Sketches in Lavender, Blue and Green

Коллекция текстов · humor

Reginald Blake, Financier and Cad
The advantage of literature over life is that its characters are clearly defined, and act consistently. Nature, always inartistic, takes pl…
An Item of Fashionable Intelligence (1)
Speaking personally, I do not like the Countess of . She is not the type of woman I could love. I hesitate the less giving expression to th…
An Item of Fashionable Intelligence (2)
“Well, she happens to care for somebody else,” answered his lordship, “she told me so herself.” That would account for it. “And is she will…
Blasé Billy (1)
It was towards the end of August. He and I appeared to be the only two men left to the Club. He was sitting by an open window, the Times ly…
Blasé Billy (2)
So every day the farce was played for him. One day it was to a luncheon that she went, in a costume by Redfern; the next night to a ball, i…
The Choice of Cyril Harjohn
Between a junior resident master of twenty-one, and a backward lad of fifteen, there yawns an impassable gulf. Between a struggling journal…
The Materialisation of Charles and Mivanway
The fault that most people will find with this story is that it is unconvincing. Its scheme is improbable, its atmosphere artificial. To co…
Portrait of a Lady (1)
My work pressed upon me, but the louder it challenged me—such is the heart of the timid fighter—the less stomach I felt for the contest. I…
Portrait of a Lady (2)
“It is all over now. I am glad it is finished. I have written to him, giving him up. I have told him I have ceased to care for him, and tha…
The Man Who Would Manage
It has been told me by those in a position to know—and I can believe it—that at nineteen months of age he wept because his grandmother woul…
The Man Who Lived for Others
The first time we met, to speak, he was sitting with his back against a pollard willow, smoking a clay pipe. He smoked it very slowly, but…
A Man of Habit
There were three of us in the smoke-room of the Alexandra—a very good friend of mine, myself, and, in the opposite corner, a shy-looking, u…
The Absent-Minded Man
You ask him to dine with you on Thursday to meet a few people who are anxious to know him. “Now don’t make a muddle of it,” you say, recoll…
A Charming Woman
“Not the Mr. , really?” In her deep brown eyes there lurked pleased surprise, struggling with wonder. She looked from myself to the friend…
Whibley’s Spirit
I never met it myself, but I knew Whibley very well indeed, so that I came to hear a goodish deal about it. It appeared to be devoted to Wh…
The Man Who Went Wrong
I first met Jack Burridge nearly ten years ago on a certain North-country race-course. The saddling bell had just rung for the chief event…
The Hobby Rider
Bump. Bump. Bump-bump. Bump. I sat up in bed and listened intently. It seemed to me as if someone with a muffled hammer were trying to knoc…
The Man Who Did Not Believe in Luck
He got in at Ipswich with seven different weekly papers under his arm. I noticed that each one insured its reader against death or injury b…
Dick Dunkerman’s Cat
Richard Dunkerman and I had been old school-fellows, if a gentleman belonging to the Upper Sixth, and arriving each morning in a “topper” a…
The Minor Poet’s Story
“It doesn’t suit you at all,” I answered. “You’re very disagreeable,” said she, “I shan’t ever ask your advice again.” “Nobody,” I hastened…
The Degeneration of Thomas Henry
The most respectable cat I have ever known was Thomas Henry. His original name was Thomas, but it seemed absurd to call him that. The famil…
The City of the Sea
They say, the chroniclers who have written the history of that low-lying, wind-swept coast, that years ago the foam fringe of the ocean lay…
Driftwood
Characters MR. TRAVERS. MRS. TRAVERS. MARION \their daughter\. DAN \a gentleman of no position\. \ \ \ \ \ SCENE: A room opening upon a gar…