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Updated: May 23, 2025
I wouldn't budge an inch farther, but for Quigg's promise to introduce me to a young widow who lives next door a regular prodigy of science and art, according to his story. I think you said she was a widow, Quigg?" "I suppose so," said Quigg, "as I never saw nor heard of her husband; and she's lived on this block five years last May."
Ain't it cozy and warm and homelike in here! I'm ready for you, Joe, whenever you want me." Without a doubt much of the spirit and genius of the Caliph Harun Al Rashid descended to the Margrave August Michael von Paulsen Quigg. Quigg's restaurant is in Fourth Avenue that street that the city seems to have forgotten in its growth.
You'll do for a dime museum, you will. Go and sit down, and watch me." Ralph took a seat near the door, and divided his time between Mr. Quigg's culinary operations and the swiftly moving panorama outside. The dizzy, yet smooth, motion of the car, the to him miraculous speed, the whirl and shimmer of the landscape all this fascinated him after his first nervousness wore off.
This mere child, stung to the quick by Quigg's insult, had only her tears in defense. The Walking Delegate turned his head and looked out of the window. Then he caught up his hat and without a word to the sobbing girl hastily left the room. Tom was just entering the lower gate. Quigg saw her and tried to dodge behind the tool-house, but it was too late, so he faced her.
The house which had elicited Quigg's last sagacious remark, was a three-story brownstone front, and was one of the finest looking on the south side. The heavy mahogany door was opened by a slovenly girl, who ushered the callers into the front parlor, which was carefully darkened, according to the custom of the day.
His knowledge of English was slight, but it was enough to enable him to comprehend Quigg's purpose as he talked beside him on the cart. After some questions about how long the enforced idleness would continue, he asked suddenly: "Who da horse clean when I go 'way?" "D n her! let her clean it herself," Quigg answered angrily.
A distinguished professor of phrenology had picked out Quigg's head from among half an acre of heads at a lecture upon that subject in the city, and had pronounced it the "model head," greatly to the disgust of all the other large-skulled men in the hall.
Tom's keen eye caught the sly movement and the quickly altered expression. Some new trickery was in the air, she knew; she detected it in every line of Quigg's face. What was McGaw up to now? she asked herself. Was he after Carl and the men, or getting ready to burn the other stable? "Good-morning, Mr. Quigg. Ain't ye lost?" she asked coldly. "Oh no," said Quigg, with a forced laugh.
In about five minutes, a considerable amount of portable property would have gone out of the house, but for Quigg's presence of mind. Seeing that decisive action was required, he slipped out of the front door, locked it, and returned in a moment with a couple of policemen, who chanced to be strolling through the street at that hour. On the way to the house, Mr.
It was Mr. Quigg who called on me at Montauk Point to sound me about the Governorship; Mr. Platt being by no means enthusiastic over Mr. Quigg's mission, largely because he disapproved of the Spanish War and of my part in bringing it about. Mr. Quigg saw me in my tent, in which he spent a couple of hours with me, my brother-in-law, Douglas Robinson, being also present.
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