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Updated: May 2, 2025
It will be evident that, by shifting the roller, a greater or less speed of the cone can be effected, and as to the end of the cone's axis an index hand sweeping an ordinary clock face is attached, the speed of this index hand can be regulated to a nicety, in proportion to that of the drum.
Cone's self-control further, he and his guests might have separated with at least a semblance of good feeling, but the fatal word which he had feared in his forebodings came from Mrs. J. Harry Stott, who majestically descended the broad staircase carrying before her a small reddish-brown insect impaled on a darning-needle. She walked to the desk and presented it for Mr. Cone's consideration.
"Lost her?" "Coyotes." "They would have eaten her?" Miss Gaskett nodded. "Undoubteely. They were thick as anything. They howled hideously every morning before sunrise, and it was not safe to leave one's tent at night without a weapon." "Whew!" Mr. Cone's lips puckered in a whistle. His astonishment inspired Miss Gaskett to continue: "Yes, indeed!
But mostly his thoughts were a jumble of Sprudell, of his insincere cordiality and the unexpected denouement when Abe Cone's call had forced his hand; of Dill and his mission, and disgust at his own carelessness in failing to record his claims.
He "weaved," he "sunfished" with every trick known to an old outlaw he tried to throw his rider, rearing finally to fall backward and mash to a pulp a bed of Mr. Cone's choicest tulips. But when the horse rose Pinkey was with him, while the spectators, choking with excitement, forgetting themselves and each other, yelled like Apaches.
"Your aunt Maria looked very much as you do when she was your age," her mother went on, with the calm cruelty of an inquisitor. Maria looked at her, her mouth was quivering. "Did I look like Mrs. Jasper Cone's baby that died last week when I was a baby?" said she. "Who said you did?" inquired her mother, unguardedly. "She did. She came up behind me with Mrs.
Alone, unarmed, I defended myself against an attack from one of the savage grizzlies of the Rocky Mountains." Mr. Cone's eyes were as round as a child's awaiting a fairy tale. If Mr. Penrose had needed encouragement they would have furnished it. He continued: "We were camped near the Cañon Hotel where the bears swarm swarm like flies over the garbage. A remarkable sight.
The two batteries of Landram's division, Cone's Chicago Mercantile, and Klauss's 1st Indiana, now came on the field, and were posted by Ransom on the ridge near the centre, to oppose the enemy's advance on the left, before which Dudley's men were already falling back. Bee and Walker had in fact turned the whole left flank, and were rapidly moving on, breaking in the line as they advanced.
Now we run it off in pipes, and burn it to heat the blast, and the top is shut by a cone. You'll be interested in that cone." "But every now and then," said Raut, "you get a burst of fire and smoke up there." "The cone's not fixed, it's hung by a chain from a lever, and balanced by an equipoise. You shall see it nearer. Else, of course, there'd be no way of getting fuel into the thing.
Cone's generous ears seemed suddenly to quiver, almost they went forward like those of a startled burro. A voice obstinate, cantankerous a voice that could belong to no one on earth but old Mr. Penrose, was engaged outside in a wrangle with a taxi-cab driver! Before Mr. Cone could get around the desk and at the door to greet him, Mr.
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