Word: clicks
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Dates: during 1930-1939
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From that year on, the Hanoverian invasions were no longer the early season sinecures they formerly were. Harvard won the following year, but it was only by a desperate last quarter battle. With only five minutes to go Dartmouth was leading 6-5 when the home eleven began to click to the tune of two quick touchdowns...
...best suite, Conductor Sergei Koussevitzky of the Boston Symphony drove over to Tanglewood, noted with approval that a tan tent, 280 ft. by 120 ft. and 60 ft. high at its peak, had been raised on the property. Dr. Koussevitzky entered the tent, commanded that two sticks be clicked together before the big plywood orchestra shell. Listening judiciously from the rear of the tent, Conductor Koussevitzky heard the distinct click, beamed, pronounced: "Fine! Fine! Very good!'' Next evening as the sun dropped behind the green hills, Conductor Koussevitzky stood on the podium in un-summery white...
...Limo hid out with Limo's girl, Alicia, in her dirty cantina, but one day they got gav on tequila and were dumped in jail by the Spig soldiers. While Limo waited for the British Navy to come and chastise the Mexicans he taught Harry how to click dice in his palm without turning them over, how to roll them out just hard enough to turn over five times after hitting the blanket. "Being greedy," he advised, "has probably ruined more good scientists than anything else. And after all, what in hell difference does it make if it takes...
What Photographer Powell's photographs neglected to make clear to newspaper readers, who got from them the notion that U. S. fancy-diving was becoming fancier than ever, was what Diver Jump did with her weapons after being photographed with them. The bow & arrow were wired together. The click of the camera was Diver Jump's signal to drop them. By no means a novelty, the "Diana Dive" was invented by Photographer Powell in 1932, when he had Diver Georgia Coleman perform it to publicize the 1932 Olympic Games in Los Angeles...
Society girls and shop girls float by on possessive arms, laughing at the weather, smoothing and beguiling the gullible male Ego. Cars start, cars stop, two bumpers clash, the paper boy shouts his news apologetically from the corner. High heels click on the wet sidewalks, wisps of conversation follow one upon another as feet come...