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Updated: June 19, 2025
"When do you think of beginning?" he asked. "Not going to begin at all." "Oh, poppycock, my boy." He tossed down the Latin book and yawned. "Don't you want to go to college?" "No; not if I've got to study all that darned stuff." "What kind of stuff?" "Darned stuff, I said. You heard me, didn't you?" "Yes; but I thought perhaps I'd mistaken. Well, we'll try this again to-morrow.
English readers will understand the exact shade of meaning of the word when I say that the paragraph above quoted is most excellent and precise poppycock. Every American who read that paragraph when the book was published must have chuckled inwardly, just as every Englishman would chuckle. But the point which I wish to emphasise is that it is not at all poppycock from the author's point of view.
"There's no one like a week-old freshman for self-importance," Cowan said, laughing in order to hide his vexation. "Unless it's a third-year sophomore," Neil retorted. "Oh, well," Paul interposed, "it's all poppycock, anyhow." "That's all," said Livingston. "Of course," agreed Cowan. Neil was silent. Life now was filled with hard work for both Neil and Paul.
But the lighthouse service has pretty well put a stop to that." "This chap I was speaking about, the fellow who told me so much about this region," said Gavin. "told me there is supposed to be pirate gold buried in more than one of these keys." "Rot!" snorted Milo with needless vehemence. "All poppycock!
Novelists write a lot of nonsense about the pangs of hunger and the extreme suffering that accompanies starvation. It is all poppycock. Any healthy person, with a normal appetite, after missing two or three meals is as hungry as he ever gets. After awhile there is a sense of weakness that grows on one, and this increases with the days.
You don't suppose these Big Guns will stand your bucking them and springing all this 'liberal' poppycock you been getting off lately, do you?" "Oh, rats, Henry T., you been reading bum fiction. There ain't any such a thing as these plots to keep folks from being liberal. This is a free country. A man can do anything he wants to." "Course th' ain't any plots. Who said they was?
"It isn't all poppycock, my dear," old Hector rebuked her. He rolled another bread-crumb. "Andrew has her address," he resumed after a long silence. "She's in New York. He asked me to wire her to come immediately, or else permit him to wire her in my name. I refused. I told Daney that our boy's case was in the hands of God Almighty." "Oh, Hector!" Mrs. McKaye had spoken.
Paula drooped, and sighed inaudibly, and, as she went down the room and out the door, and as Bonbright stepped eagerly forward with the telegrams, she could hear the beginning of her husband's conversation: "No. It is impossible. He's got to come through, or I'll put him out of business. That gentleman's agreement is all poppycock. If it were only that, of course he could break it.
He could see her now at her desk, assembling data of conduct, bodily well-being, and putting it all down in that masterful hand of hers. That settled it. He mustn't write her. He must telegraph and forestall Dick. And he did telegraph her, on the moment, a message of noncommittal brevity: "Letter Dick sent you is all poppycock. Forget it."
I begged him to use all his mental powers to keep me in the right direction oh, I have that poppycock all down fine just as the mediums at the seances have." Aunt Abby sniffed disdainfully, and Embury chuckled at her expression.
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