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Updated: May 14, 2025
Also make every record I have noted so that I can have the proper data to help you as you go along or rather down. And if you will be faithful about it to me, or rather Al, I think we can be sure of buttoning that blue muslin dress without even the aid of the button-hook." His voice had the "if you can" note in it that always sets me off.
You thrust in your hand to get something that you want, and it is a pure chance whether your Bible or your button-hook rises to the surface. And it seems to me that transition periods are just like that." "How volatile you are! One minute you are so serious and the next so frivolous that I fail to follow you.
Soames stroked his shoulder, and, taking up a silver button-hook, examined the mark on it. "Well," he said, "you're looking better." James shook his head. "I want to say something. Your mother hasn't heard." He announced Emily's ignorance of what he hadn't told her, as if it were a grievance. "Your father's been in a great state all the evening. I'm sure I don't know what about."
Oh, it will be a big night all around, won't it? Do you realize the skyrockety nature of your progress, young man? Lord! You take my breath." "It does seem like a dream. I landed here with a button-hook for baggage, and now Say, Runnels, her eyes are just like two big black pansies, and when she smiles you'll go off your trolley." "Your promotion came just in time, didn't it? Talk about luck!
Soames replaced the button-hook on the lace and pink silk of the dressing-table coverlet. "The name?" said Emily, "there are all the other Forsytes." "As if that helped me," muttered James. "I shall be in my grave, and there'll be nobody, unless he marries again." "You're quite right," said Soames quietly; "I'm getting a divorce." James' eyes almost started from his head. "What?" he cried.
"What is it?" asked Coralie. "Nothing." "Ring the bell," said Coralie, smiling to herself at Camusot's want of spirit. "Berenice," she said, when the Norman handmaid appeared, "just bring me a button-hook, for I must put on these confounded boots again. Don't forget to bring them to my dressing-room to-night." "What? . . . your boots?" . . . faltered out Camusot, breathing more freely.
"Do you intend to patronize a young man's bootmaker? A nice young man you would make! Do keep to your own top-boots; they are the kind for a steady-going man with a wife and family and a mistress." "Indeed, if you would take off one of your boots, sir, I should be very much obliged," persisted Camusot. "I could not get it on again without a button-hook," said Lucien, flushing up.
And Uncle Wiggily, putting the button-hook back in his pocket, went on to his hollow-stump bungalow. He had had his adventure. So everything came out all right, you see, and if the snow-shovel doesn't go off by itself, sliding down hill with the ash can, when it ought to be boiling the cups and saucers for supper, I'll tell you next about Uncle Wiggily and Mr. Pop-Goes. "Uncle Wiggily," said Mrs.
"Does it take long?" asked Miss Muffet. "Not if you know how to do it," said the Little Old Woman. "Then I will just sit down and watch it." The Little Old Woman rapped upon the table with a huge button-hook, and went about the business so briskly that before Miss Muffet knew what had happened, the meeting had adjourned. "Were the papers so quick?" she asked.
With equal caution Fred opened the door of the width of a finger, and put his ear to the crack. "You couldn't find me a button-hook, could you?" whispered the stranger. Indignantly Fred shut the door and, walking to the veranda, hailed the chauffeur. James, the chauffeur, was a Keepsburg boy, and when Keep had gone to Cambridge James had accompanied him. Keep knew the boy could be trusted.
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