Word: chins
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Steaming in through San Francisco's Golden Gate, last week, came the President McKinley, bearing a petite, blue-eyed German Fraulein of twenty-two. Resting an elbow on the ship's rail and cuddling her small chin in a pensive palm, she gazed at Las Papas, those twin, majestic mountains called "The Breasts." Then, having admired the view, Fraulein Clarenore Stinnes coolly turned to confront excited reporters...
...were only eager to buy the pictures and sell them for gain. When the sale began these rival groups sent prices up at the rate of $15,000 a minute. The first 60 paintings went for $1,800,000; Rembrandt's Man with a Cleft Chin, probably a portrait of his son, brought $200,000; his picture of a Man holding the Torah...
When Jack Dempsey, sunburned, deliberate and scowling, with an old red sweater thrown over his shoulders and a three days' beard on his chin, climbed through the ropes of a ring and sat down in his corner, people always felt sorry for his opponent. How terrible it would be to face that hunched body with the enormous shoulders, endure the glare of those narrowed black eyes. . . . Last week in a District Court in Manhattan Jack Dempsey climbed into a chair and sat down. He had on a new suit, his fierce black eyes looked sheepish. He stuck his thumbs...
...pensive grocer sat, his chin snuggled in his palm, at the rear of the Cincinnati convention hall where this past week the American Wholesale Grocers' Association was holding its yearly meeting. Before him on the convention floor wholesalers rose in diverse and unpredictable fashion to explode with the troubles of their business. On the platform President J. H. McLaurin of the association stormed at his constituents. They must fight together to preserve themselves, he cried; they must support the individual store keeper; they must oppose the chain store...
Assuming that the lady is right, the matter presents its curious aspects. Perspicacious gentlemen within these borders have long aimed their darts at the Mrs. Grundy they claim to be masquerading behind Uncle Sam's chin-whiskers and new horn-rimmed glasses. After reading the editorial page of Judge one wonders how it ever manages to appear without being suppressed; after glancing at Mr. Mencken's polemics, one feels that the author faces martyrdom every time he sits down to his typewriter. Now the Mexican lady accuses this land of being the home not of liberty, but of license...