobservant eye it would have been apparent that he was not one of Joe's admirers. In the look he gave him as he entered there was something of the open dislike which a resident of India exhibits when he comes to take his morning bath and finds a cobra in the bathtub.

(from Bachelors Anonymous, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

He's nutty, but not a bad sort, taken all in all

 Mr. Trout's voice was the voice of one who, putting his fate to the touch to win or lose it all, has found himself a winner. Its volume made that plain. No man, Joe felt, to whom the adored object had handed the pink cashier's slip could so nearly have fractured his eardrum, and forgetting his own troubles for the moment he rejoiced in the other's good fortune. Mr. Trout might be the sort of man whose morning post was never without its quota of attractive offers from lunatic asylums, but he wished him well.

(from Bachelors Anonymous, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

A downright pest

 "Are we not forgetting something?" he said.

Joe started violently. He had had no notion that Mr. Trout was among those present. He had supposed that on seeing Sally he would have realized that his company was not desired. But, as has been shown, it would have come as a surprise to Mr. Trout to learn that his company was ever not desired. He was as difficult to dislodge as a family specter.

(from Bachelors Anonymous, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

The tangled web of romance

     "So you think everything's all right?"

    "Everything is perfect. True, she is engaged to be married to somebody else, but she is extremely fond of you. It showed clearly in her manner."

    The effect of these words on Joe was somewhat similar to that which would have been produced by a blow on the bridge of the nose by a wet fish. His jaw fell. His eyes bulged. He tottered and might have fallen had he not clutched at the umbrella stand.

    "Engaged to someone else?" he quavered.

    "Yes. Owing, I gathered, to a regrettable misunderstanding. You asked her to lunch, and she was prevented by circumstances over which she had no control from putting in an appearance. When subsequently you asked her to dinner, and in your turn did not put in an appearance, she assumed that you had done it to punish her, and  being a girl of spirit she resented it. So when this man asked her to marry him, she accepted him by way of evening the score. The whole affair had in it something of the inevitability of Greek tragedy."

(from Bachelors Anonymous, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

A definite faux pas

 "I wish I could ask you to have dinner with me, but unfortunately I've come out without my money and they don't know me here, so I can't sign the bill."

"I don't want any dinner. You can see me home if you like. Not Laburnham Road. Fountain Court, Park Lane."

"Yes, somebody told me you had moved."

"I'm living there with another girl."

"So whoever it was who told me said. Was it her you were waiting for?"

"No, she's gone to a dinner. Something to do with her old school."

Jaklyn was relieved. He would have found a meeting with Daphne Dolby embarrassing. It is never agreeable for a man who is engaged to one girl and has just proposed to another to find himself in the company of both of them.

(from Bachelors Anonymous, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

+++

There is, of course, a grammatical error in this passage. It should have been, "Was it she you were waiting for?" It is interesting that a writer of Sir Pelham's eminence, who grew up hearing the King's English and whose publisher no doubt had a small army of proofreaders available would have made that mistake. UNLESS, of course, it was not a mistake and that he was of the (correct) opinion that the distinction in the case of the pronouns is a purely arbitrary one that serves no useful purpose.

This reminds me of Churchill's famous barb at needless grammatical conventions: “From now on, ending a sentence with a preposition is something up with which I will not put.”

Not quite ready

 And he disappeared through the door like a diving duck, while Joe proceeded to follow his instructions with something of the emotions of a young lion tamer about to enter the lion's cage and nervously conscious that he has only got as far as lesson three of the correspondence course that has been teaching him lion taming.

(from Bachelors Anonymous, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Not a girl to trifle with

 "How long have you known Miss Dalrymple?" he inquired.

"A couple of weeks. Why?"

 "Because you seem to have got an erroneous grasp of her personality. You appear to think she will accept your abrupt disappearance from her life as just one of those things, perhaps dropping a silent tear but taking no further steps. Have you considered the possibility of her calling on you and setting about you with her umbrella? She may not be my dream girl, but she is a fine upstanding woman, fully capable of beating the tar out of you before you could say, 'Hello there, good afternoon, lovely day, is it not?' It is a point to which I think you should give some attention."

(from Bachelors Anonymous, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

A pair of crooks

 With those who had known them both it was a constant source of debate as to whether Jaklyn was or was not a more slippery character than his late father. Some said yes, some said no, but it was agreed that it was a close thing, and the opinion of those who had suffered at their hands that the crookedness of each was such as to enable him to hide at will behind a spiral staircase was universally held. The only difference between the two was that the sixth baronet had been bluff and hearty and had furthered his ends by slapping people on the back, while the seventh achieved his by looking wistful and pathetic.

(from Bachelors Anonymous, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Lacking in fascination

     "You may have asked yourself why I, though working in the heart of Hollywood for more than twenty years, have never married."

    It had not occurred to Mr. Llewellyn to ask himself this. Had he done so, he would have replied to himself that the solution of the mystery was that his old friend, though highly skilled in the practice of law, was short on fascination. Mr. Trout, in addition to being thin, had that dried-up look which so often comes to middle-aged lawyers. There was nothing dashing about him. He might have appealed to the comfortable, motherly type of woman, but these are rare in Hollywood.

(from Bachelors Anonymous, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Iron hand in a velvet glove

 And Cappy knew skippers. He could get more loyalty out of them with a mere pat on the back and a kindly word than could Mr. Skinner, with all his threats, nagging and driving, yet he was an employer who demanded a full measure of service and never permitted sentiment to plead for an incompetent.

(from Cappy Ricks, by Peter B. Ryne)

Ugly weakness

In a way he was beginning to detest John Gaspar as he had never detested any human being before or since. To him no sin was so great as the sin of weakness in a man, and certainly Gaspar was superlatively weak. He had something in place of courage, but just what that thing was, Sinclair could not tell. Curiosity drew him toward the fellow; and these weaknesses repulsed him.

(from The Rangeland Avenger, by Max Brand) 

Highly suspicious behavior

They found the hotel wakening even at this early hour. At least, the Chinese cook was rattling in the kitchen as he built the fire. When the six reached the door of Sinclair's room, stepping lightly, they heard the occupant singing softly to himself.

"Early riser," whispered Denver Jim.

"Too early to be honest," replied Judge Lodge.

(from The Rangeland Avenger, by Max Brand)

Wore plumb smack dab out!

 He registered and went in silence up to his room. If there had been the need, he could have kept on riding for a twenty-four hour stretch, but the moment he found his journey interrupted, he flung himself on the bed, his arms thrown out crosswise, crucified with weariness.

(from The Rangeland Avenger, by Max Brand) I thought that final phrase was aptly descriptive.

An easy way of speaking

 His voice was surprisingly pleasant. He spoke very deliberately, so that one felt occasionally that he was pausing to find the right words. And, in addition to the quality of that deep voice, he had an impersonal way of looking his interlocutor squarely in the eye, a habit that pleased the men of the desert. On this occasion his companion responded at once with a grin.

(from The Rangeland Avenger, by Max Brand)

The labor of walking

 It was bitter work walking through that sand. The heel crunched into it, throwing a strain heavily on the back of the thigh, and then the ball of the foot slipped back in the midst of a stride. Also the labor raised the temperature of the body incredibly. With no wind stirring it was suffocating. And the day was barely beginning!

(from The Rangeland Avenger, by Max Brand)

A triple death

 Still Hal Sinclair could sing softly to his horse and to himself; and, though his companions cursed his singing, they blessed him for it in their hearts. Otherwise the whole, listening silence of the desert would have crushed them; otherwise the lure of the mountains would have maddened them and made them push on until their horses would have died within five miles of the labor; otherwise the pain in their slowly swelling throats would have taken their reason. For thirst in the desert carried the pangs of several deaths - death from fire, suffocation, and insanity.

(from The Rangeland Avenger, by Max Brand)

Things that go bump in the night

    Here the girl was left alone for a few minutes, while Lanyard darted above-stairs for a review of the state bedchambers and servants' quarters.

    With a sensation of being crushed and suffocated by the encompassing dark mystery, she nerved herself against a protracted vigil. The obscurity on every hand seemed alive with stealthy footfalls, whisperings, murmurings, the passage of shrouded shapes of silence and of menace. Her eyes ached, her throat and temples throbbed, her skin crept, her scalp tingled. She seemed to hear a thousand different noises of alarm. The only sounds she did not hear were tehose - if any - that accompanied Lanyard's departure and return. Had he not been thoughtful enough, when a few feet distant, to give warning with the light, she might well have greeted with a cry of fright the consciousness of a presence near her: so silently he moved about. As it was, she was startled, apprehensive of some misadventure, to find him back so soon; for he hadn't been gone three minutes.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

 

Very descriptive

 They stood upon a weed-grown gravel path, hedged about with thick masses of shrubbery; but the park was as black as a pocket; and the heavy effluvia of wet mould, decaying weeds and rotting leaves that choked the air, seemed only to render the murk still more opaque.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

I cannot honestly say that I have ever seen "effluvia" used in a sentence - but it is indeed a word.

Mansard roof

In The Lone Wolf, we find a reference to the "mansard roofs" that evidently were common in old Paris. We learn that this is a "multi-sided gambrel-style hip roof characterised by two slopes on each of its sides, with the lower slope at a steeper angle than the upper, and often punctured by dormer windows" (Wikipedia). It is sometimes known as a "French roof" or "curb roof."

We sometimes see this style today in barns in the midwestern region of the United States.

Burglar ethics

    Though it had been nearly eight when they entered the restaurant, it was something after cleven before Lanyard called for his bill.

    "We've plenty of time," he had explained. "It'll be midnight before we can move. The gentle art of house-breaking has its technique, you know, its professional ethics: we can't well violate the privacy of Madame Omber's strong-box before the caretakers on the premises are sound asleep. It isn't done, you know, it isn't class, to go burglarizing when decent, law-abiding folk are wide-awake. Meantime we're better off here than trapezing the streets.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

Escape into darkness

    With a word of caution, flash-lamp in his left hand, pistol in right, Lanyard stepped out into the darkness. In two minutes he was back, with a look of relief.

    "All clear," he reported; "I felt pretty sure Popinot knew nothing of this way out - else we'd have entertained uninvited guests long since. Now, half a minute - "

    The electric meter occupied a place on the wall of the scullery not far from the door. Prying open its cover, he unscrewed and removed the fuse plug, plunging the entire house into darkness.

    "That'll keep 'em guessing a while!" he explained with a chuckle. "They'll hesitate a long time before rushing a dark house infested by a desperate armed man - if I know anything about that mongrel lot! Besides, when they do get their courage up, the lack of light will stave off discovery of this way of escape."

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

The stupidity of criminals

 "I don't suppose you've ever stopped to consider what an essentially stupid animal a crook must be. Most of them are stupid because they practice clumsily one of the most difficult professions imaginable, and inevitably fail at it, yet persist. They wouldn't think of undertaking a job of civil engineering with no sort of preparation, but they'll tackle a dangerous proposition in burglary without a thought, and pay for failure with years of imprisonment, and once out try it again.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

The face of a happy child

     Her brows contracted. "I don't understand. You want a fighting chance - to surrender - to give in to their demands?"

    "In a way - yes. I want a fighting chance to do what I'd never in the world get them to credit - give it all up and leave them a free field."

    And when still she searched his face with puzzled eyes, he insisted: "I mean it; I want to get away - clear out - chuck the game for good and all!"

    A little silence greeted this announcement. Lanyard, at pause near the table, resting a hand on it, bent to the girl's upturned face a grave but candid regard. And the deeps of her eyes that never swerved from his were troubled strangely in his vision. He could by no means account for the light he seemed to see therein, a light that kindled while he watched like a tiny flame, feeble, fearful, vacillant, then as the moments passed steadied and grew stronger but ever leaped and danced; so that he, lost in the wonder of it and forgetful of himself, thought of it as the ardent face of a happy child dancing in the depths of some brown autumnal woodland.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

Again?

 Her voice fell: she was trembling with the recrudescent suffering of this year-long servitude. And for a little Lanyard felt too profoundly moved to trust himself to speak; he stood aghast, staring down at this woman, so intrinsically and gently feminine, so strangely strong and courageous, and vaguely envisaging what anguish must have been hers in enforced association with a creature of Bannon's ruthless stamp, he was rent with compassion and swore to himself he's stand by her and see her through and free and happy if he died for it - or ended in the Sante!

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance. I must admit that I could not recall offhand having suffered "recrudescent" suffering, until I looked it up and found that it means "breaking out again" - so I suppose that I have.)

A shadow of premonition

 Yet he wasn't satisfied. He was as little susceptible to psychic admonition as any sane and normal human organism, but he was just then strongly oppressed by intuitive perception that there was something radically amiss in his neighborhood. Whether or not the result of the Count's open intimations and veiled hints working upon a nature sensitized by excitement and fatigue, he felt as though he had stepped from the cab into an atmosphere impregnated to saturation with nameless menace. And he even shivered a bit, perhaps because of the chill in that air of early morning, perhaps because a shadow of premonition had fallen athwart his soul.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

Convoluted reasoning for self-justification

     Now the neophyte needs the introduction of a trusted sponsor before he can win admission to the clubhouse of the exclusive Circle of Friends of Humanity; but Lanyard's knock secured him prompt and unquestioned right of way. The unfortunate fact is, he was a member in the best of standing; for this society of pseudo-altruistic aims was nothing more nor less than one of those several private gambling clubs of Paris which the French Government tolerates more or less openly, despite adequate restrictive legislation; and gambling was Lanyard's ruling passion - a legacy from Bourke no less than the rest of his professional equipment.

    To every man his vice (the argument was Bourke's in defense of his failing). And perhaps the least mischievous vice a professional cracksman can indulge is that of gambling, since it can hardly drive him to lengths more desperate than those whereby he gains a livelihood.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

REALLY dark

 Several seconds passed without the least sound disturbing the stillness. Lanyard himself grew a little impatient, finding that his sight failed to grow accustomed to the darkness because that last was too absolute, pressing against his staring eyeballs like a black fluid impenetrably opaque, as unbroken as the hush.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

Just a common gambler

 For, logically considered, a break in the run of his luck was due. Thus far he had played, with a success almost too uniform, his dual role, by day the amiable amateur of art, by night the nameless mystery that prowled unseen and prayed unhindered. Could such success be reasonably expected to attend him always? Should he count De Morbihan's yarn a warning? Black must turn up every so often in a run of red: every gambler knows as much. And what was Michael Lanyard but a common gambler, who persistently staked life and liberty against the blindly impartial casts of Chance?

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

How does it feel to be filed away?

 Lanyard murmured some conventional expression of sympathy. Through it all he was conscious of the regard of the girl. Her soft brown eyes met his candidly, with a look cool in its composure, straightforward in its enquiry, neither bold nor mock-demure. And if they were the first to fall, it was with an effect of curiosity sated, without hint of discomfiture. . . . And somehow the adventurer felt himself measured, classified, filed away.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

Not the best company

 But there were ugly whispers current with respect to the sources of his fabulous wealth. Lanyard, for one, wouldn't have thought him the properest company or the best Parisian cicerone for an ailing American gentleman blessed with independent means and an attractive daughter.

Paris, on the other hand - Paris who forgives everything to him who contributes to her amusement - adored Comte Remy de Morbihan.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

[In case you do not use the word frequently (and I do not), a cicerone is a guide who gives information about places of interest to sightseers.]

He is following someone

     He was a square-set man with a square jaw, cold blue eyes, a fat nose, a thin-lipped trap of a mouth, a face as red as rare beefsteak. His dinner comprised a cut from the joint, boiled potatoes, brussels sprouts, a bit of cheese, a bottle of Bass. He ate slowly, chewing with the doggedness of a strong character hampered by a weak digestion, and all the while kept eyes fixed to an issue of the Paris edition of the London Daily Mail, with an effect of concentration quite too convincing.

    Now one doesn't read the Paris edition of the London Daily Mail with tense excitement. Humanly speaking, it can't be done.

    Where, then, was the object of this so sedulously dissembled interest?

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

Playing a lone hand

 In time you may become a first-chop operator, which I'm not and never will be; but if you do, 'twill be through fighting shy of two things. The first of them's Woman, and the second is Man. To make a friend of a man you mut lower your guard. Ordinarily 'tis fatal. As for Woman, remember this, m'lad: to let love into your life you must open a door no mortal hand can close.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

A miserable existence

 A few days after his arrival the warm, bright bed-chamber was exchanged for a cold, dark closet opening off Madame's boudoir, a cupboard furnished with a rickety cot and a broken chair, lacking any provision for heat or light, and ventilated solely by a transom over the door; and inasmuch as Madame shared the French horror of draughts and so kept her boudoir hermetically sealed nine months of the year, the transom didn't mend matters much. But that closet formed the boy's sole refuge, if a precarious one, through several years; there alone was he ever safe from kicks and cuffs and scoldings for faults beyond his comprehension; but he was never permitted a candle, and the darkness and loneliness made the place one of haunted terror to the sensitive and imaginative nature of a growing child.

(from The Lone Wolf, by Louis Joseph Vance)

Conversation with an airhead

     "How old are you, Archie? Are you frightfully old?"

    "Frightfully. Poor old Charles and I are just hangin' on."

    "How old are you?"

    "Twenty-seven," said Archie. "But Charles was twenty-eight a week ago, so I'm one up on him."

    "It must be simply frightful to be twenty-eight," said Greta with conviction. She snuggled up to Archie and whispered, "Is Margaret awfully old, too?"

    "Ssh! She's twenty-four. Pretty bad - isn't it?"

    Greta considered. "I shall be married years and years before I'm twenty-four. It's rather old, but I do love Margaret all the same."

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

    

Getting old early

 Greta was looking alarmingly pretty. She glowed and shone in the little room. She made Margaret feel dingy and drab and old, with that dreadful sense of age which is only possible when one is under five-and-twenty.

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

Another Napolean of Crime?

    "I have come across him before," said Miss Silver " - not as Grey Mask of course; but in the last five or six years I have constantly come across small bits of evidence which have led me to suspect that there is one man behind a number of coordinated criminal enterprises. He pulls a great many strings, and every now and then I have come across one of them."

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

Better to be an only child

     "What relations have you got?"

    Margot giggled. "Everybody asks me that. I haven't any relations except Egbert."

    "What? None at all?"

    "Isn't it funny not to have any? Papa only had one brother, and he only had Egbert. Papa hated Egbert. And if my relations were going to be like him, I'm frightfully glad they never got born."

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

She couldn't say

     "Tell me what you heard."

    "Tell me what you are doing here."

    "I can't."

    "Tell me whom you were meeting."

    "I can't."

    "Margaret, for heaven's sake! What sort of mess is this you've got into? Can't you tell me about it? Can't you trust me?"

    "I - can't!"

    His manner changed. He said lightly, "Then I'm afraid I can't tell you what I heard."

    There was silence. Margaret stood looking at him. Her expression changed rapidly. He thought she was going to speak; but instead she pressed her hand over her eyes. The gesture shut him out, and shut her in. He wondered what company she had in the darkness which she was making for herself.

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

Nothing romantic about it

     She couldn't go home. Oh, it wasn't home anymore; it was only a house where people were planning horrible things. It was Egbert's house; it wasn't hers. She hadn't got anywhere to go - she hadn't got a home - she hadn't got anything.

    These things kept coming into her mind like a lot of aimless people struggling into a room and drifting out again; they didn't do anything, they just came in and drifted out, and went away.

    Margot went on walking, and the aimless thoughts kept on coming and going. The thick moisture that filled the air with fog began to condense and come down in rain. Soon she was very wet. The rain became heavier; it soaked through her blue serge coat and began to drip from the brim of her hat. The coat had a collar of grey fur. The rain collected on it and trickled down the back of her neck.

    Only that afternoon Margot had written to Stephanie that there was something frightfully romantic about being a penniless orphan. It didn't feel a bit romantic now; it felt cold, and frightening, and desperately miserable.

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

Miss Silver

     "But how am I going to find out the things I want to know about Forty?"

    "Get a trained sleuth to do it," said Archie firmly. "That's what they're for. I can put you on one if you like."

    "A good man?"

    "A sleuthess," said Archie impressively. "A perfect wonder - has old Sherlock boiled." 

    Charles frowned. "A woman?"

    "Well, a sleuthess. She's not exactly what you'd call a little bit of fluff, you know."

    "What's her name?"

    "Maud Silver."

    "Mrs. or Miss?"

    "My dear old bean!"

    "Well - which is she?"

    "Single as a Michaelmas daisy," said Archie.

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

    

No, I do not want to be married to you!

 Jerry was pacing to and fro near the gate. He was feeling shaken but happy to have his relations with Vera Upshaw on a satisfactory basis. It had not been easy to detach her from his person and explain to her without being abrupt that his affections were engaged elsewhere and that her suggestion that everything between them should be just as it was before, Gerald dear, was not to be considered for an instant, but he had managed it. The thought of Jane had lent him eloquence, and even without telling her that he would greatly prefer to be dead in a ditch than married to her had had been able to make himself clear.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

A tad the worse for wear

 He came out of the house and started to walk in the direction of the lake. She hailed him and he turned, and as he drew near the look on his face brought all the maternal instinct in her to life. It was the face of a man so weighed down with weight of woe that one wondered how he could navigate. His aspect reminded her of her husband on mornings of bygone January the firsts, when the late Mr. Clayborne, owing to his habit of seeing the new year in, had never been at his most robust.

(From The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Who was that Indian chief?

     "Did you ever read those stories about a red Indian chief called Ching something?" said Chippendale. "I forget his name, but the thing I remember about him is that he never let a twig snap beneath his feet, and that's what I strongly advise you to do. Don't go saying to yourself that anyone as fatheaded as Simms is bound to be hard of hearing, because I happen to know he's not. Only the other day when he was throwing his weight about at the Goose and Gander I alluded to him, speaking to a friend in a quiet undertone, as an overbearing piece of cheese, and he overheard and made quite a thing of it. He'll be right on the key veeve if you start snapping twigs, so watch your step. Chingachgook, that was the name of that Indian chief, though I admit it doesn't seem likely. Well, I ask you. Imagine if you were having your baby christened at the church here and when the vicar said, 'Name this child' you said 'Chingachgook.' He'd send for Constable Simms and have you run in for drunk and disorderly. And now we've got back to the subject of Simms, bear in mind that he tips the scale at about sixteen stone, so you'll have to give him a good hard push. Get every ounce of weight and muscle into it."

    And with a cheery "Chingachgook" Chippendale went on his way, leaving Crispin to his thoughts.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Watch your words

     "Admirable," said Crispin, correcting his choice of adjectives. "I cannot praise your ingenuity too highly."

    "Nor me," said Jerry. "It just shows . . ." He paused and Chippendale asked what it just showed.

    "How right you were about the sun coming smiling through," said Jerry. He had been about to say that it just showed that you can't judge a man's brainpower by his looks, because even one who closely resembles the more unpleasant type of barnyard fowl in appearance can nevertheless possess the mental qualities of a great general, but he reflected in time that this might give offense.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

"Honey, things didn't go well"

     "How did you get on?"

    "Not too well."

    "I thought as much."

    It had taken great perception to bring her to this conclusion. Even at a distance he would have struck her as being on the somber side. To be obliged to retreat in disorder from a stricken battlefield always tends to lower the spirits. Napoleon, who had this experience at Moscow, made no secret of the fact that he did not enjoy it, and Jerry, going through the same sort of thing at Mellingham Hall, Mellingham-in-the-Vale, was definitely not at his perkiest. One glance had been enough to tell Jane that it was no tale of triumph that he had come to relate. Just so might a knight of old have looked when about to confess to his damsel that he had been unhorsed in the opening round of the big tournament.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Keep reading

     It was perhaps an hour later, getting on for half past four, that Crispin, returning to the library to avoid R. B. Chisholm, who wanted to talk to him about the situation in the Middle East, found Chippendale in a chair with his feet on a table, reading a book of sermons.

    He seemed to be glad to be interrupted, though he was a man who sorely needed all the sermons he could get his hands on.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

No problem at all!

     "I don't know how to search a room."

    "You'll pick it up as you go along. For heaven's sake, stop making all this heavy weather over and absurdly simple task well within the scope of a mentally retarded child of six. You'd think I was asking you to climb Moun Everest. You ought to be able to go through Barney Clayborne's effects in twenty minutes."

    A strong suspicion presented itself to Jerry that this was an underestimate, and his flesh crept briskly at the thought of what awaited him at Mellingham Hall, Mellingham-in-the-vale, telephone number Mellingham 631, but he could see that it was useless to oppose his uncle's wishes.

    "All right," he said tonelessly.

    "Splendid," said Willoughby. "There's an excellent train at about seven. I'll tell Crispin to expect you."

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Loud, was he?

     "Have you looked everywhere?" This query, like the previous one, seemed to give offense.

    "Did you say you had mislaid your spectacles?"

    "No, I did not say I had mislaid my spectacles."

    "I'm always mislaying my spectacles.

    "Curse your spectacles!"

    "Yes, Bill."

    This short digression on the subject of aids to vision seemed for some reason to have had a good effect on Willoughby, slightly restoring his calm. When he resumed the conversation, his voice, though still retaining something of the robustness of that of an annoyed mate of a tramp steamer, was quieter.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Too many sweethearts

 It was a problem that needed all the thought he could give it. The recent encounter had deepened his conviction that there was only one girl in the world he could possibly marry, and as of even date he could see no way to avoid marrying another. An impasse, if ever there was one. King Solomon and Brigham Young would have taken it in their stride, but he could see no solution.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

A good review

     "You said you only read law books."

    "Except when I find a Morning's at Seven," said Homer, coming within an ace of adding, dear lady. "I make an exception in the case of delightful, dainty works that make me feel as if I were sitting beside a rippling brook, listening to its silver music. It had what so few books have nowadays - charm."

    Well put, thought Homer, and Vera thought so, too. There had been a few reviews of Morning's at Seven, but only in obscure provincial papers and only things like "will help to pass an idle hour" and "not unreadable." This was the real stuff.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Concerning flights to the moon

 Mr. Scrope took a seat and settled himself to wait until Mr. Scrope should find himself at liberty. He was an elderly man with thinning hair, watery blue eyes and a drooping mustache, and he was wearing the anxious look so often seen on the faces of elderly men with thinning hair when they are about to try to borrow money from their younger brothers. From time to time a twitching shudder ran through his gaunt frame. The recent exchanges on the subject of Scropes had robbed him of the little confidence he had possessed when starting out on this mission, and the longer he sat, the less did it seem to him probable that his brother Willoughby, good fellow though he was and kindly disposed though he had shown himself in the past to applications for loans on a smaller scale, could be relied on for the stupendous one of two hundred and three pounds, six shillings and fourpence - a sum roughly equivalent, or so it appeared to Crispin's fevered mind, to what it costs to put a man on the moon.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Buyer's remorse

     "Then he must want to discuss the trust."

    "I doubt it. He'll probably talk golf all the time."

    "You mustn't let him. This is your big chance. You just get that money out of him. You ought to have done it long ago."

    She spoke with the imperious curtness of a princess of the Middle Ages giving instructions to one of the scullions or scurvy knaves on her payroll, and Jerry found himself regarding her with disfavor. Even before his soul mate had come into his life he had begun to entertain doubts as to whether in contracting to link his lot with that of Vera Upshaw he might not have been a little precipitate. It had seemed a good idea at the time, but after a while something uncomfortably like regret had begun to creep in. Had it, he asked himself, been altogether wise to sign on the dotted line with one in whom the bossiness which too often goes with extreme beauty was so marked?

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Oops, I forgot about her

He now saw her in the office of a registrar licensed to perform marriages, for he was sure that a girl like that would not want one of those ghastly choral weddings with bishops and assistant clergy horsing around all over the place. They would get it all fixed up in a couple of minutes, and later on they would sit together in their cozy little nest like two lovebirds on a perch. In the long winter evenings that would be, of course. In the summer they would be playing golf or enjoying a refreshing swim.

It was as his mind's eye was probing even more deeply into their domestic life that there came to him the realization that there was an obstacle, and a rather serious one, in the way of the bliss he was contemplating. He suddenly remembered what for the moment had slipped his mind, that he waws engaged to be married to someone else.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

They have ways of making it uncomfortable

 "Oh, hullo. You were on the jury, weren't you?" she said, and it surprised and pleased Jerry that she should have remembered him. Yes, he said, he had been on the jury, adding that he had had no alternative.

"The summons told me not to hereof fail, and I wasn't taking any chances. I wonder what they do to you if you hereof fail."

"I believe they get awfully annoyed."

"Something lingering with boiling oil in it?"

"I shouldn't wonder."

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse) 

It would make anyone nervous

 The afternoon sun poured brightly into the office of the manager of Guildenstern's Stores, Madison Avenue, New York, but there was no corresponding sunshine in the heart of Homer Pyle, the eminent corporation lawyer, as he sat there. He had in the opinion of his companion in the room something of the uneasy air of cat on hot bricks. It was not difficult to probe the reason for his loss of aplomb. A good corporation lawyer can generally take it as well as dish it out, but it is trying him too high when you telephone him in the middle of the day's work to inform him that his sister has just been arrested for shoplifting. In similar circumstances a justice of the Supreme Court would wriggle and perspire.

(from The Girl in Blue, by Sir Pelham Wodehouse)

Hard to search in a crowd

 He fetched up on the island in the middle of the road with feelings of relief. The island was crowded. Under the powerful light it was possible to see one's next door neighbor. Charles annoyed all the rest of the people on the island by being neighbour to each of them in turn. He trod on several toes, was prodded in the ribs by a very powerful umbrella, and a number of people asked him what he thought he was doing. As it was impossible to explain that he was looking for Margaret, he had to say he was sorry a good many times.

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

No one seems to like him

 Mr. Hale returned to his office, where he presently interviewed Mr. Egbert Standing. He had not met him before, and he looked at him now with some disfavour. Mr. Hale did not like fat young men; he did not like young men who lolled. He disapproved of bow ties with loose ends, and of scented cigarettes. He regarded the curl in Egbert's hair with well-founded suspicion. For a short moment he shared a sentiment with Miss Margot Standing - he did not like Egbert. The young clerk who took notes in the corner did not like him either.

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

Not how these things are done

 He looked up to find a box of chocolates under his nose. "Do have one. The long ones are hard, but the round ones are a dream."

"No thank you," said Mr. Hale.

Margot took one of the round ones herself. She had eaten so many chocolates already that it was necessary to crunch it quickly in order to get the flavour. She crunched it, and Mr. Hale waiting disapprovingly until she had finished. He wished to offer her his condolences upon her father's death, and it appeared to him in the highest degree unseemly that he should do so whilst she was eating chocolates.

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

Where Margaret had stood

     Charles continued to look into the room. The place where Margaret had stood was just at the edge of where the thick double wreath of fat blue flowers began to twine itself about a central medallion. There was a little worn place just to the right of where she had stood. He stared at the worn place. Margaret had been here and was gone again - Margaret. Well, that put the lid on telephoning to the police. Yes, by gum it did!

    A quick spasm of laughter shook him. He had said that it would be interesting to meet Margaret again - interesting.

    "Oh, my hat!" said Charles to himself.

    Interesting enough - yes, and a bit to spare if he and Margaret were to meet in a crowded police court. A very pretty romantic scene "Do you recognize this woman?" "Oh, yes, I almost married her once." Headlines from the evening paper rose luridly: "Parted Lovers meet in Police Court." "Jilted Explorer and Lost Bride." "Should Women become Criminals?" No, the police were off.

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

Alone with his house

 Charles ate his dinner alone. During the soup he regretted Archie Millar, but with the fish the regret passed. He did not want Archie or Archie's company; he did not want to go to a theatre or do a show; he wanted vehemently and insistently to go to the house which was now his own house, and to go to it whilst it stood empty of everything except his memories.

(from Grey Mask, by Patricia Wentworth)

They need to examine themselves

 "That's what I thought, and that's what I wrote!" Dean said firmly. He crawled to his feet and clutched the desk for support. "What good is a newspaper unless it tells the truth and fights for the rights of the people?"

Mahone shrugged. "A lot of them should ask that question of themselves," he said dryly.

(from "Rustler Roundup," by Louis L'Amour)

The smile of a woman

 She looked grave and straight and honestly at me, and it seemed no other girl had ever looked so far into my heart. At twenty-four the smile of a woman is a glory to the blood and a spark to the spirit, and carries a richer wine than any sold over a bar in any frontier saloon.

(from "End of the Drive," by Louis L'Amour)

Money's attitude

 It sure does beat all how prosperity makes a man critical of all who are less prosperous. Seems like some folks no sooner get two dollars they can rattle together than they start looking down their noses at folks who only have two bits.

(from "The Courting of Griselda," by Louis L'Amour)

Weigh the risk and reward

 Sweat was all over Bob Heseltine's face, and it was a cool evening. He wanted to go for his gun the worst way, but he had another want that beat that one all hollow. H wanted to live.

(from "Caprock Rancher," by Louis L'Amour)

What money looks like

Seemed like a long time I sat there, looking at the firelight on that money. I'd never seen that much money before but it didn't look like money to me; it looked like Pa sweating over his fields back in Missouri, and like all the word we'd done, by day and night, rounding up those cattle and putting brands on them. It looked like all those folks around us who shared the drive with us . . . that money was there for them.

(from "Caprock Rancher," by Louis L'Amour)

Think!

 One great fear that I have in this computer age is that people will begin to lose the ability to think for themselves. Even the absence of a necessity of memorizing things will affect that.

Quixotic

 "Mannix will bear looking into."

Markham put down his knife and fork and leaned back. I'm overcome! Such Himalayan sagacity! With that evidence against him, he should be arrested at once. Vance, my dear old friend, are you feeling quite normal? No dizzy spells lately? No shooting pains in the head? Knee jerks all right?"

"Furthermore, Dr. Lindquist was wildly infatuated with the Canary, and insanely jealous. Recently threatened to take a pistol and hold a little pogrom of his own."

"That's better." Markham sat up. Where did you get this information?"

"Ah! That's my secret."

Markham was annoyed. "Why so mysterious?"

"Needs must, old chap. Gave my word and all that sort of thing. And I'm a bit quixotic, don't y' know - too much Cervantes in my youth." He spoke lightly, but Markham knew him too well to push the question.

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

Typical feminine wiles

Nature had endowed Miss La Fosse with many of its arts, and those that Nature had omitted, Miss La Fosse herself had supplied.

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

Unsolved problem

 "Heath is committed, body and soul, to a belief in Skeel's guilt; and Markham is as effectively strangled with legal red tape as the poor Canary was strangled with powerful hands. Eheu, Van! There's nothing left for me but to set forth tomorrow a cappella, like Gaborian's Monsieur Lecoq, and see what can be done in the noble cause of justice. I shall ignore both Heath and Markham, and become as a pelican of the wilderness, an owl of the desert, a sparrow alone upon the housetop. Really, y' know, I am no avenger of society, but I do detest an unsolved problem."

(from The "Canary" Murder Mystery, by S. S. Van Dine)

He would do anything

 "But what does he do? Whence cometh his lucre?"

"His father manufactured automobile accessories, made a fortune at it, and left the business to him. He tinkers at it, but not seriously, though I believe he has designed a few appurtenances."

"I do hope the hideous cut-glass olla for holding paper bouquets is not one of them. The man who invented that tonneau decoration is capable of any fiendish crime."

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

Lesser of two evils

 "Any man capable of so ingenious and clever a piece of deception is obviously a person of education and imagination; and he most certainly would not have run the stupendous risk of killing a woman unless he had feared some overwhelming disaster - unless, indeed, her continuing to live would have caused him greater mental anguish, and would have put him in greater jeopardy, even than the crime itself. Between two colossal dangers, he chose the murder as the lesser."

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

The perfect crime

 "But regard this particular crime: look at it closely. What do you find? You will perceive that its mise en scene has been staged, and its drama enacted, down to every minute detail - like a Zola novel. It is almost mathematically perfect. And therein, d' ye see, lies the irresistible inference of its having been carefully premeditated and planned. To use an art term, it is a tickled-up crime. Therefore, its conception was not spontaneous. And yet, don't y' know, I can't point out any specific flaw; for its great flaw lies in its being flawless. And nothing flawless, my dear fellow, is natural or genuine."  (from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

I will provide a little help on this quote for the uninitiated (of which I am one). 

"Mise en scene" means the arrangement of furniture and stage properties in a play. 

Emile Zola (1840-1902) was the best-known practitioner of the literary school of theatrical naturalism, According to Wikipedia "the presentation of a naturalistic play, in terms of the setting and performances, should be realistic and not flamboyant or theatrical. The single setting of Miss Julie, for example, is a kitchen. Second, the conflicts in the play should be issues of meaningful, life-altering significance — not small or petty. And third, the play should be simple — not cluttered with complicated sub-plots or lengthy expositions."

The definition that I found for "tickled-up" is "something that is so hilarious that you feel like you are going to fall over from laughing so hard." However, that doesn't quite seem to fit here.

They don't go according to form

 "Now, Markham, just what are the universally recognized features of a sordid crime of robbery and murder? Brutality, disorder, haste, ransacked drawers, cluttered desks, broken jewel cases, rings stripped from the victim's fingers, severed pendant chains, torn clothing, tripped-over chairs, upset lamps, broken vases, twisted draperies, strewn floors, and so forth. Such are the accepted immemorial indications - eh, what? But, consider a moment, old chap. Outside of fiction and the drama, in how many crimes do they all appear - all in perfect ordination, and without a single element to contradict the general effect? That is to say, how many actual crimes are technically perfect in their setting? None! And why? Simply because nothing actual in this life - nothing that is spontaneous and genuine - runs to accept form in every detail. The law of chance and fallibility invariably steps in."

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

Even murders can be copied

 "Now, let us consider the Odell murder. You and Heath are agreed that it is a commonplace, brutal, sordid, unimaginative crime. But, unlike you two bloodhounds on the trail, I have ignored its mere appearances and have analyzed its various factors - I have looked at it psychologically, so to speak. And I have discovered that it is not a genuine and sincere crime - that is to say, an original - but only a sophisticated, self-conscious and clever imitation, done by a skillful copyist. I grant you it is correct and typical in every detail. But just there is where it fails, don't y' know. Its technic is too good, is not convincing - it lacks elan. Aesthetically speaking, it has all the earmarks of a tour de force. Vulgarly speaking, it's a fake."

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

After the press gets through with it

 "Have you seen the afternoon papers? They're all clamoring for the murderer. You'd think I had him up my sleeve."

"You forget, my dear chap," grinned Vance, "that we are living under the benign and upliftin' reign of Democritus, which confers upon every ignoramus the privilege of promiscuously criticising his betters."

Markham snorted, "I don't complain about criticism; it's the lurid imagination of these bright young reporters that galls me. They're trying to turn this sordid crime into a spectacular Borgia melodrama, with passion running rampant, and mysterious influences at work, and all the pomp and trappings of a medieval romance."

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

Nothing that food won't cure

 "So - voila l'affaire. plenty of information, but - my word! - what to do with it?"

"I give it up," acknowledged Markham hopelessly.

"I know; it's a sad, sad world," Vance commiserated him. "But you must face the olla podrida with a bright eye. It's time for lunch, and a filet of sole Marguery will cheer you no end."

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

+++

Reading a Philo Vance mystery increases one's vocabulary. Olla podrida is a traditional latino stew that is made of meat and vegetables and slowly simmered. File of sole Marguery is a dish that originated in the late 1800s and was especially associated with the restaurant Marguery in Paris.

Driving him crazy

 "From what I could gather, you seem to think it possible that Skeel witnessed the murder. That couldn't by any stretch of the imagination, be your precious theory?"

"That's part of it, anyway."

"My dear Vance, you do astonish me!" Markham laughed outright. "Skeel, then, according to you, is innocent; but he keeps his knowledge to himself, invents an alibi, and doesn't even tattle until he's arrested. . . . It won't hold water."

"I know," sighed Vance. It's a veritable sieve. And yet, the notion haunts me - it rides me like a hag - it eats into my vitals."

"Do you realize that this mad theory of yours presupposes that, when Spotswoode and Miss Odell returned from the theater, there were two men hidden in the apartment - two men unknown to each other - namely Skeel and your hypothetical murderer?"

"Of course I realize it; and the thought of it is breaking down my reason."

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

Boys will be boys

 The case was discussed for another half hour, then Spottswoode excused himself and left us.

"Funny thing," ruminated Markham, "how a man of his upbringing could be so attracted by the empty-headed, butterfly, type."

"I'd say it was quite natural," returned Vance. . . . "You're such an incorrigible moralist, Markham."

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

Vance to the rescue!

 "What do you mean by forcing yourself in here with your contemptible insinuations?" he shouted. His face, now livid and mottled, was hideously contorted; his hands made spasmodic movements; and his whole body shook as with a tremor. "Get out of here - you and your two myrmidons! Get out, before I have you thrown out!"

Markham, himself enraged now, was about to reply, when Vance took him by the arm. "The doctor is gently hinting that we go," he said. And with amazing swiftness he spun Markham round and led him firmly out of the room.

When we were again in the taxicab on our way back to the club, Vance snig- gered gaily. "A sweet specimen, that! Paranoia. Or, more likely, manic-depressive insanity the jolie circulaire type: recurring periods of maniacal excitement alternating with periods of clearest sanity, don't y' know. Anyway, the doctor's disorder belongs in the category of psychoses - associated with the maturation or waning of the sexual instinct. He's just the right age, too. Neurotic degenerate - that's what this oily Hippocrates is. In another minute he would have attacked you. My word! It's a good thing I came to the rescue. Such chaps are about as safe as rattlesnakes.

(from The "Canary" Murder Case, by S. S. Van Dine)

Couch sitting

 Now that we are solidly into our reclining years, my wife of 52 years and I enjoy just sitting together on the couch. We rarely do anything together as we sit - other than sitting - but we do sit together. She generally sits so that her left leg is up on the couch so that I can rub her foot and ankle, which activity has contributed largely to keeping me out of trouble over the years - a small price to pay for a large benefit.

Quiet togetherness has tremendous benefits. I highly recommend it.