“How well you’re looking, my dear!” ... and yards and yards of wumgush.
“Oh, I’ve had such a wonderful time! How charming of you to have asked me. Now, you must come to see us.”—Wumgush. (See Gubble.)
Wumgush is the frothy foam of society chatter.
Wumgush is the sunshine through which fly the wasps of sarcasm. (See Flooijab.)
The wumgush Clara spills on Lou,
Whene’er they meet, and kiss,
Would seem to prove a friendship true,
But it amounts to this,—
“Your waist is soiled; and, oh, that hat!
Trimmed it yourself, I know!
You never ought to grin like that,
It makes your crow’s feet show!”
Xen´o-gore, n. 1. An interloper; one who is de trop, or keeps you from things or persons of greater interest. 2. A self-invited guest, who stays too long.
The xenogore is a person who doesn’t belong, but doesn’t know it. It is the shopper who paws over goods, and prevents customers from buying; an extra woman, who drops in when you want to play whist; or the creature who appears at dinner-time, when you have just enough for the family and no more; who invites himself into your motor-car, crowding you miserably. He annoys you when you are talking business, and spoils the sale.
Children in the room, when you are calling, are xenogores. (See Kidloid.)
Someone talking to you, when you want to listen to that interesting conversation opposite, is a xenogore.