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Updated: May 3, 2025
"I won't go!" flared Reade, his face showing red under its heavy coat of tan. "Oh, yes, you will," Dick insisted, "or else admit that you perjured yourself when you idealized your working duds this morning." "And are you really going to-morrow night?" Greg insisted. "I certainly am," young Prescott affirmed. That was too much of a poser for the other members of Dick & Co.
"And how do you suppose Santa Claus keeps so clean?" asked the little girl, nothing daunted. That was a poser. No one could quite tell. "We used to burn out our chimney," announced Aunt Patience. "Burn it out?" "Yes. We'd take a rather lowering day, or start in just as it was beginning to rain. We'd put a heap of straw in the fireplace and kindle it, and the soot would soon catch.
Miss Rebecca had been musing on the subject all day, and a heartfelt response rose promptly to her lips spoken with the simple grace of a self-respecting gentlewoman: "Why should we sell, Mr. Anderson?" The question was rather a poser to answer categorically; yet the would-be purchaser felt that he sufficiently conveyed his meaning when he said: "I thought I might have made it worth your while."
I'm simply tired of going to bed, every night." "Have you had any more nightmares?" "Only about one. May I leave the door open into your room to-night, Mum?" "Yes, just a little." Little Jon heaved a sigh of satisfaction. "What did you see in Glensofantrim?" "Nothing but beauty, darling." "What exactly is beauty?" "What exactly is Oh! Jon, that's a poser." "Can I see it, for instance?"
Aunt Maria tossed her head as she spoke. She grew daily more like her brother Henry. The family traits in each became more accentuated. Each posed paradoxically as not being a poser.
He asked where we live in England; a poser, rather, considering we don't at present live at all; but I told him where we did live, when Dad was alive. "Ah," he said, "that is in Sussex. Very pretty just there. Which house was your home?" I stared a little, for it seemed waste of time to describe it, but I said it was an old house on an open green. "Yes," he said, nodding, "on the common.
The Attic goat has become an artificially artistic being; though of course he is not now what he was, as a poser, in the days of Polycletus. There is opportunity for a very instructive essay by Mr. E. A. Freeman on the decadence of the Attic goat under the influence of the Ottoman Turk.
Bivens bowed with exaggerated courtesy to the great man, introduced him and said with a quiet sneer: "The kind that makes me really sick is the patriotic poser. I suppose it was because my dad wasn't a very brave soldier." He laughed quietly. "Remember the day you knocked those brutes down at college for forcing me to make a speech in praise of my father's heroism?
"Oppositus," said Tom, twisting his fingers, and gazing first at Ethel, then at Harry, in hopes of being prompted, then at the ceiling and floor, the while he drawled out the word with a whine, "why, oppositus from op-posor." "A poser! ain't it?" said Harry. "Don't, Harry, you distract him," said Richard. "Come, Tom, say at once whether you know it or not it is of no use to invent."
And his first startling question was this: "Why should Mr. Lloyd George, instead of getting five thousand pounds a year for his services as prime minister, receive any more than a common labourer?" The question was a poser. The speaker folded his hands and beamed down at them; he seemed fairly to radiate benignity.
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