The telegraph, the telephone, the phonograph
, the type- writer, the sewing-machine, and all the thousand will- ing and handy servants of steam and electricity were working their way into favor.
He ceased; and there arose from the little buzzing creature a tiny, low, monotonous, but distinct tinkling, as from one of your Spaceland phonographs
, from which I caught these words, "Infinite beatitude of existence
His English was not thick, but all clear-cut, as though it came from a phonograph
Something long and round bent under the pressure, there was a whirr and the voice stopped - as voices must if you ram a thrice-doubled coat on to the wax cylinder and into the works of an expensive phonograph
In this corner stands a flat writing-table, on which are a phonograph
, a laryngoscope, a row of tiny organ pipes with a bellows, a set of lamp chimneys for singing flames with burners attached to a gas plug in the wall by an indiarubber tube, several tuning-forks of different sizes, a life-size image of half a human head, showing in section the vocal organs, and a box containing a supply of wax cylinders for the phonograph
As he spoke he went to a phonograph
, which screwed fast to a small table, and wound up the spring of the instrument and adjusted the big gold horn.
You are like one of these phonographs
, Walker," said he; "you have had all this talked into you, and now you are reeling it off again.
He shut off the phonograph
with a snap, started toward the door after her, then abruptly flung himself into a chair.
In the living- room, where were the eating-table, the billiard-table, and the phonograph
, stood stands of rifles, and in each bedroom, beside each bed, ready to hand, had been revolvers and rifles.
Sounds to me like a played-out phonograph
," said the shaggy man, lifting his enormous ears to listen.
At 7:30 the couple in the next room began to quarrel: the man in the room above sought for A on his flute; the gas went a little lower; three coal wagons started to unload--the only sound of which the phonograph
is jealous; cats on the back fences slowly retreated toward Mukden.
And it never goes high up, or sharp, or squeaky, or scratchy, like some women's voices when they're mad, or fresh, or excited, till they remind me of a bum phonograph