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Against All Odds: A Gilded Age Romance
- Thread starter Barbaria1
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- humour punishment romance sex
Doragon
Tribune
A beautiful word combination. This stink is so bad, any resistance is futile.
windar
Teller of Tales
Chapter 20.
The first thing Stan noticed when he arrived back at his room, after letting Susanna off at her place of business on Spring Ave. was the Western Union envelope. He opened it nervously, hoping that it wasn’t bad news regarding his parents back in Ohio.
To his great relief it wasn’t. Not at all. Rather, it was from his Wall Street friends and read: “Arriving with H and P 8 PM today STOP C ” So Caleb, Henry and Patrick had decided to absent themselves from what was almost certainly a listless stock market on a summer Friday and come up for the big race tomorrow.
Of course, he would meet them for drinks. He had much to tell them. On his way back from dinner he stopped at the front desk to leave them a note directing them upon arrival to the hotel saloon that Stan thought best suited for an evening with his male companions. He nursed a whisky as he awaited them at the appointed hour in the dark walnut-paneled room, decorated with a stuffed stag head over the bar.
He rose to greet them as they made their way through the cigar smoke to his table, shaking hands and clapping them on the back, before they headed to the bar for a round of whiskies and joined him at the table.
“How are the horses treating you, Goldman?” Caleb asked in his languid Southern drawl, after imbibing a generous portion of his drink.
“Just fine,” Stan replied. They ordered a round of whiskies.
“Who do you like in the Stakes tomorrow?” Henry inquired.
“Oh, I like one, I think,” Stan replied.
“Yes, but which one?” Patrick asked.
“One,” Stan replied. “That’s the name of the horse, ‘One’.” They all looked at each other before bursting into laughter. Of course they would have studied the prospects for tomorrow’s races on the train and knew the names of the horses very well.
“You’re such a card, Stan,” Patrick said. “But more importantly, any luck with the ladies? They’re some real lookers up here.”
“With rich daddies,” Henry added.
Stan leaned back in his chair and took a healthy draught of his whisky. “Speaking of which,” he began, “Do you remember that night a few months ago when we were celebrating at the Delmonico’s uptown on Fifth? The night we went to that crazy burlesque show afterward?”
“Yes, of course,” Caleb said. ”Who could forget almost being thrown in jail? But that Arab dancer was damned enticing, Stan. She hasn’t followed you up here, has she?” The men all laughed.
“No, not her,” Stan replied shaking his head. “Not that I would object,” he added, laughing. “No it was in the restaurant. They were at the next table. A couple with their son and a man with his daughter.”
“The young lady kept looking at you, Stan. Even I caught that, and I’m not the most perceptive,” Henry said.
“Don’t sell yourself short, my friend,” Stan said.
“Yes, Henry, save that for some of our less favored stocks,” Patrick said, setting off another round of laughter, before heading for the bar to order another round.
“Well,” Stan continued once Patrick had returned with their drinks,” You were indeed onto something. Barbara Moore is her name, daughter of James Moore of Duluth, Minnesota. You may know him as the timber and iron ore king of the Upper Midwest.” His friends all nodded sagely, impressed.
Stan continued, regaling his friends with the saga of his abortive courtship of Barbara, or, perhaps at least as accurately, her courtship of him. He recounted her presence at the Stock Exchange that day in May, his misadventures at the Plaza and the completely unhelpful interventions of Mario Pellegrino.
Then, he related their encounter at breakfast a few days ago, the dance they had shared and, most significantly, the visit she had paid to his room and the kiss she had delivered before their parting.
The latter elicited a string of amazed congratulations and slaps on the back. “Just a kiss? You expect us to believe that, Goldman?” Patrick demanded.
“She’s an innocent young thing, my friends. One has to show some delicacy in these matters,” Stan retorted.
“I dare say she doesn’t sound that innocent,” Henry said.
“You haven’t heard what happened today,” Stan added. He then launched into the tale of the excursion to the lake.
“This Susanna, how exactly did you find her again?” Caleb interrupted.
Stan blushed. “Let’s just say that we had some professional interactions previously.”
“You mean she’s a whore?” Henry asked.
“Not this afternoon. She was my cousin from Albany.”
The friends all found that hilarious. “So that’s what they’re calling the ladies of the evening up here?” Patrick asked, barely able to control himself.
“May I finish the story?” Stan asked when they had all calmed down.
“Only if you get another round,” Patrick insisted.
Stan went to the bar, returning with the drinks. Back in his seat, he related the arrival of O’Neil and his tumble into the water and eventual rescue.
“So our Casanova is not just a great lover, he’s a red-blooded American hero. How can any girl resist that?” Caleb asked.
“Oh, I don’t think Barbara can. But, unfortunately her father most certainly can,” Stan replied. “At least when the red-blooded American hero is Jewish and a Stock Exchange and racetrack hustler, rather than a young gentleman from a good family.”
“But it sounds like if things had been left to this Vandergraft fellow, that house dick would be at the bottom of the lake,” Henry said
“Vandergrift,” Stan corrected. “And that’s likely.”
“There’s no justice in this world,” Patrick lamented. “Who deserves the girl more than our Stan? But he can’t have her because he wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth.”
Stan thought for a moment. “Well, perhaps you fellows can help strike a blow for us ordinary hardworking types. I happened to overhear a conversation between her and Vandergrift about going to the races tomorrow, assuming they can talk Dad into it. Now he wants his daughter off his hands, wed to someone of the right background, so I bet he agrees to do it in the end.”
“It will be a mob scene tomorrow,” Caleb objected.
“Yes, Stan,” said, “So we’ll have to get lucky with both her and with ‘One’. I know the track well and know a place where we can be alone. The problem is, between her father and Archie Vandergrift and that fat house dick, I can’t get near her.”
“But I could,” Henry said.
Stan looked at him. “Maybe,” he allowed. “I don’t suppose her father would recognize you from the restaurant.”
“Henry is kind of unremarkable looking,” Patrick said.
Henry started to protest. “I don’t think he’d recognize any of us three,” Patrick continued. “So, Stan, you write her a note, telling her where to go for your secret rendez-vous, and one of us, innocently of course, will pass by the young beauty and, while, Dad is looking away, hand her the note.”
“Oh, ah do like that!” Caleb exclaimed. “This is all assuming she ends up going and we can find her. “
“I give that even odds,” Stan said.
“You know your horses, my friend,” Patrick said. “Now perhaps you wouldn’t mind introducing us to your ‘cousin’.”
Stan was very tired from his strenuous exertions at the lake. “You know, gentlemen, I think I had best get a good night’s sleep.” He gave them directions of how to find the house on Spring Ave. “If you tell them Susanna’s cousin recommended her, I’m sure she will show you a good time. She really is quite good at her job.”
The friends met for lunch in the hotel dining room before heading over to the track. They had drawn lots and Henry had won the honor of spending his time with Susanna. He smiled recounting the experience. “Your ‘cousin’ is a very talented young lady, Stan,” he said. “That tongue; I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such delicious feelings.”
Stan recounted the story of Katie Emerson, who had trained Susanna in the fine arts of pleasuring men. His friends were suitably impressed to have had even a peripheral connection to such events.
Caleb and Patrick had enjoyed the favors of two of Susanna’s professional colleagues, Desiree and Linda, and, while perhaps they lacked the special talents of Susanna, they were quite satisfied overall.
Stan reached into his jacket pocket. “Well, while you gentlemen were cavorting over in Willow Walk, yours truly was the recipient of this,” he said, extracting the piece of paper, which still carried traces of Barbara’s perfume.
He handed it to Patrick, who inhaled deeply, then read it aloud-“Race track tomorrow afternoon. Hope to see you there. B.” The words were met with raucous laughter and hoots.
“Stan, ah do declare, you have won the young lady’s heart!” Caleb exclaimed, laying his Southern accent on extra thick, like butter on biscuits.
“That settles it then,” Patrick said. “I cannot be party to disappointing this sweet girl. We must put the plan we discussed last evening into action. Let’s see if the waiter can find us a pen and some nice hotel stationery, though we may have to forego the perfume.”
They spent some time discussing what exactly the note should say. Caleb wanted Stan to profess his everlasting love for Barbara. Patrick, being Irish thought a poem might be à propos. Stan, with Henry’s support, insisted it should be on point. She already wanted him; the goal here was to arrange the assignation.
Stan wrote out: “After the race, you’ll find me waiting for you beneath section B of the grandstand. There’s always a huge press of exiting crowd then. Take advantage of it to slip away, if you possibly can. S.G.”
He handed it to Henry. “When the opportunity presents itself, carpe diem,” Stan instructed him, though such an admonition was probably superfluous for one who made their living as a stock jobber.
Armed with a plan, they made their way to the racetrack. Stan had little interest in the earlier races on the card, since, occupied with the lake excursion the day before, he hadn’t had an opportunity to dig up tips from his usual sources, other than ‘One’ in the Grand Union Stakes. Besides, he was absorbed in scanning the crowd for a sight of Barbara.
Finally, shortly before the big race, he saw her, standing with her father. And then, he saw her waving at him; discreetly, to be sure, since her father might turn his way at any moment, but she had seen him. Stan coughed softly. “Gentlemen, don’t all turn at once, but our target is in sight. Standing with her father.”
The friends took turns glancing over their shoulders. “She’s a beauty, Stan,” Patrick exclaimed.
“Much too good for the likes of you,” Caleb said.
“On that we can all agree,” Stan said. “Be that as it may, Henry, whenever you sense an opportune moment…”
Henry turned slightly so that he was able to watch Barbara without being obvious. Soon, he broke off from the group, attaching himself to a family group headed in the desired direction. He was so discreet that Stan didn’t see him pass the note, but he must have succeeded, because, a few moments later, as her father was absorbed in lighting his cigar, he saw her reading it.
“Good work, Henry!” Stan commended his friend. “Now I have to hope that she can slip away.”
A few moments later, Patrick glanced over in Barb's direction. "Is that the competition?" he asked.
Stan looked over and saw that Vandergrift had rejoined the Moores. "Yes, that's Vandergrift," he replied.
"He looks like a real stiff, I can see why she prefers you," Caleb said.
They turned their attention to the race. ‘One’ looked to be out of contention until the halfway point at which juncture the leaders seemed to flag, perhaps due to the warmth of the afternoon and he began gaining on them, finally passing them and winning by half a length.
Stan stuck the winning ticket in his pocket and bade his friends goodbye. “Wish me luck,” he said.
“May you be the ‘One’,” Patrick said.
Stan made his way underneath Grandstand B, concealing himself as inconspicuously as he could manage behind a pillar that supported the structure above. Soon, he saw her-unaccompanied! His heart was pounding. He reached out and took her arm, silently guiding her down a narrow passageway to a small utility room that held some old riding gear on rickety wooden shelves.
He took her in his arms, feeling her warmth, smelling the perfume. It seemed to be the same one she had doused her note of the previous night with. He kissed her hard. This time he wasn’t taken by surprise as he had been in the hotel room.
As Barbara pressed her body into his, Stan stepped backwards until he felt a pile of straw under his feet. He pulled her down on top of him, not breaking the kiss as they sunk to the ground with her body on top of his. He ran his hands over her back and over the firm globes of her ass, then moved up to fondle her breasts.
He was hard now, wanting her beyond words. He flipped her over on her back and began unbuttoning the fastenings on her blouse, fumbling a bit in his excitement with a few of the buttons. Finally, he had it off, exposing the corset beneath. Not sure how best to remove the garment, but desperate to see, feel and taste her lovely breasts, he pushed the fabric down as far as he could. He took first one, then the other nipple into his mouth and kissed them, rubbing the soft flesh against his lips.
Unable to wait any longer, he unbuttoned his trousers, quickly lowering them and his drawers to his knees. Barbara stared at his erect penis. He was aching with desire; he needed to be enveloped by her warmth, right now. He lifted her skirt and tugged at her undergarments.
Suddenly he heard running footsteps, men yelling, “What is going on here?” He turned to see two large men in uniform looming over them. Close behind, panting with exertion was James Moore, with Archibald Vandergrift close behind him. The younger of the cops grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off of Barbara.
“You low life cad! How dare you assault my daughter!” James Moore bellowed.
“It’s not assault!” Stan protested. “She wanted me!” Stan pulled up his pants and reached into the pocket to extract the note that Barbara had written the previous night.
He handed it to Moore, who read it and then ripped it into shreds. “Barbara, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
She sat up, re-arranging her clothing as best she could. “I love Stan,” she insisted. “That’s the simple truth and nothing you can do can change that.”
Archie looked crestfallen. “I thought you loved me, Barbara,” he said.
“You’re very nice, Archie. Really you are. But my heart belongs to Stan since I first saw him. I’m sorry.”
The senior cop intervened. “Youse people can settle this back at the hotel. We runs a respectable race course here.”
That was the first Stan had heard of that.
“Now get yer clothes on and get out and don’t come back!” the cop ordered.
Stan buttoned his trousers. As he did so, he reached into the pocket again and pulled out the ticket that he had bought on ‘One’ in the stakes race. “I’ll be gone just as soon as I cash this ticket,” he said.
The cop grabbed the ticket. “I’ll take that!” he exclaimed. “Now youse get outta here before I break yer nose, ya hear me?”
Stan made his way to the exit gate, accompanied by the younger cop. He wondered if he would ever see Barbara again.
The first thing Stan noticed when he arrived back at his room, after letting Susanna off at her place of business on Spring Ave. was the Western Union envelope. He opened it nervously, hoping that it wasn’t bad news regarding his parents back in Ohio.
To his great relief it wasn’t. Not at all. Rather, it was from his Wall Street friends and read: “Arriving with H and P 8 PM today STOP C ” So Caleb, Henry and Patrick had decided to absent themselves from what was almost certainly a listless stock market on a summer Friday and come up for the big race tomorrow.
Of course, he would meet them for drinks. He had much to tell them. On his way back from dinner he stopped at the front desk to leave them a note directing them upon arrival to the hotel saloon that Stan thought best suited for an evening with his male companions. He nursed a whisky as he awaited them at the appointed hour in the dark walnut-paneled room, decorated with a stuffed stag head over the bar.
He rose to greet them as they made their way through the cigar smoke to his table, shaking hands and clapping them on the back, before they headed to the bar for a round of whiskies and joined him at the table.
“How are the horses treating you, Goldman?” Caleb asked in his languid Southern drawl, after imbibing a generous portion of his drink.
“Just fine,” Stan replied. They ordered a round of whiskies.
“Who do you like in the Stakes tomorrow?” Henry inquired.
“Oh, I like one, I think,” Stan replied.
“Yes, but which one?” Patrick asked.
“One,” Stan replied. “That’s the name of the horse, ‘One’.” They all looked at each other before bursting into laughter. Of course they would have studied the prospects for tomorrow’s races on the train and knew the names of the horses very well.
“You’re such a card, Stan,” Patrick said. “But more importantly, any luck with the ladies? They’re some real lookers up here.”
“With rich daddies,” Henry added.
Stan leaned back in his chair and took a healthy draught of his whisky. “Speaking of which,” he began, “Do you remember that night a few months ago when we were celebrating at the Delmonico’s uptown on Fifth? The night we went to that crazy burlesque show afterward?”
“Yes, of course,” Caleb said. ”Who could forget almost being thrown in jail? But that Arab dancer was damned enticing, Stan. She hasn’t followed you up here, has she?” The men all laughed.
“No, not her,” Stan replied shaking his head. “Not that I would object,” he added, laughing. “No it was in the restaurant. They were at the next table. A couple with their son and a man with his daughter.”
“The young lady kept looking at you, Stan. Even I caught that, and I’m not the most perceptive,” Henry said.
“Don’t sell yourself short, my friend,” Stan said.
“Yes, Henry, save that for some of our less favored stocks,” Patrick said, setting off another round of laughter, before heading for the bar to order another round.
“Well,” Stan continued once Patrick had returned with their drinks,” You were indeed onto something. Barbara Moore is her name, daughter of James Moore of Duluth, Minnesota. You may know him as the timber and iron ore king of the Upper Midwest.” His friends all nodded sagely, impressed.
Stan continued, regaling his friends with the saga of his abortive courtship of Barbara, or, perhaps at least as accurately, her courtship of him. He recounted her presence at the Stock Exchange that day in May, his misadventures at the Plaza and the completely unhelpful interventions of Mario Pellegrino.
Then, he related their encounter at breakfast a few days ago, the dance they had shared and, most significantly, the visit she had paid to his room and the kiss she had delivered before their parting.
The latter elicited a string of amazed congratulations and slaps on the back. “Just a kiss? You expect us to believe that, Goldman?” Patrick demanded.
“She’s an innocent young thing, my friends. One has to show some delicacy in these matters,” Stan retorted.
“I dare say she doesn’t sound that innocent,” Henry said.
“You haven’t heard what happened today,” Stan added. He then launched into the tale of the excursion to the lake.
“This Susanna, how exactly did you find her again?” Caleb interrupted.
Stan blushed. “Let’s just say that we had some professional interactions previously.”
“You mean she’s a whore?” Henry asked.
“Not this afternoon. She was my cousin from Albany.”
The friends all found that hilarious. “So that’s what they’re calling the ladies of the evening up here?” Patrick asked, barely able to control himself.
“May I finish the story?” Stan asked when they had all calmed down.
“Only if you get another round,” Patrick insisted.
Stan went to the bar, returning with the drinks. Back in his seat, he related the arrival of O’Neil and his tumble into the water and eventual rescue.
“So our Casanova is not just a great lover, he’s a red-blooded American hero. How can any girl resist that?” Caleb asked.
“Oh, I don’t think Barbara can. But, unfortunately her father most certainly can,” Stan replied. “At least when the red-blooded American hero is Jewish and a Stock Exchange and racetrack hustler, rather than a young gentleman from a good family.”
“But it sounds like if things had been left to this Vandergraft fellow, that house dick would be at the bottom of the lake,” Henry said
“Vandergrift,” Stan corrected. “And that’s likely.”
“There’s no justice in this world,” Patrick lamented. “Who deserves the girl more than our Stan? But he can’t have her because he wasn’t born with a silver spoon in his mouth.”
Stan thought for a moment. “Well, perhaps you fellows can help strike a blow for us ordinary hardworking types. I happened to overhear a conversation between her and Vandergrift about going to the races tomorrow, assuming they can talk Dad into it. Now he wants his daughter off his hands, wed to someone of the right background, so I bet he agrees to do it in the end.”
“It will be a mob scene tomorrow,” Caleb objected.
“Yes, Stan,” said, “So we’ll have to get lucky with both her and with ‘One’. I know the track well and know a place where we can be alone. The problem is, between her father and Archie Vandergrift and that fat house dick, I can’t get near her.”
“But I could,” Henry said.
Stan looked at him. “Maybe,” he allowed. “I don’t suppose her father would recognize you from the restaurant.”
“Henry is kind of unremarkable looking,” Patrick said.
Henry started to protest. “I don’t think he’d recognize any of us three,” Patrick continued. “So, Stan, you write her a note, telling her where to go for your secret rendez-vous, and one of us, innocently of course, will pass by the young beauty and, while, Dad is looking away, hand her the note.”
“Oh, ah do like that!” Caleb exclaimed. “This is all assuming she ends up going and we can find her. “
“I give that even odds,” Stan said.
“You know your horses, my friend,” Patrick said. “Now perhaps you wouldn’t mind introducing us to your ‘cousin’.”
Stan was very tired from his strenuous exertions at the lake. “You know, gentlemen, I think I had best get a good night’s sleep.” He gave them directions of how to find the house on Spring Ave. “If you tell them Susanna’s cousin recommended her, I’m sure she will show you a good time. She really is quite good at her job.”
***
The friends met for lunch in the hotel dining room before heading over to the track. They had drawn lots and Henry had won the honor of spending his time with Susanna. He smiled recounting the experience. “Your ‘cousin’ is a very talented young lady, Stan,” he said. “That tongue; I don’t think I’ve ever experienced such delicious feelings.”
Stan recounted the story of Katie Emerson, who had trained Susanna in the fine arts of pleasuring men. His friends were suitably impressed to have had even a peripheral connection to such events.
Caleb and Patrick had enjoyed the favors of two of Susanna’s professional colleagues, Desiree and Linda, and, while perhaps they lacked the special talents of Susanna, they were quite satisfied overall.
Stan reached into his jacket pocket. “Well, while you gentlemen were cavorting over in Willow Walk, yours truly was the recipient of this,” he said, extracting the piece of paper, which still carried traces of Barbara’s perfume.
He handed it to Patrick, who inhaled deeply, then read it aloud-“Race track tomorrow afternoon. Hope to see you there. B.” The words were met with raucous laughter and hoots.
“Stan, ah do declare, you have won the young lady’s heart!” Caleb exclaimed, laying his Southern accent on extra thick, like butter on biscuits.
“That settles it then,” Patrick said. “I cannot be party to disappointing this sweet girl. We must put the plan we discussed last evening into action. Let’s see if the waiter can find us a pen and some nice hotel stationery, though we may have to forego the perfume.”
They spent some time discussing what exactly the note should say. Caleb wanted Stan to profess his everlasting love for Barbara. Patrick, being Irish thought a poem might be à propos. Stan, with Henry’s support, insisted it should be on point. She already wanted him; the goal here was to arrange the assignation.
Stan wrote out: “After the race, you’ll find me waiting for you beneath section B of the grandstand. There’s always a huge press of exiting crowd then. Take advantage of it to slip away, if you possibly can. S.G.”
He handed it to Henry. “When the opportunity presents itself, carpe diem,” Stan instructed him, though such an admonition was probably superfluous for one who made their living as a stock jobber.
Armed with a plan, they made their way to the racetrack. Stan had little interest in the earlier races on the card, since, occupied with the lake excursion the day before, he hadn’t had an opportunity to dig up tips from his usual sources, other than ‘One’ in the Grand Union Stakes. Besides, he was absorbed in scanning the crowd for a sight of Barbara.
Finally, shortly before the big race, he saw her, standing with her father. And then, he saw her waving at him; discreetly, to be sure, since her father might turn his way at any moment, but she had seen him. Stan coughed softly. “Gentlemen, don’t all turn at once, but our target is in sight. Standing with her father.”
The friends took turns glancing over their shoulders. “She’s a beauty, Stan,” Patrick exclaimed.
“Much too good for the likes of you,” Caleb said.
“On that we can all agree,” Stan said. “Be that as it may, Henry, whenever you sense an opportune moment…”
Henry turned slightly so that he was able to watch Barbara without being obvious. Soon, he broke off from the group, attaching himself to a family group headed in the desired direction. He was so discreet that Stan didn’t see him pass the note, but he must have succeeded, because, a few moments later, as her father was absorbed in lighting his cigar, he saw her reading it.
“Good work, Henry!” Stan commended his friend. “Now I have to hope that she can slip away.”
A few moments later, Patrick glanced over in Barb's direction. "Is that the competition?" he asked.
Stan looked over and saw that Vandergrift had rejoined the Moores. "Yes, that's Vandergrift," he replied.
"He looks like a real stiff, I can see why she prefers you," Caleb said.
They turned their attention to the race. ‘One’ looked to be out of contention until the halfway point at which juncture the leaders seemed to flag, perhaps due to the warmth of the afternoon and he began gaining on them, finally passing them and winning by half a length.
Stan stuck the winning ticket in his pocket and bade his friends goodbye. “Wish me luck,” he said.
“May you be the ‘One’,” Patrick said.
Stan made his way underneath Grandstand B, concealing himself as inconspicuously as he could manage behind a pillar that supported the structure above. Soon, he saw her-unaccompanied! His heart was pounding. He reached out and took her arm, silently guiding her down a narrow passageway to a small utility room that held some old riding gear on rickety wooden shelves.
He took her in his arms, feeling her warmth, smelling the perfume. It seemed to be the same one she had doused her note of the previous night with. He kissed her hard. This time he wasn’t taken by surprise as he had been in the hotel room.
As Barbara pressed her body into his, Stan stepped backwards until he felt a pile of straw under his feet. He pulled her down on top of him, not breaking the kiss as they sunk to the ground with her body on top of his. He ran his hands over her back and over the firm globes of her ass, then moved up to fondle her breasts.
He was hard now, wanting her beyond words. He flipped her over on her back and began unbuttoning the fastenings on her blouse, fumbling a bit in his excitement with a few of the buttons. Finally, he had it off, exposing the corset beneath. Not sure how best to remove the garment, but desperate to see, feel and taste her lovely breasts, he pushed the fabric down as far as he could. He took first one, then the other nipple into his mouth and kissed them, rubbing the soft flesh against his lips.
Unable to wait any longer, he unbuttoned his trousers, quickly lowering them and his drawers to his knees. Barbara stared at his erect penis. He was aching with desire; he needed to be enveloped by her warmth, right now. He lifted her skirt and tugged at her undergarments.
Suddenly he heard running footsteps, men yelling, “What is going on here?” He turned to see two large men in uniform looming over them. Close behind, panting with exertion was James Moore, with Archibald Vandergrift close behind him. The younger of the cops grabbed him by the collar and lifted him off of Barbara.
“You low life cad! How dare you assault my daughter!” James Moore bellowed.
“It’s not assault!” Stan protested. “She wanted me!” Stan pulled up his pants and reached into the pocket to extract the note that Barbara had written the previous night.
He handed it to Moore, who read it and then ripped it into shreds. “Barbara, what is the meaning of this?” he demanded.
She sat up, re-arranging her clothing as best she could. “I love Stan,” she insisted. “That’s the simple truth and nothing you can do can change that.”
Archie looked crestfallen. “I thought you loved me, Barbara,” he said.
“You’re very nice, Archie. Really you are. But my heart belongs to Stan since I first saw him. I’m sorry.”
The senior cop intervened. “Youse people can settle this back at the hotel. We runs a respectable race course here.”
That was the first Stan had heard of that.
“Now get yer clothes on and get out and don’t come back!” the cop ordered.
Stan buttoned his trousers. As he did so, he reached into the pocket again and pulled out the ticket that he had bought on ‘One’ in the stakes race. “I’ll be gone just as soon as I cash this ticket,” he said.
The cop grabbed the ticket. “I’ll take that!” he exclaimed. “Now youse get outta here before I break yer nose, ya hear me?”
Stan made his way to the exit gate, accompanied by the younger cop. He wondered if he would ever see Barbara again.
Henry's wrong, he's VERY perceptive!
Cracking sense of humour, too!
Oooh dearie me. Cheer up, Stan, you're one lucky so-and-so!
GAHHHHHHHHH
Hmmm … is it me, or does that cop have a funny way of talking?
windar
Teller of Tales
That's what you care about? He took Stan's winning ticket! Now he can't even afford to go and see Susanna for consolationHmmm … is it me, or does that cop have a funny way of talking
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Hmmm … is it me, or does that cop have a funny way of talking?
"To serve and to protect!"That's what you care about? He took Stan's winning ticket! Now he can't even afford to go and see Susanna for consolation
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Goldman is in for a very pleasant surprise
What a wonderful plan to have the truth reveal itself ... Bravo Goldman
Sounds like he has come over on the boat from Liverpool ...Hmmm … is it me, or does that cop have a funny way of talking?
At the Races - Mr and Miss Moore ...
windar
Teller of Tales
Nah, pure Brooklynese!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Translate please for this speaker of Midwestern American English:
Scouse????
Kop ???
Fossy
SEXPIOGENTUS
Over to you 99
...
windar
Teller of Tales
On the derivation of "youse".
It's certainly New Yorkese and said to have originated with Italian-Americans because English, unlike Latin languages lacks a plural form of you. They may use it in Liverpool, but that isn't where the cop who took Stan's winning ticket and disturbed his tryst with Barb got it from. And I never heard the Beatles use it...
I'm not english but I understand some english.
Scouse...= Liverpudlian;
Kop...I don't know. In the Netherlands that's what a cup is called???
Scouse...= Liverpudlian;
Kop...I don't know. In the Netherlands that's what a cup is called???
You're getting warm....Kop...I don't know. In the Netherlands that's what a cup is called???
I really don't know, maybe the championship cup?
It's where the home fans stand in the Anfield stadium. You'll never walk - or stand - alone.