The Scene is the Editor's room in the Office of "The Lark." Two walls of the room are completely hidden from floor to ceiling by magnificently bound books; the third wall at the back is hidden by boxes of immensely expensive cigars. The windows, of course, are in the fourth wall, which, however, need not be described, as it is never quite practicable on the stage. The floor of this apartment is chastely covered with rugs shot by the Editor in his travels, or in the Tottenham Court Road; or, in some cases, presented by admiring readers from abroad. The furniture...
Short Stories - Post by : blake - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 2160
(~Note.~--There are only six plots allowed to us who are not professionals. Here they are. When you have read them, then you will know all about amateur theatricals.) _The scene is an apartment in the mansion of Sir Thomas Farthingale. There is no need to describe the furniture in it, as rehearsals will gradually show what is wanted. A picture or two of previous Sir Thomas's might be seen on the walls, if you have an artistic friend who could arrange this; but it is a mistake to hang up your own ancestors, as some of your guests may recognise them,...
Short Stories - Post by : midnightblue - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 3071
Dinner was a very quiet affair. Not a soul drew my chair away from under me as I sat down, and during the meal nobody threw bread about. We talked gently of art and politics and things; and when the ladies left there was no booby trap waiting for them at the door. In a word, nothing to prepare me for what was to follow. We strolled leisurely into the drawing-room. A glance told me the worst. The ladies were in a cluster round Miss Power, and Miss Power was on the floor. She got up quickly as we came in....
Short Stories - Post by : rogermccafferty - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 664
I sat in the drawing-room after dinner with my knees together and my hands in my lap, and waited for the game to be explained to me. "There's a pencil for you," said somebody. "Thank you very much," I said and put it carefully away. Evidently I had won a forfeit already. It wasn't a very good pencil, though. "Now, has everybody got pencils?" asked somebody else. "The game is called 'Furnishing a Kitchen.' It's quite easy. Will somebody think of a letter?" She turned to me. "Perhaps _you'd_ better." "Certainly," I said, and I immediately thought very hard of N....
Short Stories - Post by : jamestcarter - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 1711
"Then you really are coming?" said Queen Elizabeth. "Yes, I really am," I sighed. "What as?" "I don't know at all--something with a cold. I leave it to you, partner, only don't go a black suit." "What about Richelieu?" "I should never be able to pronounce that," I confessed. "Besides, I always think that these great scientists--I should say philos--that is, of course, that these generals--er, which room is the Encyclopedia in?" "You might go as one of the Kings of England. Which is your favourite King?" "William and Mary. Now that would be an original costume. I should have----" "Don't...
Short Stories - Post by : Carl_Galletti - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 1021
He was a pale, enthusiastic young man of the name of Simms; and he held forth to us at great length about his latest hobby. "Now I'll just show you a little experiment," he wound up, "one that I have never known to fail. First of all I want you to hide a needle somewhere, while I am out of the room. You must stick it where it can be seen--on a chair--or on the floor if you like. Then I shall come back blindfolded and find it." "Oh, Mr. Simms!" we all said. "Now, which one of you has the...
Short Stories - Post by : hblawhorn - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 2852
"Why don't you sit up?" said Adela at dinner, suddenly prodding me in the back. Adela is old enough to take a motherly interest in my figure, and young enough to look extremely pretty while doing so. "I always stoop at meals," I explained; "it helps the circulation. My own idea." "But it looks so bad. You ought----" "Don't improve me," I begged. "No wonder you have----" "Hush! I haven't. I got a bullet on the liver in the campaign of '03, due to over smoking; and sometimes it hurts me a little in the cold weather. That's all." "Why don't...
Short Stories - Post by : Bruce_NewMedia - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 3129
There may be gardeners who can appear to be busy all the year round--doing even in the winter, their little bit under glass. But for myself I wait reverently until the 22nd of March is here. Then, Spring having officially arrived, I step out on to the lawn and summon my head-gardener. "James," I say, "the winter is over at last. What have we got in that big brown-looking bed in the middle there?" "Well, Sir," he says, "we don't seem to have anything do we, like?" "Perhaps there's something down below that hasn't pushed through yet?" "Maybe there is." "I...
Short Stories - Post by : ronhelor - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 1112
Everything promised well for my week-end with Charles. The weather was warm and sunny, I was bringing my golf clubs down with me, and I had just discovered (and meant to put into practice) an entirely new stance which made it impossible to miss the object ball. It was this that I was explaining to Charles and his wife at dinner on Friday, when the interruption occurred. "By the way," said Charles, as I took out a cigarette, "I've got a cigar for you. Don't smoke that thing." "You haven't let him go in for cigars?" I said reproachfully to Mrs....
Short Stories - Post by : anonym2006 - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 2755
William Bales--as nice a young man as ever wore a cummerbund on an esplanade--was in despair. For half-an-hour he and Miss Spratt had been sitting in silence on the pier, and it was still William's turn to say something. Miss Spratt's last remark had been, "Oh, Mr. Bales, you do say things!" and William felt that his next observation must at all costs live up to the standard set for it. Three or four times he had opened his mouth to speak, and then on second thoughts had rejected the intended utterance as unworthy. At the end of half-an-hour his mind...
Short Stories - Post by : asaseel2000 - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 2893
"Know thyself," said the old Greek motto. (In Greek--but this is an English book.) So I bought a little red volume called, tersely enough, _Were you born in January?_ I was; and, reassured on this point, the author told me all about myself. For the most part he told me nothing new. "You are," he said in effect, "good-tempered, courageous, ambitious, loyal, quick to resent wrong, an excellent _raconteur_, and a leader of men." True. "Generous to a fault"--(Yes, I was overdoing that rather)--"you have a ready sympathy with the distressed. People born in this month will always keep their promises."...
Short Stories - Post by : douga - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 985
When, five years ago, I used to write long letters to Margery, for some reason or other she never wrote back. To save her face I had to answer the letters myself--a tedious business. Still, I must admit that the warmth and geniality of the replies gave me a certain standing with my friends, who had not looked for me to be so popular. After some months, however, pride stepped in. One cannot pour out letter after letter to a lady without any acknowledgment save from oneself. And when even my own acknowledgments began to lose their first warmth--when, for instance,...
Short Stories - Post by : nivekderf - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 1437
Margery has a passion for writing just now. I can see nothing in it myself, but if people _will_ write I suppose you can't stop them. "Will you just lend me your pencil?" she asked. "Remind me to give you a hundred pencils some time," I said as I took it out, "and then you'll always have one. You simply eat pencils." "Oo, I gave it you back last time." "Only just. You inveigle me down here----" "What do I do?" "I'm not going to say that again for anybody." "Well, may I have the pencil?" I gave her the pencil...
Short Stories - Post by : didaskalos - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 3632
"Is that you, uncle?" said a voice from the nursery, as I hung my coat up in the hall. "I've only got my skin on, but you can come up." However, she was sitting up in bed with her nightgown on when I found her. "I was having my bath when you came," she explained. "Have you come all the way from London?" "All the way." "Then will you tell me a story?" "I can't; I'm going to have my dinner. I only came up to say good night." Margery leant forward and whispered coaxingly, "Will you just tell me about...
Short Stories - Post by : Larryeh - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 1018
("In the afternoon they came unto a land In which it seemed always afternoon.")I am like Napoleon in that I can go to sleep at any moment; I am unlike him (I believe) in that I am always doing so. One makes no apology for doing so on Sunday afternoon; the apology indeed should come from the others, the wakeful parties.... "Uncle!" "Margery." "Will you come and play wiv me?" "I'm rather busy just now," I said with closed eyes. "After tea." "Why are you raver busy just now? My baby's only raver busy sometimes." "Well then,...
Short Stories - Post by : edburdo - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 2499
"In conversation," said somebody (I think it was my grandfather), "there should always be a give and take. The ball must be kept rolling." If he had ever had a niece two years old, I don't think he would have bothered. "What's 'at?" said Margery, pointing suddenly. "That," I said, stroking it, "is dear uncle's nose." "What's 'at?" "Take your finger away. Ah, yes, that is dear uncle's eye. The left one." "Dear uncle's left one," said Margery thoughtfully. "What's it doing?" "Thinking." "What's finking?" "What dear uncle does every afternoon after lunch." "What's lunch?" "Eggs, sardines, macaroons--everything." With a great...
Short Stories - Post by : Inklings - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 2427
We don't know his real name, but we have decided to call him "Arthur" ("Sir Arthur," I suppose he would be). He stands in bronze upon the chimney-piece, and in his right hand is a javelin; this makes him a very dangerous person. Opposite him, but behind the clock (Coward!), stands the other fellow, similarly armed. Most people imagine that the two are fighting for the hand of the lady on the clock, and they aver that they can hear her heart beating with the excitement of it; but, to let you into the secret, the other fellow doesn't come into...
Short Stories - Post by : rameses - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 1675
(FOREWORD. Margery wishes me to publish the following correspondence, which has recently passed between us. It occurs to me that the name under which I appear in it may perhaps need explanation. I hate explanations, but here it is. When Margery was eight months old, she was taught to call me "Uncle." I must suppose that at this time I was always giving her things--things she really wanted, such as boot-laces, the best china, evening papers and so on--which had been withheld by those in authority. Later on, these persons came round to my way of thinking, and gave her, if...
Short Stories - Post by : derrickt - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 2606
I When Margery was three months old I wrote a letter to her mother: _Dear Madam_,--If you have a copy in Class D at 1/10d. net, I shall be glad to hear from you. I am,~The Baby's Uncle.~ On Tuesday I got an answer by the morning post: _Dear Sir_,--In reply to yours: How dare you insult my child? She is in Class A1, priceless and bought in by the owner. Four months old (and two days) on Christmas Day. Fancy! I am,~The Baby's Mother.~ Margery had been getting into an expensive way of celebrating her birthday...
Short Stories - Post by : PowerTeamLeader - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 1985
I.--TAKING A CALL "MAY I come in?" said Miss Middleton. I looked up from my book and stared at her in amazement. "Hullo," I said. "Hullo," said Miss Middleton doubtfully. "Are you going to have tea with me?" "That's what I was wondering all the way up." "It's all ready; in fact, I've nearly finished. There's a cake to-day, too." Miss Middleton hesitated at the door and looked wistfully at me. "I suppose--I suppose," she said timidly, "you think I ought to have brought somebody, with me?" "In a way, I'm just as glad you didn't." "I've heaps of chaperons outside...
Short Stories - Post by : captpaul - Date : August 2011 - Author : A. A. Milne - Read : 1233
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