United States or Aruba ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
The colours of the Taunton party were pink; those of the Briggses a light blue. The Tauntons had artificial flowers in their bonnets; here the Briggses gained a decided advantage—they wore feathers. ‘How d’ye do, dear?’ said the Misses Briggs to the Misses Taunton.
Joseph Porter, after they had been closeted for some time, and when, by dint of indefatigable pumping, she had managed to extract all the news about the play, ‘well, my dear, people may say what they please; indeed we know they will, for some folks are so ill-natured. Ah, my dear Miss Lucina, how d’ye do? I was just telling your mamma that I have heard it said, that—’ ‘What?’ ‘Mrs.
‘Well, then,’ urged the other, ‘there’s a book as belonged to Pope, Byron’s Poems, valued at forty pounds, because it’s got Pope’s identical scratch on the back; what do you think of that for security?’ ‘Well, to be sure!’ cried the baker. ‘But how d’ye mean, Mr. Clip?’ ‘Mean! why, that it’s got the hottergruff of Pope.
Middleton was ready for any emergency, and he answered Joe’s confident knock in person. The young man greeted him with a very polite, "Good afternoon," to which Mr. Middleton returned with a significant "umph!" "Is your daughter Fanny at home?" asked Mr. Dunn. "Yes, she’s at home," said Mr. Middleton. "What d’ye want of her?"
"All I seem to remember is my marchin’ in the boolyvard along with a guy in baggy red pants, and my chewin’ the rag in a big, hot room full o’ soldiers; an’ Heinie an’ Joe they was shoutin’, ’Wow! Lemme at ’em. Veeve la France!’ Wha’ d’ye know about me? Ain’t I the mark from home?" "You didn’t realize that you were enlisting?"
Barton!’ said the servant. ‘Confound the man!’ murmured Malderton. ‘Ah! my dear sir, how d’ye do! Any news?’ ‘Why no,’ returned the grocer, in his usual bluff manner. ‘No, none partickler. None that I am much aware of. How d’ye do, gals and boys? Mr. Flamwell, sir—glad to see you.’ ‘Here’s Mr.
Jacob Barton, the individual alluded to, was a large grocer; so vulgar, and so lost to all sense of feeling, that he actually never scrupled to avow that he wasn’t above his business: ‘he’d made his money by it, and he didn’t care who know’d it.’ ‘Ah! Flamwell, my dear fellow, how d’ye do?’ said Mr. Malderton, as a little spoffish man, with green spectacles, entered the room. ‘You got my note?’
There was a great smell of nutmeg, port wine, and almonds, on the staircase; the covers were taken off the stair-carpet, and the figure of Venus on the first landing looked as if she were ashamed of the composition-candle in her right hand, which contrasted beautifully with the lamp-blacked drapery of the goddess of love. ‘Ah, uncle!’ said Mr. Kitterbell, ‘how d’ye do?
He was also something of a wag; never missed an opportunity of saying what he considered a good thing, and invariably laughed until he cried at anything that appeared to him mirth-moving or ridiculous. ‘Well, girls!’ said Uncle Tom, after the preparatory ceremony of kissing and how-d’ye-do-ing had been gone through—‘how d’ye get on?
The echo which, when asked “How d’ye do, Paddy Blake?” replied, “Mighty well, thank you,” could only have been an Irish echo. Any other country would have sulkily responded, “Blake ake ake ake,” in diminuendo to the end of the chapter. But there is a courtesy, an attention, a native politeness on our side of the channel, it is in vain to seek elsewhere.
Word Of The Day