Mom Beck had stepped into the pantry for more eggs for the cake she was making.
Is there a minute of my life that she is not sending for me—expecting me to be at her beck and call?
I have been at the beck and call of one of the greatest roués and villains in France.
She must also remain as young looking as ever and always be at his beck and call.
Mother won't give it him, so I have to be at his beck and call.
"Why, I wouldn't have touched 'er 'f I'd known 'er," argued Mr. Beck.
When I knocked at Mr. Beck's door, a voice called out, "Come in."
Beck, of course, fancying that it means a distinct avowal of attention to herself.
Her notion is that you dye your whiskers; but Beck's idea is that you look older than you are.
"That's a matter of taste, I suppose," said Beck, with some irritation.