XX Tag: London

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Best Shooting Arm

There lived a man serving his country in army with incredible shooting skills. He kept improving his skill practicing everyday. Everyone who knew his ability was sure he would win Gold in Olympics.

On a fateful day, the man lost his shooting arm when a grenade exploded accidentally. Everyone pitied him. They called him unfortunate. What is he without his shooting arm. But this man still wanted to win.

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A Black Affair

“I didn’t want to bring it,” said Captain Gubson, regarding somewhat unfavourably a grey parrot whose cage was hanging against the mainmast, “but my old uncle was so set on it I had to. He said a sea-voyage would set its ‘elth up.”

“It seems to be all right at present,” said the mate, who was tenderly sucking his forefinger; “best of spirits, I should say.”

“It’s playful,” assented the skipper. “The old man thinks a rare lot of it. I think I shall have a little bit in that quarter, so keep your eye on the beggar.”

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Low Water

It was a calm, clear evening in late summer as the Elizabeth Ann, of Pembray, scorning the expensive aid of a tug, threaded her way down the London river under canvas. The crew were busy forward, and the master and part-owner–a fussy little man, deeply imbued with a sense of his own importance and cleverness–was at the wheel chatting with the mate. While waiting for a portion of his cargo,

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Made To Measure

Mr. Mott brought his niece home from the station with considerable pride. Although he had received a photograph to assist identification, he had been very dubious about accosting the pretty, well-dressed girl who had stepped from the train and gazed around with dove-like eyes in search of him. Now he was comfortably conscious of the admiring gaze of his younger fellow-townsmen.

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Bill’s Lapse

Strength and good-nature–said the night-watchman, musingly, as he felt his biceps–strength and good-nature always go together. Sometimes you find a strong man who is not good-natured, but then, as everybody he comes in contack with is, it comes to the same thing.

The strongest and kindest-‘earted man I ever come across was a man o’ the name of Bill Burton, a ship-mate of Ginger Dick’s.

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The Bequest

R. Robert Clarkson sat by his fire, smoking thoughtfully. His lifelong neighbour and successful rival in love had passed away a few days before, and Mr. Clarkson, fresh from the obsequies, sat musing on the fragility of man and the inconvenience that sometimes attended his departure.

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