I wanted to climb down into the field--and I did.

Once started, I couldn't stop until I'd made a complete ass of myself in the most spectacular style.
Now, Bantry, I appeal to you for the sake of your old football days, don't show me up--keep my name quiet." "I'd like to--damned if I wouldn't--but--a scoop--" Anthony Woodbury considered his companion with a strange yearning.

It might have been to take him by the throat; it might have been some gentler motive, but his hand stole at last toward an inner coat pocket.
He said: "I know times are a bit lean now and then in your game, Bantry.
I wonder if you could use a bit of the long green?
Just now I'm very flush, and--" He produced a thickly stuffed bill-fold, but Bantry smiled and touched Woodbury's arm.
"Couldn't possibly, you know." He considered a moment and then, with a smile: "It's a bit awkward for both of us, isn't it?
Suppose I keep your name under my hat and you give me a few little inside tips now and then on polo news, and that sort of thing ?" "Here's my hand on it.

You've no idea what a load you take off my mind." "We've circled about and are pretty close to the Garden again.

Could you let me out here ?" The car rolled to an easy stop and the reporter stepped out.
"I'll forget everything you wish, Mr.Woodbury." "It's an honour to have met you, sir.