Word: firelight
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...tiny yellow flames spurted and gave his face a ruddy gleam easily mistaken, he thought, for the flush of ambition of a young man about to graduate from Harvard. "But what do you want to be?" came the quiet voice from the huge chair in the gloom beyond the firelight. Vag shuddered. That question again. His classmates who were set on being doctors or lawyers were certainly lucky. So were the future business men, the Detur possessors about to be section men, the drifters in the Graduate School of Arts and Sciences. These things were not for Vag, with...
...social responsibility is in a quiet, simple atmosphere. Last summer he had five log cabins built as an experiment. One is a recreation centre. Eight students live and study in each of the others. But students are spared Abraham Lincoln's handicaps. They study not by firelight but by electric light, and they have steam heat, modern plumbing, maid service. They go to classes in the Law School with other students, retire to their cabins for reading and bull sessions. By their fellow undergraduates, who went last week to their housewarming, Duke's Lincolns already have been nicknamed...
...question of relief corruption, long a skulker in the flickering outskirts of national politics, suddenly leaped last week into the blazing firelight of the 1936 Presidential campaign as an issue of prime importance. For months unbiased voters have scratched their puzzled heads while Republicans snarled that the Democrats were brazenly turning last year's $4,880,000,000 relief appropriation into a campaign fund and Democrats replied that the Republican charge was merely the familiar old bleat of the Outs against the fictitious misdeeds of the Ins. Until last week neither party had cared or was able to back...
...chimney corner, and thinking how the barbarian shriek of fire-engines would soon dispel the peace of his chambers under Memorial's clock. Suddenly there came a knocking from the depths, rap, rap, rap, thrice it came, and the distant corner of the room, illuminated only by the firelight, glowed with a greenish phosphorescence. Startled, the Vagabond discerned a figure standing there, limned in the faint, emerald light. Its coat was of gabardine, its trousers of flannel, from its eyes came the pinkish reflection of the midnight oil, on its checks were shadowed the black pouches of overwork. Before...
...Mellow firelight flickered about the office of the Secretary of the Treasury one morning last week, dappling its black leather arm chairs, glinting on the glass doors of its bookcases and softening the chill rain that fell outside. Behind his broad mahogany desk sat Andrew William Mellon, his thin patrician face a mask to his own reflections. Around the big room were scattered Treasury newshawks attending what would probably be their last press conference with this shy little man puffing meditatively on a black cigar no bigger than a cigaret. His career as Secretary of the Treasury was over; President...