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Updated: May 21, 2025
Chumley Potts offered generally to bet that he would distinguish blindfold at a single sip any Madeira from any first-class Sherry, Old Brown or Pale. 'Single sip or smell! Ambrose Mallard cried, either for himself or his comrade, Queeney could not say which. Of all Lord Fleetwood's following, Mr. Potts and Mr.
He rattled a tale of the highway robbery of Sir Meeson Corby on one of his Yorkshire moors. The picture of the little baronet arose upon the narration, and it amused. Chumley Potts came to 'confirm every item, as he said. 'Plucked Corby clean. Pistol at his head. Quite old style. Time, ten P.M. Suspects Great Britain, King, Lords and Commons, and buttons twenty times tighter.
He rattled a tale of the highway robbery of Sir Meeson Corby on one of his Yorkshire moors. The picture of the little baronet arose upon the narration, and it amused. Chumley Potts came to 'confirm every item, as he said. 'Plucked Corby clean. Pistol at his head. Quite old style. Time, ten P.M. Suspects Great Britain, King, Lords and Commons, and buttons twenty times tighter.
Flamby at this point discovered that she had been weeping for quite a long time. She was very sorry for herself indeed; and recognising this in turn she began to laugh, perhaps rather hysterically. She was laughing when Mrs. Chumley came to look for her, nor could she stop. "Whatever are you laughing about, dear? Has Don been telling you one of his ridiculous stories?" "No.
You are not obliged to see it; you can be driven away if you wish. 'I will be here, if you are here. 'You choose it. Fleetwood leaned over to Chumley Potts on the turf. 'Abrane's ruining himself. Potts frankly hoped that his friend might be doing so. 'Todds is jolly well backed. He's in prime condition. He's the favourite of the knowing ones. 'You wouldn't have the odds, if he weren't.
Ambrose Mallard lay as peaceful in consecrated ground: and Chumley Potts would be unlikely to think that the helping to lay Ambrose in his quiet last home would cost him a roasting until priestly intercession availed. So Chummy continues a Protestant; dull consciences can! But this is incomprehensible, that she, nursing her injury, should be perfectly civil. She is a woman without emotion.
Brailstone and Chumley Potts were town criers of the executioner letter each had received from the earl; Potts with his chatter of a suicide's pistol kept loaded in a case under a two-inch-long silver Cross, and with sundry dramatic taps on the forehead, Jottings over the breast, and awful grimace of devoutness. There was no mistaking him.
The item said the family had taken apartments at Red Gap's premier hotel de luxe, the American House; and Cousin Egbert, being told a million dollars was bet that he never could guess how the name was pronounced in English, he up and said you couldn't fool him; that it was pronounced Chumley, which was just like the old smarty only he give in that he was surprised when told how it really was pronounced; and he said if a party's name was Postlethwaite why couldn't they come out and say so like a man, instead of beating round the bush like that?
Chumley Potts offered generally to bet that he would distinguish blindfold at a single sip any Madeira from any first-class Sherry, Old Brown or Pale. 'Single sip or smell! Ambrose Mallard cried, either for himself or his comrade, Queeney could not say which. Of all Lord Fleetwood's following, Mr. Potts and Mr.
"Isn't it time we started?" she asked, turning to Don. "Mrs. Chumley will be expecting us." "Ah!" cried Don gratefully, glancing at his watch. "Of course she will. Where is the waiter?" "You don't like James, do you?" said Flamby, as the car approached The Hostel. "No. Vanity in a man is ridiculous, and I always endeavour to avoid ridiculous people.
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