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Updated: May 17, 2025
Yes, the Russian is what might be called a 'lightweighted' individual, an individual who, unless he holds himself down by the head, is soon carried off by the wind like a chicken's feather for we are too self-confident and restless. Before now, I myself have been a gull, a man lacking balance: for never does youth realise its own insignificance, or know how to wait."
In the four factories there's two hundred and ninety-three voters, John Armitage says, and they're solid to a man for Miss Cary. Just tell 'em that for me, will you? Good-night. Come on, children! I wonder where McDougal is? A dead chicken's got more spirit in company than he has! Good-night, Miss Cary, and don't forget we're expectin' of you to tea to-morrow night.
Mr Toots, with these words, shook the Captain's hand; and disguising such traces of his agitation as could be disguised on so short a notice, before the Chicken's penetrating glance, rejoined that eminent gentleman in the shop.
Do go away! Cicely, call him!" Cicely stooped and caught up the wriggling little creature who protested loudly, as she tucked him under her arm. "Might I inquire what that choice morsel is, Phebe?" she asked disdainfully. "It's a chicken's gizzard," Phebe answered shortly. "Oh, and you were having a private lunch out here. Beg pardon for disturbing you."
A little boy, five or six years old, stood looking with covetous eyes in a confectioner's window. In one small hand he held an empty two-ounce vial; in the other he grasped tightly something flat and round, with a shining milled edge. The scene presented a field of operations commensurate to Chicken's talents and daring.
Because ... if you don't make good on every blessed word of it ... I'll wring your neck the way I would a chicken's." "I wish you would! I'm tired of living. What have I to live for? No children! Not a friend in the world! Work like a dog from morning till night, to give him the money I earn so as to escape a beating. And he beats me just the same! Wring my neck! That doesn't scare me!
To an old friend, though a political opponent, Congressman D. W. Voorhees, of Indiana, who called on him at the White House, he said with a pathetic look of anxious pain: "Voorhees, doesn't it seem strange that I should be here I, a man who couldn't cut a chicken's head off, with blood running all around me?"
"Never again will I leap through a window without knowing into what I am going to land. Ach!" "What happened?" asked Paul, trying to keep from laughing, for the player's voice was so funnily tragic. "What happened? Come and see!" cried Mr. Switzer. "I have into a chicken's home invaded myself already!" "Invaded himself into a chicken's home!" exclaimed Mr. Pertell.
The men in those wondrous baggy knickerbockers, from the pockets of which you sometimes see a couple of chicken's heads protruding; in gaudy coloured shirts, in worsted hose and mighty sabots, smoking their great pipes the women in their petticoats of many hues, in gorgeously embroidered vest, in chemisette of dazzling white, crowned with a halo of many frills, glittering in gold and silver are not the creatures of an artist's fancy.
He squatted on the ground, holding an immense silver watch by a chain a little gnome of a man with a huge head thatched with gray hair. As he swung his watch, tendons in his throat worked as chicken's claws do scratching for worms; and whenever his watch began to swing violently it meant that he was over a spring.
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