United States or Israel ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
"And set up the sign of their shop," added Barnett. "If they stuck to their flag good-bye," observed Trendon grimly. "Dr. Trendon," said Captain Parkinson, "you will arm yourself and go with me in the gig to make a landing." "Yes, sir," responded the surgeon. "Mr. Barnett." "Yes, sir."
His great rival was Barney Barnato, who gave African finance the same erratic and picturesque tradition that the Pittsburgh millionaires brought to American finance. His real name was Barnett Isaacs. After kicking about the streets of the East End of London he became a music hall performer under the name by which he is known to business history.
"It is hardly probable that unattached small boats should be drifting about these seas," said Captain Parkinson, thoughtfully. "If she's a dory, she's the Laughing Lass's boat." "That's what she is," said Barnett. "You can see her build plain enough now." "Mr. Barnett, will you go aloft and keep me posted?" said the captain. The executive officer climbed to join the lookout.
"No, it is really so; the man said that he considered that in going with me he is only fulfilling the obligation he is under to Mr. Barnett.
They were brief, pointed and evidently the work of men who were familiar enough with their business to eliminate all non-essentials. The first one ran: "Allan Barnett Morris, Consulting Engineer. Specialty, Marine Construction. Lives at the Crompton Apartments. Born October 15, 1879. Graduate of Cornell; class of 1900. Special honors. Brilliant student.
My name is Percy Darrow." "I am Captain Parkinson of the United States cruiser Wolverine," said the commander. "This is Mr. Barnett, Mr. Darrow. Dr. Trendon, Mr. Darrow." They shook hands all around. "Like some damned silly afternoon tea," Trendon said later, in retailing it to the mess. A pause followed. "Won't you step in, gentlemen?" said Darrow, "May I offer you the makings of a cigarette?"
But when the South Carolinians in Atchison heard of it, they sent an insulting message to Barnett that they would come and shoot me. Barnett's Southern blood was all on fire. Who were these men that had come to Atchison county to ride rough-shod over him in his own house? He sent a message equally defiant back to them, that if they did come he and his neighbors would shoot them.
The children stood on the sidewalk on a Friday afternoon, not long ago, from 2:30 until 5:30, patiently waiting for their turn to enter the room, as the librarian could only allow a certain number to enter at one time. Dr. Barnett visited the rooms with the intention of putting up chest-expanders for exercise, but he found them too small, and the woodwork too frail, for any such purposes.
The southern tribes were intensely averse to cold, for in winter they wore furs and garments made of buffalo hides, the shaggy side inward; this raiment was sewed with the sinews of deer and a kind of wild hemp for thread, and with needles dexterously fashioned of fishbone. Barnett had now no thought of the ghosts of the old "waste town."
"Lying, eh?" retorted old Tummus; "it's a lie then that you shoved they orchards off the shelf, I s'pose, and made believe it was poor John Grange. A lie, perhaps, as you laid the scythe for the poor blind man to walk on and cut hisself." "Yes, a lie," cried Barnett, turning white. "Then you tell it, for I see you do it, I did, and saved him from crippling hisself for life.
Word Of The Day