"Strikes, strikes everywhere. Murder, bloodshed, robbery, revolution--"
"Next thing we know," put in Charlie Webster, without looking up
from his plate, "God will strike, and when He does there'll be hell
to pay, begging your pardon, ladies, for using a word that sounds
worse than it tastes."
"I use it every day of my life," said Miss Flora Grady. "It's a
grand word, Charlie," she added, a little defiantly.
"Times have changed," remarked Mr. Pollock blandly. "It wasn't so
very long ago that women Said 'pshaw' when they wanted to let off
steam. Then they got to saying 'shucks,' and from that they progressed
to 'darn,' and now they say 'damn' without a quiver. Only yesterday
I heard my wife say something that sounded suspiciously like 'dammit
to hell' when she upset a bottle of ink on her desk. She hasn't
stubbed her toe against a rocking-chair lately, thank goodness."
Doc Simpson stopped Courtney as he was starting upstairs after
dinner. The dentist was unsmiling.
"Say, Court, I'm running a little close this week. Been so much
excitement a lot of patients have forgotten all about their teeth.
Can you let me have that ten you borrowed last week?"
"Sure," said Courtney, in his most affable manner. "I'll hand it
to you tomorrow. I'll give it to you now if you'll wait till I run
upstairs and get it out of my trunk. That's my bank, you know.
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