Word: bulb
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With some of your criticisms of London taxis any Londoner must agree . . . The basic design of the London taxi has changed little with the years, yet . . . the "rubber bulb horn and the wheezy engine" have now been superseded by a large and growing fleet of "radio cabs," conforming ... to a design intended to make turning and parking easy in narrow streets, yet clean, up-to-date and as comfortable as most cabs in most cities. We still have a few Georgian relics . . . but they are vanishing fast. Some, no doubt, have gone to California where, for the next few years...
Braaten writes from Madrid, "I couldn't figure out any other way to get an egghead, a figurehead, and a hardheaded fund-raiser into the same cartoon. If this looks as though it were done between trains in a dingy Bilbao hotel room lit by a single naked bulb, it's because it was. Of course, it would have looked the same if it had been done in a north-lighted studio overlooking the Seine, but a guy has to have some excuse...
Nonetheless, against all odds, and even against common sense, Albert forged ahead, shoving with both hands and sometimes with his cheek to get his small bulb out where it could shine. As Cooper observes, "The immortal gift of Albert Woods was his capacity for answering [the question of how to be great] with a glorious hotheaded 'Somehow!' " In short, Author Cooper, himself a physicist hiding under a pseudonym, sets off a merry little stink bomb in the sacred precincts of High Science, as if to show that the laboratory atmosphere is not always filled with the ozone...
Model 1920 or just off the assembly line, it is a spindly Victorian-looking machine with a rubber bulb horn and a wheezy engine. Its thin-spoked front wheels, poking forward like the forelegs of a praying mantis, can-by police stipulation-negotiate a U-turn in a 25-ft. lane. Up front sits the cabbie, exposed on each side to spring's deluge and winter's blasts, separated from his passenger by half an inch of plate glass and half a century of tradition. "Won't do to get too close to the passenger," explained...
Dylan Marlais Thomas, 38, is a chubby, bulb-nosed little Welshman with green eyes, a generally untidy air, and the finest lyrical talent of any poet under 40. When he settles down to guzzle beer, which is most of the time, his incredible yarns tumble over each other in a wild Welsh dithyramb in which truth and fact become hopelessly smothered in boozy invention. He borrows with no thought of returning what is lent, seldom shows up on time, is a trial to his friends and a worry to his family. But let him sit down...