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Updated: June 26, 2025
Fink turned on the hot water and set the washboards in the suds. Up from the flat below came the gay laugh of Mrs. Cassidy. It sounded like a taunt, a flaunting of her own happiness in the face of the unslugged bride above. Now was Mrs. Fink's time. Suddenly she turned like a fury upon the man reading.
What was it? Did he hurt you what did he do?" Mrs. Fink's face went down again despairingly on the bosom of her friend. "For God's sake don't open that door, Mame," she sobbed. "And don't ever tell nobody keep it under your hat. He he never touched me, and he's oh, Gawd he's washin' the clothes he's washin' the clothes!" A Red-haired, unshaven, untidy man sat in a rocking chair by a window.
He never quarrelled; he came home and lounged about, silent, glum, idle. He was a fairly good provider, but he ignored the spices of life. Mrs. Fink's ship of dreams was becalmed. Her captain ranged between plum duff and his hammock. If only he would shiver his timbers or stamp his foot on the quarter-deck now and then!
Each turned it over under his tongue Tony, the Crook, whom Miss Fink had scorned; Francois, the entree cook, who often forgot he was married; Miss Sweeney, the bar-checker, who was jealous of Miss Fink's complexion. Miss Fink heard, and said nothing. She only knew that there would be no dear figure waiting for her when the night's work was done.
Gazing at food was Miss Gussie Fink's occupation, and just to see the way she regarded a boneless squab made you certain that she never ate. But Miss Gussie Fink was the neatest, most immaculate object in all that great, clean room. There was that about her which suggested daisies in a field, if you know what I mean.
In the big, bright kitchen back, of the Pink Fountain room Miss Gussie Fink sat at her desk, calm, watchful, insolent-eyed, a goddess sitting in judgment. On the pay roll of the Newest Hotel Miss Gussie Fink's name appeared as kitchen checker, but her regular job was goddessing.
The trunk lines then got together and entered into an agreement to stabilize rates and carry them into effect. They appointed as commissioner Mr. Albert Fink, one of the ablest railway men of that time. Mr. Fink's administration was successful, but the rivalries and jealousies of the lines and the frequent breaking of agreements were too much for one man.
When her husband died she came back to Baltimore to live. Here is Fink's; we have to go in here." This was the largest dry goods shop in the town, and the clerks all knew Dimple. "What can we do for you this morning, Miss Dallas?" said one of them, leaning over the counter. "Mamma wants four yards of this trimming," said Dimple, holding out her sample.
"Always the same, little one," said Tonia, her dark eyes lingering upon him. "I must go over to Fink's," said the Kid, rising, "for some tobacco. I thought I had another sack in my coat. I'll be back in a quarter of an hour." "Hasten," said Tonia, "and tell me how long shall I call you my own this time? Will you be gone again to-morrow, leaving me to grieve, or will you be longer with your Tonia?"
One of Fink's papers was shown on the trial, indorsed, "Muster-Roll for the President's Guard." Smith had furnished the bounty-money, but it did not appear that he had authorized these misrepresentations of Fink, who developed a talent in this business which forty years later would have made his fortune as an emigrant-runner.
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