Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: June 18, 2025
McKenna inspected the nickel-in-the-slot machine with affectation of much curiosity. "What's this you have here, at all?" said Mr. McKenna. "'Tis an aisy way iv gettin' rich," said Mr. Dooley. "All ye have to do is to dhrop a nickel in th' slot, an' three other nickels come out at th' dure. Ye can play it all afthernoon, an' take a fortune fr'm it if ye'er nickels hould out."
I'd like to check up on what picture-shows Dunmore had been seeing in the week or so before the killing. I'll bet anything he'd been to one of these South-Pacific banzai-operas. And speaking of confusing orders of abstraction, Mick McKenna and his merry men pulled a classic in that line.
"An' that," said Mulvaney, illogically, "is the cause why little Jhansi McKenna is fwhat she is. She was brought up by the Quartermaster Sergeant's wife whin McKenna died, but she b'longs to B Comp'ny; and this tale I'm tellin' you-wid a proper appreciashin av Jhansi McKenna I've belted into ivry recruity av the Comp'ny as he was drafted.
He set himself to cure it by reading Burke aloud to his family, and he cured it. He was then told by his political friends that he spoke too quickly to be effective. He cured himself of this defect too, by rehearsing his speeches to a time machine an ordinary stop-watch, not one of the H.G. Wells' variety. Indeed, if any man can be said to have "made himself," it is Mr. McKenna.
She was six feet high, all yellow freckles and red hair, and was simply clad in white satin shoes, a pink muslin dress, an apple-green stuff sash, and black silk gloves, with yellow roses in her hair. Wherefore I fled from Miss McKenna and sought my friend Private Mulvaney, who was at the cant refreshment-table.
"To th' Dimmycrats," said Mr. Dooley. "Go on," said Mr. McKenna. "You're a Democrat yourself." "Me?" said Mr. Dooley, "not on your life. Not in wan hundherd thousand years. Me a Dimmycrat? I shud say not, Jawn, me buck. I'm the hottest kind iv a Raypublican, me an' Maloney. I suppose they ain't two such Raypublicans annywhere. How can anny wan be annything else?
Walters was staring at Rand in horror, saying nothing. Rand picked up the outside phone and dialed the same number he had called from the Rivers place that morning. "Is Sergeant McKenna about?... He is? Fine; I'd like to speak to him.... Oh, hello, Mick; Jeff Rand." McKenna chuckled out of the receiver. "Sort of slipped one over on you, didn't I?" he gloated.
Captain Swift was the first to fall; and directly afterwards Lieutenant Butler, while bravely animating his men, and having shot three of the enemy, received his death-wound. The command now devolved on Sergeant McKenna, who, leaving Corporal Ryan and two men with the wounded officers, with the rest of the force charged the enemy in the most spirited manner, and put them to flight.
He paused for a moment and then said, looking keenly at David: "I suppose you tried hard to make Brokaw understand he had made a mistake, and that you wasn't McKenna? Brokaw is a good fellow when he isn't drunk." David was glad that he turned away without waiting for an answer. He did not want to talk with Hauck to-night.
Rand rode with McKenna and Kavaalen to the State Police substation, where the pistols were transferred to McKenna's personal car, in which they and Rand were to be transported back to the Fleming place. It was five o'clock before Rand had finished telling the sergeant and the corporal everything he felt they ought to know.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking