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"I'd hate to have to make my living by trying to drag the bread and butter away from other people," Bunch butted in. "Yes, and the nickel-plated nerve that goes with it," I went on. "Every time this Stale guy goes to a theatre he makes it appear that he was forced into a den of thieves and everybody he can point out with his fountain pen is either a criminal or a dirty deuce.
Her playground was O'Farrell Street, dry and hot in summer, wrapped in soft fog four mornings a week the year round, reeking of stale beer, and echoing to the rattle of cable cars.
There was something in the manner of the pair that Mrs Gildea could not understand. Of course, Colin was in love that she knew already. But was Biddy merely playing with the big primitive-souled bushman or was it possible that she, too, could be in love? The next time Biddy came, Joan tackled matters boldly. 'Biddy, I've had my marching orders. Mr Gibbs finds Leichardt's Land a bit stale.
We're all living wonders, Major," he went on, turning to Thomson, "but if I don't get a Sole Colbert and a grill at the Savoy, and a front seat at the Alhambra, before many weeks have passed, I shall get stale that's what'll happen to me." "Hope you'll have your hair cut before you go back," a man from the other end of the table remarked.
Conway reminds us, 'seven centuries before Paine opened his office in Lewes, came Harold's son, possibly to take charge of the Excise as established by Edward the Confessor, just deceased. This device of biographers is a little stale. The Confessor was guiltless of the Excise.
She had put it off so many times that perhaps it was now too late. Sooner or later Victor would slip, and the mask would be at an end. And why not? Why not have done with a comedy which had grown stale? Why not tell Monsieur du Cévennes that she was Gabrielle Diane de Montbazon, she whose miniature he had crushed beneath the heel of his riding boot?
Perhaps, he thought wryly, it was a symptom of the gradual erosion of his moral character in this abnormal environment. "I'm getting stale," he confided to Copper as he sat in his office idly turning the pages of the Kardon Journal of Allied Medical Sciences. "There's nothing to do that's interesting." "You could help me," Copper said as she looked up from the pile of cards she was sorting.
"It's got the greatest title you ever heard. It's a lallapaloosa! It's called 'It's a Long Way Back to Mother's Knee. How's that? Poor, eh?" Archie expelled a smoke-ring doubtfully. "Isn't it a little stale?" "Stale? What do you mean, stale? There's always room for another song boosting Mother." "Oh, is it boosting Mother?" Archie's face cleared. "I thought it was a hit at the short skirts.
Some fifteen minutes later, the two came down the corridor toward the training table. "Good-night, Ashley." "Won't you stay to dinner, Diemann?" "No, I must go down, and you are late as it is. Hurry along in." "All right. I'm not going stale if I can help it. I just felt a little faint over there; I got pretty tired."
"That's almost as bad as a stale one," Ted told himself scornfully. Just then the ball came just where Teall wanted it. Crack! Ted hit it a resounding blow, dropped his bat and started to run. Amid a din of yells one of the Souths came in, another reached third and Ted himself rested safely at second base. In that inning the Souths piled up five runs.
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