Word: breakfasting
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...enterprising newspaper's fictitious account of a balloon crossing the Atlantic. Poe was a dreamer; he wrote his little fancy for certainly no more sordid motive than profit. Today's dreamers spoof with "The Spokesman Hoax," with the ignoble design of evading responsibility- nothing more. Gentlemen breakfast, then naturally desire to know what the Chief Executive thinks, for example, about increasing, by Congressional legislation, acreage on Philippine rubber plantations. What do gentlemen read?". . . The Spokesman for the President indicated that the Administration feels favorably inclined toward rubber projects" (TIME, Aug. 16). Gentlemen glance at a Mr. Kellogg headline...
...holiday in Port Darwin, Australia. Bunting fluttered in the streets. August sunshine beat down on the white-powdered road out to Mindil Beach, where the Timor Sea lay breathless blue under an offshore breeze. Soon after breakfast time, the beachward procession began-Port Darwin merchants cool in their white ducks; bronzed " 'roos" ("Kangaroos," i.e. Australians) from the cattle country; darker aborigines shuffling along in silent excitement; cooing Chinese in bright pajamas. They watched the horizon all morning. Some had gone home for midday tiffin, but most remained, chattering, scanning, pondering, when a school urchin jumped forward, his eyes bulging...
...five periodicals in America fit for persons of intelligence to read. . . . Particularly do I like your novel phrasing, your occasional Dutch lead, your informality, your nonchalant and indifferent manner of treating a man's religion as if you are referring to his ham and eggs of the previous breakfast, your picture captions, your very illuminating footnotes, your kidding of correspondents who become righteously indignant over something about which you may either be right or wrong, and most particularly do I delight in your sophistry in an age when the daily papers are so shocked at every tiny incident...
Pressmen one morning last week sought out a certain Philadelphia hotel bedroom to which they were instantly admitted. The bed was snowed under with newspapers, and amid them sat a young man in blue and white pajamas, whiffing energetically at an after-breakfast cigaret. The reporters bowed deferentially, for this was one of the few species of humanity that reporters respect-a talented member of their own calling, a reporter risen to publisher...
...editorial was duly printed. Everywhere in the midwest people read it and groaned for the passing of manhood, seduced by the perfumed ways of a cinema fop. Over a hotel breakfast tray a closely muscled man, whose sombre skin was clouded with talcum and whose thick wrists tinkled with a perpetual arpeggio of fine gold bangles, read the effusion with rapidly mounting fury. Then he (Rudolph Valentino) wrote out and mailed to the Chicago Tribune editor a formal note. He said that he infinitely regretted that American statutes made illegal the honorable and historic duello. But he felt happy...