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Updated: June 24, 2025
"Perhaps you are right," said Hester slowly. Before her faded the dreams of greatness. Taking up the paper, she deliberately and slowly tore it into pieces and threw them into the wastebasket. She expressed no word of regret. She expected no expression of admiration for her fortitude. She was no weakling.
Some of the things he wanted to investigate had to be taken away from him; at first that angered him, but he soon learned that there were things he wasn't supposed to have. Eventually, the dishes got washed. There were more things to investigate in the living room. One of them was the wastebasket.
I was face to face with twoscore Fellow Citizens, in clean blouses and extra frills. I must tell them what George Washington had done for their country for our country for me. I can laugh now at the impossible metres, the grandiose phrases, the verbose repetitions of my poem. Years ago I must have laughed at it, when I threw my only copy into the wastebasket.
Frightened and alone, with only his nose poking out of the burrow beneath the trash of the wastebasket, he blinked back at the silent camera through which Bessie observed him, and elicited from her a murmur of pity. Seven minutes and forty-five seconds.
"Well, he did pick it up fortunately," Good Indian returned grimly. "I'm glad the thing was settled so easily." She looked up at him sharply for a moment, opened her lips to ask a question, and then thought better of it. "Oh, here's your handkerchief," she said quietly, taking it from the bottom of her wastebasket. "As you say, the thing is settled. I'm going to turn you out now.
When the boy handed his card to the manager the salesman saw him impatiently tear it in half and throw it in the wastebasket; the boy came out and told the caller that he could not see the chief. The salesman told the boy to go back and get him his card; the boy brought out five cents, with the message that his card was torn up.
For see: I can write on a very thin piece of paper, roll it into a string, thread it into a bodkin, and weave it into a rug, curtain, quilt, and so forth; or press it lengthwise into a crack in the floor. A favorite way is to tie it to a real piece of string, and throw them carelessly into a wastebasket, thus making them appear to have been cut from a bundle. But there are a thousand ways!
"I found a tablet of the same sort of paper, and scraps of writing in the wastebasket that were in the same hand. Think, Sid! On the ship " "By George!" Prale exclaimed. "She could have slipped into my stateroom and pinned that note to my pillow, and she could have stuck the second one on my suit case as I walked past her on the deck." "And could have sent the others," Farland added. "But, why?"
"What took Trubus out, Bobbie?" she asked, as she helped him arrange the machine behind the wastebasket, near the telephone switchboard. "Just a telegram, signed 'Friend, advising him to watch the men who came in the front door, downstairs, for ten minutes, but not to visit Clemm's office. That will keep him away, and he can't possibly guess who did it."
Well, you're nearly on time." "Sharp at the door, according to your waiting-room clock," said Blake, striking the match on his heel. "Good punctuality. First point you score. Now, what do you expect to get out of me?" Blake held the match to his cigar with deliberate care, blew it out, and flipped it into the wastebasket, with the terse answer: "Just that much."
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