Tin-Types Taken in the Streets of New York

Tin-Types Taken in the Streets of
New York, by

Lemuel Ely Quigg This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no
cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give
it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License
included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
Title: Tin-Types Taken in the Streets of New York A Series of Stories
and Sketches Portraying Many Singular Phases of Metropolitan Life
Author: Lemuel Ely Quigg
Illustrator: Harry Beard
Release Date: September 23, 2007 [EBook #22731]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
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TIN-TYPES
TAKEN IN
THE STREETS OF NEW YORK
A SERIES OF STORIES AND SKETCHES PORTRAYING MANY
SINGULAR PHASES OF METROPOLITAN LIFE
BY
LEMUEL ELY QUIGG
With Fifty-three Illustrations by Harry Beard
NEW YORK: CASSELL PUBLISHING COMPANY 104 & 106
FOURTH AVENUE
COPYRIGHT,
1890,
By O. M. DUNHAM,
All rights reserved.
Press W. L. Mershon & Co., Rahway, N. J.

CONTENTS.
PAGE
I. MR. RICKETTY, 1
II. MR. JAYRES, 20
III. BLUDOFFSKI, 43

IV. MAGGIE, 65
V. THE HON. DOYLE O'MEAGHER, 87
VI. THE SAME (concluded), 107
VII. MR. GALLIVANT, 126
VIII. TULITZ, 148
IX. MR. MCCAFFERTY, 170
X. MR. MADDLEDOCK, 189
XI. MR. WRANGLER, 211
XII. MR. CINCH, 242
XIII. GRANDMOTHER CRUNCHER, 271

TIN-TYPES.

I.
MR. RICKETTY.
Mr. Ricketty is composed of angles. From his high silk hat worn into
dulness, through his black frock coat worn into brightness, along each
leg of his broad-checked trowsers worn into rustiness, down into his
flat, multi-patched boots, he is a long series of unrelieved angles.
Tipped on the back of his head, but well down over it, he wears an
antique high hat, which has assumed that patient, resigned expression
occasionally to be observed in the face of some venerable mule, which,
having long and hopelessly struggled to free herself of a despicable
bondage, at last bows submissively to the inevitable and trudges

bravely on till she dies in her tracks.
Everything about Mr. Ricketty, indeed, appears to have an individual
expression. His heavily lined, indented brow comes out in a sharp angle
over his snappy black eyes, which, sunk far within their sockets, look
just like black beans in an elsewise empty eggshell.
His nose is sharp, thin, pendent, and exceedingly ample in its
proportions, and it comes inquiringly out from his face as if employed
by the rest of his features as a sort of picket sentinel.
It is that uncommonly knowing nose to which the prudent observer of
Mr. Ricketty would give his closest attention. He would look at the
acute interior angle which it formed at the eyes, and think it much too
acute to be pleasant and much too interior to be pretty. He would look
at the obtuse exterior angle which it formed on its bridge, and wonder
how any humane parent could have permitted such a development to
grow before his very eyes when by one quick and dexterous strike with
a flat-iron it might have been remedied. He would look at the angle of
incidence made by the sun's rays on one side of his nose and then at the
angle of reflection on the other, and find himself lost in amazement that
anything so thin could produce so dark a shadow.
[Illustration: MR. RICKETTY.]
It is a most uncomfortable nose. It had a way of hanging protectingly
over his heavy dark-brown mustache, which, in its turn, hangs
protectingly over his thin, wide lips, so as to make it disagreeably
certain that they can open and shut, laugh, snap, and sneer without any
one being the wiser.
Upon lines almost parallel with those of his nose, his sharp chin
extends out and down, fitting by means of another angle upon his long
neck, wherein his Adam's apple, like the corner of a cube, wanders up
and down at random. Under his side-whiskers the outlines of his square
jaws are faintly to be traced, holding in position a pair of hollow cheeks
that end directly under his eyes in a little knob of ruddy flesh.

Mr. Ricketty is walking along the Bowery. His step is light and easy,
and an air pervades him betokening peace and serenity of mind. In one
hand he carries a short rattan stick, which he twirls in his fingers
carelessly. His little black eyes travel further and faster than his legs,
and rove up and down and across the Bowery ceaselessly. He stops in
front of a building devoted, according to the signs spread numerously
about it, to a variety of trade.
The fifth