Word: bluffs
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...seven they decide he is not coming in. Nick ? the cook ? goes to see Anderson at his house. He says: " 'They were going to shoot you when you came in to supper.' 'There isn't any thing I can do about it.' 'Maybe it was just a bluff.' 'No, it ain't just a bluff.' " Then Nick goes back to the restaurant. " 'I'm going to get out of this town,' Nick said. 'I can't stand to think about him waiting in the room and knowing he's going to get it. It's too damned awful...
Woodbridge began to speak. . . ." Such was the Denver Post's description of the hearty welcome that Denver gave the advertising people. One Miss Ora Williams of Pine Bluff, Ark., tumbled off a fire truck; one Miss Betty Blunk had her body scorched by blank cartridge fire; bathing girls put on a "battle"; the American Legion Drum & Bugle Corps played "music"; hired Indians played as natives; a hotel thief took $400 from Tom Nokis, president of the Outdoor Advertising Association of America, while he slept; a pickpocket took $210 from D. Edward Gibbs, program director of the International Advertising Association...
...praised Hornsby highly on Hornsby Day in St. Louis and he had hinted at retirement "some day." McGraw is 54. It would not be surprising to see him give up baseball when his contract as Manager of the Giants expires in 1929. On that "some day" Coogan's Bluff will lose its nabob, President Nicholas Murray Butler of Columbia University (see p. 16) will lose an old neighbor and Manhattan will lose one of its most significant Irishmen...
Illinois, tornadoes killed 255, injured more than 1,000. Hardest hit was Poplar Bluff, Mo., with 103 dead...
...twilights are long here, and after the tents were pitched on the bluff and supper eaten in the cabin, there was light enough to hook--and lose--the first salmon. As it slowly darkened, the nighthawks began to circle above the stream, the deer stole out to drink, and ripples along the faster water began to weave their fantastic patterns of black velvet shot with silver. A whippoorwill, the first I remember hearing as far north as this, is calling from the birches behind the tents. The thermometer registers 43, and we crawl into our sleeping bags and listen...