Word: greets
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...dark masses of land are still as large, the stony mountains still as high, the myriad populations still as strange, the myriad languages still as hard to learn. They deceive themselves who say this globe has shrunk to a convenient size, to a neighborhood whose men can greet each other at corners and whose women can borrow butter across the fence. The truth has been lost in a metaphor...
...rationing of tickets for the mixer was in effect last Tuesday, necessitated by reason of the fact that there are some 660 B School men and only 64 WAVES. So the fortunate ones that got in on last Tuesday's ticket dole will be the only ones admitted to greet the WAVE contingent tomorrow night...
...greater admiration than TIME for the courage of those who nowadays set out to serve their country in the Merchant Marine. Their dangers and their hardships are all the more notable because largely unsung. The fact that (begging the Captain's pardon) the trainees do jokingly greet one another as "slacker," "sucker" and "profiteer" is, so far as TIME is concerned, not evidence of their seeking a refuge from danger but of their good tough morale. In so far as the story in question gave any other impression, it was a very bad story indeed...
Consider the plight of the Bedford Avenue beauty, the denizen of Section 16, who has lauded his beloved Bums ever since McPhail was a pup. Upturned Dodger noses and supercilious smiles will greet the once-inspired shouts of "trow de big bum out; de empire oughtta take gas." National league umpires will have to carry a pocket-sized edition of Funk and Wagnalls into every argument at home plate. The Dodgers' educational standards will thus be lowered to an unheard-of extreme; it will be like throwing a Ted Lyons curve ball to a rookie straight from Andalusia...
...thousand men between the ages of 17 and 35, who customarily greet each other as "Slacker," "Draft dodger" and "Profiteer," stood for one and a half hours in the icy offshore wind at the United States Maritime Training Station at Sheepshead Bay, N.Y. last week and heard themselves lauded by President Roosevelt (by letter) and a No. 2 company of lauders as potentially gallant merchant seamen. To the undisguised relief of the station's 1,800 instructors, they uttered no boo, no Bronx cheer, and only a few rude mutterings...