Word: butchers
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...instance, which has been given in Rome and Buenos Aires though never in Manhattan, is a far neater piece of construction; four interweaving orchestral tones, built on four connected themes, knit the score to- gether; the scene is Nantes during the Terror, the villain, one Orso, a guillotining cockaded butcher, the heroine is his daughter, the hero, a nobleman so pure that he is called "The Little Marat." What more could one ask? And yet Pietro Mascagni, now walking a ship's deck...
...kept the whole party waiting while he asked questions. What was her name? Her race? Her age? He turned to the stout, red-faced individual beside her. Would he be good enough to state his profession? "Potztausend!" cried Father Ederle, looking hungrily at the gaunt official, "I am a butcher. . . ." He had not, on the long slow trip, behaved like one. As Gertrude Ederle, having splashed through the breakers at Cape Gris Nez, fell into a slow crawl beside the tug, "Pop" Ederle sat on deck, chatting comfortably to Thomas Burgess (trainer), Helmi (Egyptian swimmer), Miss Cannon (another...
Interest centred upon "Butcher" Weyler. At 87 he has outlived, but not lived down, the odium of his bloodthirsty governorship of Cuba (1896-97)-a direct and major cause of the Spanish-American War. His position among the older and potent hierarchy of Spanish officers was never successfully challenged until last fall (TIME, Oct. 19). At that time General (Dictator) Primo de Rivera, representative of the younger military clique, ousted him from the gold-braided citadel, which he occupied as Chief of Staff of the Spanish Army. Having plotted energetically for eight months, according to despatches, he established himself...
...Karl Busch appeals to the sporting instincts of Americans in bespeaking their favorable consideration of his hero, von Richthofen. Now he appeals to our artistic instincts in defending Artist-Butcher Schwarz. What think ye, Americans...
...Brooklyn last month John Seles, butcher, was held up and robbed of $40 in his small store. Last week, Taximan John Kirschner entered the store, stood behind Butcher Seles, cried, "Hands up! Get into the ice box!" Butcher Seles whirled, drove his cleaver through the base of Mr. Kirschner's skull, though neck muscles and three large veins. Hospitalized, close to death, Mr. Kirschner said, "I was only fooling." No whit penitent, Butcher Seles said, " A joke, eh? What a joke, I'd say! . . . Yes, his wife, she's a customer...