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Updated: May 23, 2025
Miss La Noyes, appearing in another moment dressed for the street, stopped at the door to bestow a frankly admiring smile upon the abstracted president of the company, and a grateful one upon its pink- cheeked secretary. "Hope you'll come and see our show some evening. You won't know me at first, because I wear a blond wig in the first scene. Third from the left, front row." And to Mrs.
Sauntering along his nonchalant course, Madeline Taylor already half forgotten, Ted Holiday came face to face with old Doctor Hendricks, a rosy cheeked, white bearded, twinkling eyed Santa Claus sort of person who had known his father and uncle and brother and had pulled himself through various minor itises and sprains. Seeing the doctor reminded him of Madeline. "Hello, Doc.
She did not know that from the first day she had entered his class the young professor had been conscious of the yellow head in the furthest corner of the classroom. It was a nobly shaped head bound round with curly yellow braids above a slender face, red cheeked yet delicate.
She had a beautiful colour, and a deuce of a lot of fair hair. She didn't care a rap for wind, or rain, or spray, or sun, or green seas, or anything. She was a blue-eyed, jolly girl of the very best sort, but the way she cheeked my big brother used to frighten me. I always expected it to end in an awful row. However, nothing decisive happened till after we had been in Sydney for a week.
When working hours were over, and on Sundays, he loved to put on the stiff high collar and the cheeked clothes which suggested the garments of the English tourist.
Good lord, man, can't you look after yourself in hall. Jolly ignominious, isn't it, having to call up a lot of prefects to back you up? Fine example to the rest of the House, isn't it?" "Well," stammered Rudd, "I don't pretend to be a strong prefect." "You certainly aren't," said Foster. "That's beside the point," said Rudd. "I have been cheeked by Stockbrew, and I am a prefect.
A typical old Frenchman, with a snow-white drooping moustache and closely cropped white hair, runs the hotel with the aid of his rosy cheeked daughter and a couple of maids.
In a second Gordon and Lovelace were on him. They did not care in the very least what happened to Davenham. He played no part in their life. But a School House man had been "cheeked" by a filthy little outhouse swab. These aliens had to be taught their place. "What do you mean by that, you awful tick?" shouted Lovelace. "Davenham, go and fetch a hockey stick from Tester's study."
"Yes, and I'm writing the lines now," said Telson, dipping his pen in the ink, and scarcely smothering a laugh. Game, now fully aware of his rebuff, was glad of an opportunity of covering his defeat by a diversion. "Look here," said he, walking up to Telson, "I didn't come here to be cheeked by you, I can tell you." "Who's cheeking you?" said Telson. "I'm not." "Yes, you are," said Game.
Do you see down there under the plane-trees that group of nurses, a herd of Burgundian milch kine, and at their feet, rolling on a carpet, all those little rosy cheeked philosophers who only ask God for a little sunshine, pure milk, and quiet, in order to be happy. Frequently an accident disturbs the delightful calm. The Burgundian who mistrusted matters darts forward. It is too late.
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