Word: quaintly
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...Cossacks. He had painted the grim mountains of Montenegro and the bright Balkans beyond, and if you went with him to his studio he had some very clever portrait work to show you, both in color and in black-and-white. He would tell you, with a quaint mixture of genuine Slavic dignity and bursting childish delight, of how his work had taken on with patrons in Philadelphia, then Rochester, Cleveland, Chicago, Lancaster, Pa., and lately in Manhattan...
...have a chapel old and quaint...
...want a bell that big. He strolled past a tinselly lagoon and came to five great exhibition halls, not one of which was complete and all of which were sparsely dotted with exhibits. He met some mustachioed Slavic friends who told him of a mysterious Treasure Island, of a quaint restoration of an 18th Century street, to the east of which towered a shining Oriental building, essence of India. He walked wonderingly on, viewed fireworks, stalwart live stock, grassless lawns, a stadium...
After which quaint reference by Banker James Speyer to a national custom which it is the Treasury Department's function to enforce, Secretary Andrew Mellon heard his signal services to the country acclaimed, and beheld his likeness, brushed in oils by fashionable Painter Philip de Laszlo (who lately painted President and Mrs. Coolidge), presented to the New York Chamber of Commerce, to hang in company with those of his predecessors-including great Alexander Hamilton, clever Albert Gallatin, honest John Sherman. Mr. Speyer spoke in Manhattan, in behalf of 500 Chambermen subscribers to a Mellon portrait fund...
...curtain rises. Two musicians?the first violin and the cellist?are seated, chatting. Conductor Stokowski strolls vaguely in from the wings. He bows. Puzzled applause from the audience?murmurs of "But good heavens, Victoria, where is the orchestra? . . . Down behind that backdrop? . . . I think it is simply too quaint. . . ." That no orchestra lurks behind the backdrop is clearly demonstrated when Mr. Stokowski raises his baton and the scrannel strains of the violin and cello tremble, quite unsupported, in the hostile air. . . . Now another musician comes in. He carries a horn and a handkerchief and flops down in the first convenient...