Word: dock
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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Twenty minutes after the boat had scuffed out of her dock, a great flower of flame was growing through her decks, sprouting in the passageways, flourishing suddenly out of the port holes. Captain van Schaick watched his passengers who were discovering to their horror that all the life pre servers were full of dust, not cork, that all the life boats sank as soon as they were launched. He watched a few deckhands trying to attach the hose which was so old and frail that it broke in their hands. There was a whining report as the port rail...
...ambulances, fire trucks, police wagons. President Coolidge learned in due course that Washington's total damage exceeded a million; that Mrs. Jane Carter, Negress, had been killed; that scores had been badly injured; that the Presidential yacht Mayflower had been blown from her moorings and banged against the dock, but was not injured so badly as the U. S. destroyer Allen, lying near, which lost a funnel; that the Naval Air Station at Anacostia had lost a hangar, suffered damage to eight planes and seen its men blown about and rolled across the flying field...
...Wells has elucidated for the readers of the New York Times-his course of conduct in an agreeable but highly improbable dilemma. If he were standing on a dock with only a single life preserver, and on the one side Pavloff, the famous Russian vivisectionist, were struggling in the water and on the other, splashing and blowing, were George Bernard Shaw, Mr. Wells would pause not, but play to first. It is not that he hates Animal Rescue League more, but he loves Shaw loss. "To the future," he says, "Shaw will have contributed nothing...
...Wells would have changed to a new figure of speech if he had remembered that Shaw at 71 excels in back somersaults from the high springboard. It is to be hoped that the occasion never arrives with Wells in the water and Shaw on the dock: Mr. Wells would doubtless receive a weighted life preserver, while Shaw was using the chest carry to bring Mr. Pavloff ashore...
Observers at Cherbourg last week watched the faces of French dock-hands, porters, innkeepers, thronging citizens. Yes, as the singing, shouting legionaries landed, with their tin hats now replaced by straws, their packs by suitcases, their guns by canes, cigars, toy horns, the faces of Cherbourg smiled genuinely, the faces of Cherbourg grinned, laughed aloud, yelled a welcome...