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Updated: June 11, 2025
Sitting in the smoking room was a tall, slim, Yankee-looking sort of a man, who smoked in a nervous way, and when he talked seemed to speak with great earnestness. He was introduced as Mr. Rockwell, a cutlery manufacturer of Meriden, Conn. Somehow these Meriden men are all alike. They are great pushers in business, wire-pullers in politics, and in season and out of season stand by each other.
Meriden has walked up this very hill like you and me to be hazed!" There was exultation in his tone. "Well, I only hope Meriden looked forward to it with greater joy than I do," said Cleary, with a dry laugh. "But here we are." Before them under the ruined walls of the old redoubt called Fort Hut, stood a small group of cadets, indistinctly lighted by several moving dark-lanterns.
They couldn't have been more prompt if, say, Meriden seethed with rumors about a pirate ship in space, which it was their obligation to fight. According to the radar screens, there were not less than fifteen ships streaking out to destroy the Horus. Fifteen to one interesting odds. Bors sent the Horus roaring ahead to meet them. Part Four The Mekinese did not display a sporting spirit.
In Germany, a city of thirty thousand inhabitants is dead. This American city of twenty-five thousand inhabitants raced and rushed, rang bells, rattled and clattered and raved like mad. Nobody had a moment's time. Everybody hurried past everybody else. No question of joy in life here. If a man lived in Meriden, he lived there to work.
Owing to a combination of common sense, many-sided knowledge, and humanitarian enthusiasm, Peter Schmidt had exerted great influence on his friends. There was also an adventurous streak in his nature, inherited from his father, a Friesian colonist, who lay buried in a churchyard in Meriden, Connecticut. "It is good that you have come," said Peter Schmidt.
She reckoned that her best course was to fetch a holy man as quickly as possible to baptise the child and make the cross over him. So one afternoon, the mite being then a bare fortnight old, she left him asleep in his cradle and, wrapping a shawl over her head, hurried off to seek Meriden the Priest. Meriden the Priest dwelt in a hut among the sandhills, a bowshot beyond St.
One day Ingigerd Hahlström accompanied by a distinguished looking American by no means in his prime got off the Boston train and went directly to Peter Schmidt's office. She introduced herself and asked whether Frederick von Kammacher was still in Meriden. Before he was taken ill they had exchanged letters.
"Wery good," says he. Well, he couldn't deny that. "And when he gets up he Darts his rosy beams Through the mornin' gleams." Do you moind the poetry there? "And he keeps on risin' and risin' till he reaches his meriden." "What's that?" says he. "His dinner-toime," says I; "sure'n that's my Latin for dinner-toime, and when he gets his dinner He sinks to rest Behind the glorious hills of the west."
There were two men at the desks, and a man lying on a lounge; the latter proved to be the man I wanted. "I don't feel like doing any business just now," said he, "come in after dinner." This was pleasanter than to be told not to come in at all, so I made another call on the street, but did no business. Bell's. I told him my business, and he gave me his card: Tibbals, of Meriden, Conn.
'I'll sind ye a little book wrote be a frind iv mine in Peking, he says. ''Tis called "Heart to Heart Lies I Have Had," he says. 'Ye'll like it, he says. 'In the manetime, he says, 'I must write a secret message to go out be to-night's hot-air express to me corryspondint in Meriden, Connecticut, urgin' him to sind more im-peeryal edicks iv a fav'r-able nature, he says.
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