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Updated: May 27, 2025
"The individual to whom you bear such a marked, I may say such a very marked, resemblance," said the stranger, mockingly, "is a certain Mr. Ferris Stanhope, a prosperous manufacturer of pink-tea literature. You never heard the name of course. But never mind about that. I should advise you both to leave town anyway." "Is it trespassing too far if I ask "
I can take my medicine all right, all right; but I'm just decently ashamed of myself, that's all. Here I am, on top of a dirty thirty miles, as knocked up and stiff and sore as a pink-tea degenerate after a five-mile walk on a country turn-pike. Bah! It makes me sick! Got a match?" "Don't git the tantrums, youngster." Bettles passed over the required fire-stick and waxed patriarchal.
His reluctance was merely a dissimulation, a stage wait for heightened dramatic effect. "How 'd you do the arranging?" he calmly inquired. "I could see the Mayor in the morning. There will be no Departmental difficulty." "Then where 's the trouble?" "There is none, if you are willing to go out." "Well, we can't get Binhart here by pink-tea invitations. Somebody 's got to go out and get him!"
Worth let that pass, though I could see he wasn't convinced by Vandeman's sentimentalities, any more than I was. After the man had gone, I turned on Worth sharply, with, "Why the devil did you tell that pink-tea proposition about your dealings with the Van Ness Avenue bank?" "Safety valve, I guess. I get up too heavy a load of steam, and it's easy to blow it off to Vandeman.
Beside the portrait ran a "story," which said in part: "It leaked out yesterday that the 'mysterious stranger' who suddenly appeared off Hunston in an elegant private yacht on Monday night, is none other than Ferris Stanhope, well-known author of novels of the pink-tea type.... "Mr. Stanhope is a native of Hunston, and is well remembered here.
"Cristy Lawson is a remarkably clever young woman," he said, gazing thoughtfully at a little electric light in the roof of the car. "For once I can agree with you entirely," nodded McAllister, flashing a quick glance at the other's upturned face. "I don't blame her for getting sick and tired of writing your pink-tea items. Why don't you give her a chance at bigger game?"
"Well now, it's darn seldom I do, and it certainly makes me tired, after going into a pink-tea joint like Vecchia's and having to stand around looking at a lot of half-naked young girls, all rouged up like they were sixty and eating a lot of stuff that simply ruins their stomachs " "Oh, it's too bad about you! I've noticed how you hate to look at pretty girls!"
About cowmen or peddlers or waterside toughs or stage-door Johnnies, or ward politicians, or school-teachers, or life. Not pink teas." "I have read pink-tea stories in your magazine." "Of course you have. Written by people who could see through the pink to the primary colors underneath. When you go to a pink tea, you are pink. Did you ever go to one?"
"To make my fortune," he gravely assured her. "Mr. Sharpe wants me to go into the Brightlight Electric Company with him." "I can imagine your courteous adroitness in putting the man back in his place," she laughed. "How preposterous! Why, he's utterly impossible!" "Ye-e-es?" questioned Bobby. "But you know, Agnes, this isn't a pink-tea affair.
We seem to have delegated scientific physical training to athletics and pugilism, with but scant concern for our people as a whole. If pink-tea calisthenics as practiced mildly in our schools has failed to produce robust bodies, then it is incumbent upon us to adopt a régime of beefsteak.
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