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Updated: June 29, 2025
"There were six of us all together Martin Dillard, a coffee planter; Henry Barnes, a railroad man; old man Billfinger, an educated tintype taker; me and Jonesy, and Jerry, the boss of the barbecue. There was also an Englishman in town named Sterrett, who was there to write a book on Domestic Architecture of the Insect World.
His eyes embraced her; then into them came a slow expression of inquiry. But she offered no help. "Well," he uttered finally, "all you gotta do is write Bud Strothers, an' tell 'm not on the Boss's ugly tintype. An' while you're about it, I'll send 'm the money to get my watch out. You work out the interest. The overcoat can stay there an' rot." But they did not prosper in the interior heat.
The women of Wosan make the best kimchi, and when kimchi is spoiled it stinks to heaven. You keep out of this, Ed. Wait till I tie the professor up. "Now, professor, how do I know all this stuff about kimchi? It is not in the content of my mind." "But it is," I exulted. "I put it there." "All right, old boss. Then who put it into your mind?" "Adam Strang." "Not on your tintype.
Charlie stared hard at the floor for a few seconds. Then: "Well, if I was to ask you what my mother's maiden name was, Tintype, you'd have to say you didn't know, wouldn't you?" "Sure," said Hatch. "But I wouldn't go so far as to say I wasn't certain whether she had a maiden name or not, would I?"
As I look at a tintype of myself taken at about this time, I can hardly detect the physical relationship between that mop-headed, long-lipped lad, and the gray-haired man of today.
"Are there no pictures in here of you?" she asked her aunt. "Yes, I guess so. On the last page or near there. That one," she said as the child found it, a tintype of a young man seated on a vine- covered seat and a comely young woman standing beside him, one hand laid upon his shoulder. "And is that Uncle Jonas?" "No my goodness, no! That's Martin Landis." "Martin Landis?
It breaks my heart to do it, but I'm coming around there to shake hands with you, old Tintype. I'm going to congratulate you, but I'm never going to get through hating you." He arose and bolted around the table. Mr. Hatch got to his feet and the long and the short man clasped hands. "Put her there, old boy! I've already made up my mind what my wedding present is going to be.
Barclay seemed glad to see her, and as he was in one of his mellow moods he talked of old times, and drew from a desk near the wall, which he rarely opened, an envelope containing a tintype picture of Ellen. Culpepper. He showed it to her sister, and they both sat silent for a time, and then the woman spoke. "Well, John," she said, "that was a long time ago." "Forty years, Molly forty years."
The picture postcards from him of the Statue of Liberty! Of the three of them, Aaron, Gussie, his wife, and little Leo, with donkey bodies sporting down a beach labeled "Coney." A horrific tintype of little Leo in tiny velveteen knickerbockers that fastened with large, ruble-sized, mother-of-pearl buttons up to an embroidered sailor blouse.
Sir John Morgan, Lafitte and other eminent swash-bucklers bombarded and pounded it in the name of Abaddon. The game still goes on. The guns of the rovers are silenced; but the tintype man, the enlarged photograph brigand, the kodaking tourist and the scouts of the gentle brigade of fakirs have found it out, and carry on the work.
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