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"Madam, herself," said Nan, demurely. "Do you think Mr. Gray will give me a hearing?" "Well, I guess yes," cried the girl in costume. "Oh, do give it to him just as he starts in laying me out, will you?" "Anything to oblige," Nan said, smiling. "Can we go right over and speak to him?" "After me," whispered the girl. "Don't get into any of the 'sets, or you'll get a call-down, too."
Since this war began even the officers are only on probation, and I've brains enough to find a way to put him in bad with the regimental K.O." "What's the matter, Mock, don't you like your food?" asked the sergeant seated at his left. "You're scowling something fierce." "It isn't the chow," Sergeant Mock retorted gruffly. "Must be the heat, then -or a call-down," observed his brother sergeant.
"Something's gone wrong. But what? Can you think of any reason for it?" "No, I can't. We haven't committed any horrible crimes that I can recall," returned Judith lightly. "Come on. We might as well go and find out the meaning of this thusness. We should worry. We haven't done anything to deserve a call-down." One look at Mrs.
Anybody that can spell in that fashion I want to take a good look at." Think of the shock I gets when Piddie tells me them letters stand for Mildred Morgan. "Lady," says I, "I hates to say it, but the boss is waitin' to hand out a call-down to you. Don't you go to gettin' scared stiff, though; for the first cussword he lets go of I'll chuck a chair at him."
"You've got to go some to get back in time to let us tog up for guard-mount," remarked Paul, looking at his watch. "That's right," added Innis. "I don't want to get a call-down. I'm about up to my limit now. "We'll do it all right," announced Dick. "I haven't speeded the motor yet. I've been warming it up. I'll show you what she can do!"
Eleanor glanced at Kate, who stood profile-on listening to the ready Heath. "Shall we go out on the balcony?" She stepped through the open French window. As they stood in the shadow, the city at their feet, neither spoke for a moment. Finally, "It's a call-down, I suppose?" began Bertram, tentatively. "Not necessarily." With a slam, he brought his hand down on the balcony rail.
Effie. "I see you still harbour the ruffian?" "I've just given him a call-down," said Mrs. Effie, plainly ill at ease, "and he says it was all because you were sober; that if you'd been in the state Lord Ivor Cradleigh was the time it happened at Chaynes-Wotten he wouldn't have done anything to you, probably." "What's this, what's this? Lord Ivor Cradleigh Chaynes-Wotten?"
Lem Wacker flushed and winced, for the pointed question struck home. "I don't want no mistering!" he growled. "Lem's good enough for me. And I don't take no call-down from any stuck-up kid, I want you to understand that." "You'd better get to the crossing if you're making any pretense of real work," suggested Bart just then.
"Cuss 'em for snobs," he wound up finally, a deep sense of his personal grievance stirring his sociable Yankee soul. Of course, this sickening brother and sister business wouldn't touch the main fact of the story, but it knocked the "love motive" and the "heart interest" higher than a kite, utterly ruining some of his prettiest bits of writing, besides letting him in for a call-down from Naylor.
Some years before the war the German Crown Prince got a very neat call-down from Miss Bernice Willard, a Philadelphia girl. It was during the Emperor's regatta, and the two mentioned were sitting with others on the deck of a yacht. A whiff of smoke from the Prince's cigarette blowing into the young lady's face, a lieutenant near by remarked: "Smoke withers flowers."
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