Ralph Henry Barbour

“ The salad which Alfred placed before him held strange tones of color where the fresh, crisp leaves of lettuce curled in the mingled lights. And it was the salad that presented Roger with an idea of such brilliancy that he dropped his fork and snapped his fingers in triumph. ”

“ Er—by the way, Denis, this Mrs. Leary, is she a widow?”
“Yes, sor.”
“Attractive?”
“A fine figger of a woman, sor, askin’ yer pardon.”
“Money?”
“So they do be sayin’, sor.”
“Well, I wish you luck, my man.”
“Who, sor, me?” Denis smirked broadly and strove to look unconscious. “Oh, sor, sure there’s many a one do be afther her.”
“Well, what of it?” asked Roger, with a sudden burst of vehemence, tossing his cigarette through the darkening window. “What of it? You’ve a tongue in your head, haven’t you? Talk to her, man! Make her love you! If she’s worth winning, win her! What the devil! ”

“ Fresh vegetables are very necessary, Denis. And what you get from the stores aren’t the same as those out of your own garden.”
“’Tis gospel truth, sor. Sure, the stuff they do have in the village ain’t fit for a cow, sor, let alone a gentleman, sor.” ”