Word: tilley
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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...keenly interested in a recent addendum to your editorial masthead. Eustace Tilley was the firstborn of poor but honest peasant folk who domiciled on our landed estates in the neighborhood of Flushing, L. I. At an early age I recognized in him the guiding genius and spark which has, I am sure, contributed in no small way to his promotion to the editorial staff of your succinct and pithy publication...
...wondering, of course, who this young female might be,' growled Tilley. We nodded...
...looked up Mr. Eustace Tilley this week, on the eve of his departure from the city-his 'maiden' departure, as he pointed out. The elegant old gentleman was found in his suite at the Plaza, his portmanteau packed, his mourning doves wrapped in clotted swiss, his head in a sitz bath for a last shampoo. Everywhere, scattered about the place, were grim reminders of his genteel background: a cold bottle of Tavel on the lowboy, a spray of pinks in a cut-glass bowl, an album held with a silver clasp, and his social-security card copied...
...elderly eccentric rose, phoned for a bellboy, and gathered his last-minute personal effects into the pocket of his waistcoat. We accompanied him down to the street, where a victoria was drawn up at the curb, the driver waiting by the head of his old cob. Cameras clicked as Tilley stepped into the carriage and sat down. He held his brassie at his side, stiffly, like a sword. By his side sat a pretty girl, who welcomed him to the carriage and made him comfortable...
...hostess,' said Tilley, coldly. 'Provided by the livery stable. Another dubious wonder of the modern world. In the event of emergency, she will be the one to walk to the nearest farmhouse, give the alarm, and be photographed.* Well, au revoir!' The coachman whipped up his cob, and the little party rumbled off along Fifty-ninth Street, Tilley brandishing his brassie with great ferocity at a horsefly. As we turned, we discovered to our surprise that the sidewalk, where he had paused a moment, was a pool of tears...