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Updated: May 2, 2025
Sister is naturally retiring, as befits a Hindu widow, but our little circle in Purulia and in Biur all know that she is literally an 'exceptional' woman." The brother's sincerity was manifest. Our little party thanked him warmly and set out toward Biur. We stopped at a street shop for curry and LUCHIS, attracting a swarm of urchins who gathered round to watch Mr.
Breakfast, of course, could not be served, but a plate was put at one end of the table for the silent old Scotch captain, who tucked up his feet and sat with his oilskins and sou'-wester on, while the charming steward, with trousers rolled up to his knees, waded about, pacifying us by bringing us excellent curry as we sat on the edges of our berths, and putting on a sweetly apologetic manner, as if penitent for the gross misbehaviour of the ship.
Then coming up to Barlow he held out his hand saying: "My dear boy, God be with you; but don't take chances will you?" At that instant Elizabeth appeared at the doorway: "Captain Barlow will have breakfast with us, won't he, father it's all ready, and Boodha says he has a chop-and-kidney curry that is a dream?" "Jupiter!"
When the Master of Ravenswood would no longer fence or play at shovel-board; when he himself had polished to the extremity the coat of his palfrey with brush, curry comb, and hair-cloth; when he had seen him eat his provender, and gently lie down in his stall, he could hardly help envying the animal's apparent acquiescence in a life so monotonous.
Champa sober had more than once come to shipwreck. No doubt some busybody, seeking to curry favor with him, had run to this Clanton with the tale of how Mysterious Pete had sworn to kill him on sight. The bad man was sour on the world this morning. He prided himself on being always a dead shot, but such a night as he had spent would not help his chances.
I bought a nice, fat hen and a glass pumping arrangement from a drug store.... The hen, she passed away this mornin' about daybreak. She bled quite a lot, but I got most of it in that rubber bag, and when Jeremiah was ready for his gallop " "You put it in his mouth?" Old Man Curry nodded. "Oh, why didn't you tell me?" wailed the Bald-faced Kid. "I could have cleaned up!"
The cook called him "my darg," and the men called the cook "Curry and Rice," with "old" before it mostly. Rice was a little, dumpy, fat man, with a round, smooth, good-humoured face, a bald head, feet wide apart, and a big blue cotton apron. He had been a ship's cook. He didn't look so much out of place in the hut as the hut did round him.
"I don't believe, when I have no femme to drag to the hops, that it would make me any more popular with the fellows, either. A fellow who pirates at all should drag a spoony femme pretty often himself." "Why," asked Hayes, opening his eyes rather wide, "are you boning bootlick with any but officers?" "Boning bootlick" means to curry favor.
And yet and yet Ah, monsieur, how can I fail to feel as I do when this change in the lion came with that man's coming? And she ah, monsieur, why is she always with him? Why does she curry favour of him and his rich friend?" "He has a rich friend, then?" "Yes, monsieur.
"Hot, ain't it?" asked the newcomer by way of making a little talk. "What you reading, Curry?" Old Man Curry looked up from the thirteenth chapter of Proverbs, ceased chewing his straw, and regarded Pitkin with a grave and appraising interest which held something of disapproval, something of insult. Pitkin's eyes shifted.
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