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Updated: June 22, 2025


His large clean-shaven features had the fulness and roundness of unspent youth in full bloom, and he was far from the small bullet-headed type, which accounted for Andrew's designation of "puddin'-faced."

The doctor himself was a broad-shouldered, bullet-headed man, clean shaven, with close-cropped, bristly hair. He had curiously square hands, with short, squat fingers. He had been head surgeon in one of the Paris hospitals, and had been assigned his present post because of his marvellous quickness with the knife.

He had a master! He was pushed from the block; the short, bullet-headed man seizing him roughly by the shoulder, pushed him to one side, saying, in a harsh voice, "Stand there, you!" Tom hardly realized anything; but still the bidding went on, ratting, clattering, now French, now English. Down goes the hammer again, Susan is sold!

On the precise day on which this story opens some sixty or more years ago, to be exact a bullet-headed, merry-eyed, mahogany-colored young darky stood on the top step of an old-fashioned, high-stoop house, craning his head up and down and across Kennedy Square in the effort to get the first glimpse of his master, St.

I'm satisfied!" remarked the Commissioner. "Now outline your plan." The bullet-headed man took up the calipers and indicated a spot on the coast of Labrador: "Our expedition will land, subject to your approval, at Hamilton Inlet, using the town of Rigolet as a base.

Great-uncle Thomas and Uncle Tom were persons to be avoided, stout, heavy, bullet-headed, bull-necked, throat-clearing men, loud nose-blowers, loud soup-eaters, who reeked of tobacco when it was my horrid duty to kiss them, and who addressed me in jocular terms when they remembered my existence, of which I was always loth to remind them. With these two horrors, whom she loved, Aunt Emmy lived.

Those who were yelling wildly for Athelstan, Miller Boy, and the others saw a flash of cherry jacket on the rail, caught a glimpse of a bullet-headed little negro hurling himself forward in the stirrups and the race was over. Jockey Moseby Jones had brought a despised outsider home a winner by half a length.

A bullet-headed youth, in a red coat with gold letters on the shoulder, fingering a forage-cap, slunk out round the end of this impediment, passing the two men beside the door, and a light, clear voice seemed to call after him "Ah! don't go away!"

"You better pull yer freight before I take a wallop at yuh," he remarked, loudly. "Tell 'im to go git a shave, bo," suggested the bullet-headed man. "I'll singe the eyebrow offa him myself if he don't git outa here," growled the cow hand, turning back to his liquor. De Launay went back to his table and sat down.

"Dame!" said a French waiter, who stood, napkin in hand, at a window of the Hôtel Venat, watching the passers-by, "there they go, that cold, sullen English pair, looking as if nothing on earth would make them smile again!" A bullet-headed little man in a white apron stepped up to the window and stared in the direction that Auguste's eyes had taken. "Tiens, donc! Quelle tournure!

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