Summary

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

No, I felt that Dorothy should be taught a lesson; that is all. I thought it would be good for her.
"That settles Dorothy," I said deliberately. "Now we can go on reading."
"But she wants me to go and look for her," explained Christopher.
"Then let her want," I said shortly. "We can't always be—— Christopher, we'll have a game with Dorothy. We'll stop where we are and let her look for herself."
Christopher chuckled. "She'll be awfully angry," he said uncertainly.
"Good!" said I.
"Cooee!" came a voice from the far-away. We laughed guiltily to ourselves and settled down in the chair.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

I find it very difficult to walk slowly down Bond Street as one ought to do; I always feel so guilty. Most of the people there look scornfully at me as if I belonged to Whitechapel, and the rest look suspiciously at me as if I belonged to Bond Street. My clothes are neither good enough nor bad enough. So I hurry through with the tense expression of a man who is merely using Bond Street as a thoroughfare, because it is the way to his dentist—as indeed in my case it is.
Source: Gutenberg

Various Punch, or the London Charivari…

That is the secret of Bond Street. Beneath that glittering display of luxurious trivialities there are vast reserves of solid prosaic necessaries, only waiting to be asked for. A man could live exclusively on Bond Street. I don't know where you would buy your butchers' meat, but I have a proud fancy that, if you went in and said something to one of those sleek and sorrowful jewellers, he too would vanish underground and blandly return to you with a jewelled steak or a plush chop.
Many years ago, they tell me, there was a butcher in Bond Street.
Source: Gutenberg

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