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Updated: September 1, 2025
Goldsmith's chambers in Brick Court; or Harry Fielding, with inked ruffles and a wet towel round his head, dashing off articles at midnight for the Covent Garden Journal, while the printer's boy is asleep in the passage.
After all, though we had lost touch a bit of recent years, this man and I had once thrown inked darts at each other. "Gussie," I said, "take an old friend's advice, and don't go within a mile of this binge." "But it's my last chance of seeing her. She's off tomorrow to stay with some people in the country. Besides, you don't know." "Don't know what?" "That this idea of Jeeves's won't work.
I get the impression she was afraid of him." This last sentence was inked out, I but I read it through the scratching; the letters being too big to hide. "He had an inflexible will beneath all that oily kindness which passed for spiritual. He was a real personality, I mean. I'm sure he'd have sent you and me cheerfully to the stake in another century for our own good.
I remember how once I got the types for the letters of my name from some printing press, and what a memorable thing it seemed when I inked and pressed them on paper and found my name imprinted. We used to give a lift in our carriage to this schoolfellow and author-friend of ours. This led to visiting terms. He was also great at theatricals.
"Hold your tongue, boy!" sharply cried Tom Channing. "Do you forget that I am a senior? You heard the master's words. We know no brothers in school life, you must remember." Charley laughed. "Tom, you think I am a child, I believe. I didn't enter the school yesterday. All I was going to tell you was this: I don't know any more than you who inked the surplice; and suspicion goes for nothing."
The noble leader scrawled and inked and blotted all the phases of the battle upon the same scrap of paper, till the batteries were at the starting-point of the charge, the Light Brigade on the far side of the guns, and all the points of the compass, attack and defence, had changed their original places; in fact, the gallant Earl brandished his pen as valiantly as he had his sword.
On holidays he wears a velveteen suit with grease spots inked over, an imitation lace collar, and a blue make-up tie." Mr. Waddington re-opened the silver casket. "It is Fate," he decided. "Here are two beans." Burton folded them up in a piece of paper and placed them carefully in his waistcoat pocket. "I felt convinced," he said gratefully, "that I should not make my appeal to you in vain.
Its face was just inked on, it had no features, no arms; yet not for all the dolls in the world would she have exchanged this filthy and nearly formless thing. It was a fetish. She sat nursing it on one side of the helmsman, whilst Dick, on the other side, hung his nose over the water, on the look-out for fish.
I have seen good ones made of peanuts, with the features inked on, and a very young black birch catkin for tail. Beautiful birds also can be made by using a pith body and bright feathers or silks glued on for plumes. The pith itself is easily coloured with water colours.
He traced without hesitation the course of that strange insurrection which hurled a coarse fanatic from the throne, only to place in his room a literary pedant with inked fingers and populous beard. He accepted everything, from the parasites to the purple slippers. The dangers of so humble an attendance upon history were escaped with success in the first instalment of his "world drama."
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