Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 19, 2025
I've never really wanted to say it before, so it's quite extraordinary. My name's Guy Peel." The white glove, with its too-conspicuous black stitching, disappeared within his palm. "Mine's Mercedes Meron, late of the Morning Glory Burlesquers, but from now on Sadie Hayes, of Kewaskum, Wisconsin. Good-bye and well God bless you, too.
They said something quite unmelodramatic, and commonplace, such as: "Well, look who's here!" or, "My land! If it ain't Ed! How's Ed?" So it was that the Purple Willow Plume and the Adam's Apple stopped, shook hands, and viewed one another while the Plume said, "I kind of thought I'd bump into you. Felt it in my bones." And the Adam's Apple said: "Then you're not living in Kewaskum er Wisconsin?"
Said he to Tony: "Let me have the London Times." Well, there you are. I turned an accusing eye on Tony. "And you said no stories came your way," I murmured, reproachfully. "Help yourself," said Tony. The blonde lady grasped the Kewaskum Courier. Her green plume appeared to be unduly agitated as she searched its columns. The sheet rattled. There was no breeze.
"Well," began she, "in the first place, my name's Mercedes Meron, of the Morning Glory Burlesquers, formerly Sadie Hayes of Kewaskum, Wisconsin. I went home next day, like I said I would. Say, Mr. Guy Peel. "How long did you stay?" "I'm coming to that. Or maybe you can figure it out yourself when I tell you I've been back eleven months.
I came around here just as usual, because well because " Tony's gift for remembering faces and facts amounts to genius. With two deft movements he whisked two papers from among the many in the rack, and held them out. "Kewaskum Courier?" he suggested. "Nix," said Mercedes Meron, "I'll take a Chicago Scream." "London Times?" said Tony. "No," replied Guy Peel. "Give me the San Antonio Express."
The hands in the too-black stitched gloves were trembling. I turned from her to the man just in time to see the Adam's apple leaping about unpleasantly and convulsively. Whereupon I jumped to two conclusions. Conclusion one: Any woman whose hands can tremble over the Kewaskum Courier is homesick.
Everything about her was "too," from the black stitching on her white gloves to the buckle of brilliants in her hat. The city had her, body and soul, and had fashioned her in its metallic cast. You would have sworn that she had never seen flowers growing in a field. Said she to Tony: "Got a Kewaskum Courier?" As she said it the man stopped at the stand and put his question.
I want to spend the rest of my life in a place so that when I die they'll put a column in the paper, with a verse at the top, and all the neighbors'll come in and help bake up. Here why, here I'd just be two lines on the want ad page, with fifty cents extra for 'Kewaskum paper please copy." The man held out his hand. "Good-bye," he said, "and please excuse me if I say God bless you.
I wired the folks I was coming, and then I came before they had a chance to answer. When the train reached Kewaskum I stepped off into the arms of a dowd in a home-made-made-over-year-before-last suit, and a hat that would have been funny if it hadn't been so pathetic. "'Steve! she shrieks, 'beat me! You must be crazy! "'Well, if he don't, he ought to.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking