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Updated: May 27, 2025
He never drops in of an Afternoon to find her in a Blue Wrapper and drying her Hair and she never catches him smelling of Cigarettes. When it comes down to close Work in a Parlor, there is always the Risk of having Herbert Buttinsky on hand to make his Party Call. He who tells his Love by U.S. Mail never hears anything about the Third Party.
The music stopped at the end of the waltz, leaving Billy and Saxon at the big entrance doorway of the ballroom. Her hand rested lightly on his arm, and they were promenading on to find seats, when Charley Long, evidently just arrived, thrust his way in front of them. "So you're the buttinsky, eh?" he demanded, his face malignant with passion and menace. "Who? me?" Billy queried gently.
"A delightful spot," observed Mr. Penway, who had followed. "Sandy, but replete with squabs. Why didn't you come earlier? We could have taken you." "May I talk privately with you, Mr. Winfield?" "Sure." Kirk looked at Mr. Penway, who nodded agreeably. "Outside for Robert?" he inquired amiably. "Very well. There is no Buttinsky blood in the Penway family.
We planned that Will and you should come down and have supper at our cottage." "No. I'm sure you didn't mean to be." Carol was super-neighborly. "But I do think you ought to apologize to poor Erik Valborg. He was terribly hurt." "Oh. Valborg. I don't care so much what he thinks," objected Harry. "He's nothing but a conceited buttinsky.
"I'd give a ripe peach to learn the identity of the scheming buttinsky who bought old Cardigan's Valley of the Giants," he said presently. "I'll be hanged if that doesn't complicate matters a little." "You should have bought it when the opportunity offered," she reminded him.
"You're making a heap of formality out of this, Mr. Buttinsky," sneered the cowpuncher. Jack made no answer, unless it were one to whistle gently and look out into the night as if he were alone. "No, seh. She doan' wan' tuh see him to-night," announced Jim upon his return. "That seems to settle it, Mr. Norris," said Jack pleasantly. "Not by a hell of a sight.
"Good morning," returned Big Boy glancing doubtfully at Bunker Hill, "my name is Denver Russell." "Oh, excuse me!" spoke up Bunker with a sarcastic drawl, "Mr. Russell, this is Professor Diffenderfer, the eminent buttinsky and geologist." "Ah so!" beamed the Professor overlooking the fling in the excitement of the meeting, "I take it you're a mining man?
First off I thinks I'll chase along and forget I'd seen anything at all. Then I thinks of what Mr. Robert would say if he knew, and I stops. Sure, I hadn't been called to play any Buttinsky part; but somehow I didn't feel right about stayin' out, so the first thing I knows I'm trailin' up the stairs. There wa'n't any need to do the sleuth act after Marjorie got started.
Now how about it, officer; how much have I got to take off this dam' sheep puller before I git the right to talk back? Is he the judge and jury in this matter, or is he just a plain buttinsky?" "I'll have to ask you gentlemen to key down a little," replied the deputy noncommittally, "and let's get through with this as soon as possible. Now, Mr.
"You're a dreadful Buttinsky, Daddy Ricks!" she protested. He kissed her hungrily. "Oh, I'm a devil in my own home town!" he replied, and trotted back to his neglected breakfast. "If Matt hasn't made good as a business man within six months, or has lost his bank roll and I intend to see to it that he does lose it, if I ever get a hack at him we'll pull off this wedding anyhow.
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