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Updated: July 21, 2025
“What have you there, papa?” asked Bawly, as he scratched his nose on a rough stone; “is it ice cream cones for us?” “No,” said Mr. No-Tail, “it is not anything like that; but, anyhow, the weather is almost warm enough for ice cream.” “Is it some new kind of wallpaper that you hopped on to-day after you dipped your feet in red and green ink?” asked Bully.
And I have made the acquaintance of your sister too; a sweet, dear girl, but I can never persuade her that there is nothing awful about your adopting the simple life. On the contrary, you have become the most interesting man in the town." She looked again at the pail of paste and the wallpaper, and went on: "I asked Dr.
She led the way into the "best room," a sunny, square room, carpeted with a faded and patched rag carpet, and papered with a horrible white-and-green-striped wallpaper, where a few ghastly effigies of dead members of the family hung in variously sized oval walnut frames. The house resounded with singing, laughter, whistling, tramping of boots, and scufflings.
As Cora McBride sat there in the homely little farmhouse kitchen and thought of the debts still existent, contracted to save the already stricken lives of two little lads forgotten now by all but herself and Duncan and God, of the chances of losing their home if Duncan could work no more and pay up the balance of their mortgage, of the days when Duncan must lie in the south bedroom alone and count the figures on the wallpaper as she sat there and contemplated these things, into Cora McBride's heart crept determination.
For a second or two she looked at the stained wallpaper, the greasy toilet table, the whole dirty little room as it basked in the pale sunlight. Then she paused in front of the count and spoke with quiet directness. "It's strange how rich men fancy they can have everything for their money. Well, and if I don't want to consent what then? I don't care a pin for your presents!
That is something." "I'm not going to ask permission to smoke I'm going to sprawl in all the chairs and puff away at my leisure." "Do. I'll try to remember it is good for moths." "Mary, are you satisfied?" he asked, wistfully. "Of course. It never does to have it all perfect to the last detail of the wallpaper designs. That never lasts."
No poet can keep for very long to the "neutral style," to the cool gray wallpaper words, so to speak; he wants more color -passionate words that will "stick fiery off" against the neutral background of conventional diction. In vain does Horace warn him against "purple patches"; for he knows that the tolerant Horace allowed himself to use purple patches whenever he wished.
It was a pretty room, with a set of maple furniture, and amber and white wallpaper, and amber and white chintz curtains and coverings. It suited the color of my hair, Alice declared, and was becoming to my complexion. "Yes," said Charles, looking at my hair with an expression that made me put my hand up to my head as if to hide it; I knew it was carelessly dressed.
The pattern of the wallpaper blamelessly repeats itself from wainscote to cornice; and the pictures are immobile and changeless within their glazed frames faint, flat mimicries of life. The chairs and tables are just as their carpenter fashioned them, and stand with stiff obedience just where they have been posted.
It has transformed the faded flowers of the wallpaper and restored to newness the Turkey-red stuff which covers my dressing-table. I dress carefully, dallying to look at myself in the glass, closely and farther away, in the fresh scent of soap. I try to make out whether my eyes are little or big. They are the average, no doubt, but it really seems to me that they have a tender brightness.
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