Of course you spent Christmas at the old home in England--one of those yule-log and plum-pudding Christmases you read of in novels.

You Englishmen--" "My dear Sanderson, don't call me English! I've told you a dozen times that I'm not English." "So you did; so you did! I'd forgotten that you're so damned sensitive about it;" and Sanderson's eyes regarded Armitage intently for a moment, as though he were trying to recall some previous discussion of the young man's nativity.
"I offer you free swing at the bar, Senator.

May I summon a Montana cocktail?
You taught me the ingredients once--three dashes orange bitters; two dashes acid phosphate; half a jigger of whisky; half a jigger of Italian vermuth.

You undermined the constitutions of half Montana with that mess." Sanderson reached for his hat with sudden dejection.
"The sprinkling cart for me! I've got a nerve specialist engaged by the year to keep me out of sanatoriums.

See here, I want you to go with us to-night to the Secretary of State's push.