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It makes you feel like your feet are growing right out of the top of your head. Come on; we are going to have our tintypes taken." Strengthened by the fear of being left alone again, Miss Lucinda rallied her courage, and once more followed in their wake.
"Come and Kiss Me, Ma Honey," sang Shorty, who carried tintypes in his pocket and wore a red necktie while working on his claim. "Bought a saloon?" suggested Thirsty Rogers. "Cherokee took me to a room," continued Baldy, "and showed me. He's got that room full of drums and dolls and skates and bags of candy and jumping-jacks and toy lambs and whistles and such infantile truck.
"Pretty snug, ain't it?" continued the captain. "Not exactly up to that I've been luxuriatin' in lately, but more fittin' to my build and class than that was, I shouldn't wonder. No Corot paintin's nor five thousand dollar tintypes of dory codders; but I can manage to worry along without them, if I try hard.
I had learned it all; understanding had come to me, swift, sharp, vital as a pang, when in the roaring light of the torch I had looked upon the pale little tintypes, the tintypes of Lee and Amy and Jackson and Geraldine." He was an old man, a native from the Whitefish River, which empties into the Yukon below Lake Le Barge.
The other pictures were of children six of them, boys and girls, of all ages from twelve to three, and under each, in painful chirography, a name was written Lee Miller, Amy Miller, Geraldine Miller, and so on. "You don't understand, do you? For a moment I didn't. I stared stupidly at those tintypes, shuffled and reshuffled them; the torch roared in my ear.
Tintypes, portraying stiffly held hands and staring eyes, ghostly reproductions of daguerreotypes of stern-lipped men and women, in old-time stock and kerchief; photographs of stilted family groups after the "he-is-mine- and-I-am-his" variety; snap-shots of adorable babies with blurred thumbs and noses never had Mr. John Smith seen their like before. Politely he listened.
"That fellow only took little tintypes, as we folks call them. These beat anything I ever saw." "Well, suppose we get breakfast," said Quigg, turning to his oil stove. "We'll be in Hendersonville in an hour. Can you cook?" Ralph staggered to the stove, and took a puzzled look. "I've cooked on a fireplace all my life, more or less. But I don't think much of that thing." "Don't, eh? Well, well!
Above the door was a sign that read "Keogh and Clancy" a nomenclature that seemed not to be indigenous to that tropical soil. The man in the door was Billy Keogh, scout of fortune and progress and latter-day rover of the Spanish Main. Tintypes and photographs were the weapons with which Keogh and Clancy were at that time assailing the hopeless shores.
There were two other portraits of him, large ghastly gray tintypes in oval frames of rosewood, obscurely suggesting coffins. In these he looked distinctly sullen. Louder was wont to observe, "It most made you want to cut them off with the scissors." There were other tintypes and a flock of photographs in the room. What Mrs. Louder named "a throw" decorated each framed picture and each chair.
She pictured trunks filled with papers that might be of help and interest to Bob, and in her experience an attic never failed to reveal a history of the family. She did find, in the parlor where she slept, an old album, and that afternoon brought it out on the porch to show it to Bob. She hoped he might be able to recognize his mother among the tintypes and photographs.
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