United States or Falkland Islands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
That evening, as he sat with Chapman over the coffee in the stately little dining-room of the victim of cordage, the journalist remarked suddenly: "I say, old fellow, you don't seem to be in it. Don't you know anybody here at all?" Andrew shook his head gloomily. "Well, you'll have a stupid time, I'm afraid.
He knew that he had as much right there as any other customer. Presently a waiter presented himself. "Have you ordered?" he asked. "Give me some roast beef," said Phil. "What will you have, Giacomo?" "The same as you, Filippo," said Giacomo, in Italian. "What's that?" asked the waiter, thinking he had named some dish. "He will have some roast beef, too. Will you have some coffee, Giacomo?"
What with their tea and their coffee, their lemonade and ginger beer, and other wishy-washy, sour stuffs why, the very thought of them's enough to cause an involution of one's suggestive organs." But what was he to do?
"It was my mother's name," she said quietly, her eyes downcast, "and I am not sorry you like it." She stirred the coffee in her cup, watching the bubbles rise to the surface. "I feel more confidence in you than I did, because you have been so honest about yourself." "I have told you the truth.
I have no doubt that they sip, every morning, coffee which is as much superior to that of Paris as that of Paris is to that of London; and that they eat the delicious rolls, in comparison with which those of Paris are tasteless.
She had a distinct feeling that something was about to happen. At least she claimed it later. But she found the night watchman making coffee in a back pantry, and gave him her message. Some time later Jane Brown stood in the doorway of the operating-room and gave it a farewell look. Its white floor and walls were spotless.
Hadn't he told her a cup of coffee would do wonders? "Would it go to your head," began the girl abruptly, "if I were to tell you that I size you up as the best man I've got on my pay-roll?" "I'd try to keep both feet on the ground," he said gravely, though he wondered what was coming. "I'll explain," she continued, her tone impersonally businesslike.
I pressed the button and we pulled to the gravel walk. "Lunch!" I said, and opened the wire-netted door. Inside there were half a dozen oilcloth-covered tables and a red-cheeked young woman was sewing in a corner. "What have you got?" I asked, inspecting the layout. "Tea, coffee, milk eggs any style you want," she answered cheerily. Then she laughed in a good-natured way.
B. Rashkin nodded haughtily and then turned to Abe. "What will you have, Mr. Potash?" he asked. "Give me also a cup of coffee and a tongue sandwich," he announced to the waitress. "White or rye bread?" said the waitress. "Rye bread," Abe replied. "We ain't got no rye bread; I could give you a roll sandwich," she declared solemnly.
There was something wrong with the forelegs of Maggie, and she was only half a horse when it came to going downhill on broken ground. He had always thought of the great strength that once must have been hers, and he pitied her for the change. He found himself pitying Uncle Bill Campbell in much the same way. When Bill raised his tin cup he spilled scalding coffee on his breast.
Word Of The Day