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At last he came into a section of the city where vast mills, one succeeding another in rows which vanished in the distance, clacked their everlasting staccato of hurrying looms, venting clamor from the thousands of open windows. A canal of slow-moving, turbid water intersected the city and fed its quota of power to each mill.
He closed the vestibule door behind him and cavalierly turned out the light. Our dialogue was sharp, staccato. "Have you a key to the empty house next door?" he demanded. "Somebody's in there, and the latch is caught." "The houses are alike. The key to this door may fit. Did you see them go in?" "No. There's a light moving up from room to room.
It appears, therefore, that he could not, if he would, have succeeded on more conventional technical lines. Gradually he developed great strength and intense activity in the middle joints, which enabled him to play with a very close, often overlapping, touch, and to maintain extremely rapid tempi in legato or staccato with perfect ease and little fatigue.
Theatrical as was the theme, the twilight and the muffled hum of the city, lapsing to quiet after the febrile activities of the day, combined to lend it a dignity, a persuasiveness. The children were still playing along the sidewalks, and their staccato gaiety was part of the quiet note to which all sounds of the moment seemed chorded. After a while Mrs.
Riding across the plains toward the claim one afternoon, I heard the swift, staccato clicking of type as it fell rapidly in the stick. The metallic sound carried across the prairie as I neared the shop. As I walked in I saw, perched on the high stool in front of the type case, a little hoydenish figure with flying hair Myrtle Coombs, the hammer-and-tongs printer.
I had heard, in the distance, what I thought was the clear rasping staccato of the birds several times already but I couldn't be sure the notes came from both until I saw them together. To-day at noon they appear'd, but apparently either on business, or for a little limited exercise only. No wild frolic now, full of free fun and motion, up and down for an hour.
"Guess you're right, old man," agreed Tom, as he closed the gasoline throttle, to reduce speed. Hardly had he done so than there broke in upon the merry shouts and singing of the pleasure-seekers the staccato exhaust of a powerful motor boat, coming directly behind Tom's craft. Then came the shrill warning of an electrical siren horn. "Somebody's in a hurry," observed Tom. "Yes," answered Ned.
Lockwood had started for the door. "Come on," he called, "this is crazy." Dorn followed him. The streaming door opened as they approached and two figures darted out. They were gone in an instant and in pursuit of them rushed a rollicking lurch of sound. Dorn caught again the shrill staccato of the laugh, and the door closed behind them. Dancing bodies were spinning among the tables.
Do you recall that time at Wady Hafiz when a local priest denounced you and a Sheik in a yellow kuffiyi told the crowd that he knew you for a prophet? I am the same Sheik. I liked your pluck. I often wondered what became of you." "Put it here!" said Jeremy, and they shook hands. For twenty minutes after that Hadad and Jeremy swapped reminiscences in quick staccato time.
Then she heard strange wild yelps, staccato, piercing, somehow infinitely lonely. They made her shudder. "Coyotes," said Glenn. "You'll come to love that chorus. Hear the dogs bark back." Carley listened with interest, but she was inclined to doubt that she would ever become enamoured of such wild cries. "Do coyotes come near camp?" she queried. "Shore.
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