Word: armour
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...easy enough as a rule to scrape acquaintance with a Pullman waiter. Dr. Frank Gonzales. President of the Armour Institute, quite often exchanged words with Archibald J. Motley who ran the buffet on the "Wolverine" between New York and Chicago. When he found out that Mr. Motley had a young son who liked to paint pictures, he sent for the son and looked at the paintings. This done, he offered to finance Archibald Motley Jr. through his first semester in the Chicago Art Institute...
...Armour & Co. (who last week announced that it would sell its stockyards properties as it had in 1920 agreed with the Government to do)-$538,175.-Pre-vious year-$8,148,570. That great difference of almost $7,500,000 developed in spite of Armour & Co.'s doing practically $900,000,000 worth of business last year and $750,000,000 in 1926. It happened because of unusually difficult business conditions in South America...
...strictest of his reform rules was that the bank might loan no money unless fully covered by good collateral. The late Philip Danforth Armour once sent word from the Chicago Stock Exchange that he wanted $100,000 at once. The young president returned word that he wanted collateral. Mr. Armour furnished it and valued President Mitchell for his stubborn consistency. Marshall Field also liked him and made him bank trustee of the Marshall Field estate...
...John J. Mitchell Jr., able son, married Lolita Armour, granddaughter of Philip Danforth Armour and daughter of J. Ogden Armour...
...Book, like most modern biography, wears the gallant armour of fiction rather than the awkward and improbable stays of legend. At the head of each chapter Author Russell has scribbled lines from The Ancient Mariner, and these, in their wild fire, seem to illuminate the career of another careless sailor, pursued by a fate more stubborn than an albatross. Hitherto the life of John Paul Jones has been clothed in mystery or history-book nonsense. Now, when the ancient long-respected knights and statesmen are drawn, quartered and made into sandwiches on wry bread buttered with rancid satire...