Word: dipping
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Poem A boy sat on the Yachtsmen's Wharf at Atlantic City last Thursday, complacently fishing. Beside him dozed his necessary adjunct, a tawny, nondescript dog. The John Greenleaf Whittier poem was complete; bare feet, red hair, freckles; attired in a cotton shirt and overalls. Occasionally a promising dip of his long fishpole caused his eyes to sparkle momentarily; occasionally an intrepid fly was rewarded with an energetic slap. . . . Occasionallv, too, he shot a glance of stern disapproval across the wharf, where the Courtney children-Martha, four, and Jane, six-romped carelessly. Suddenly, simultaneous shrieks rent the air, mingling...
...Dip the toothbrush in finely powdered chalk, and polish well the teeth. Rinse...
...more than a month since Aimee Semple McPherson, famed and wealthy evangelist, owner and builder of the $1,000,000 Angelus Temple, Los Angeles, dove into mystery through a broken wave (TIME, June 7). She was taking her second dip of a June afternoon; her secretary sat reading on the beach; thousands of people were bathing all round her, but with that dive Aimee McPherson vanished as completely as if she had stepped through a looking-glass into the Never-Never Land. Last week Aimee McPherson, in a gingham gown spattered with mud, tottered into the police-office of Douglas...
...dip bread so sans souci...
...averages about two corpses a paragraph. He presents whole regiments of unwashed, flannel-shirted, gun-hung bartenders. There is a rakish analogy of the Red man, the White man and the Blue law. There is the story of a Manhattan cocktail, mixed of ingredients ranging from maraschino to sheep-dip, that stretched a U. S. Colonel on the barroom floor with blue flames and smoke issuing from between his toes. The Colonel took the recipe to Washington, D. C., named it "the hot buttered bun" in deference to the late Mr. Bryan and made his fortune selling it to Senators...