Word: icebox
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...streamlined lozenge of light metal with curtained windows, chromium fittings, a simple swivel joint at the bow where it couples with the automobile. Inside, it is as compactly luxurious as the cabin of a small cruiser. A 14-footer may have three davenports which convert into beds, a stove, icebox, sink, large closets, table. A 20-footer may have two rooms, shower, chemical toilet, desk, chairs, breakfast nook. All sizes are neatly outfitted, with wood veneer on the walls, linoleum or rugs on the floor. All have running water, insulation, electric light, heat. Cost for factory-built models ranges from...
...floor, swinging a pair of benzine torches. A drunk rose, foolishly pawed at Dancer Blossom. Up went her arm, up in flames went the flimsy papier-mache ceiling. When firemen fought their way in to smother the blaze, they found a Chinese cook, three orchestramen hidden in the icebox. Dead from flames and trampling were the hatcheck girl, a woman patron, two men. Torch-Dancer Blossom was arrested for violating San Francisco's fire laws...
...nation's laws, a musty rabbit warren of empty rooms, dark corners, labyrinthine corridors. Into these one cold night last winter crept a hungry, jobless Negro named Fulton Augustus Bond, out on bail after an arrest for vagrancy. A one-time employe in the House restaurant, he found icebox foraging easy, became a trencherman. Capitol police, drawn largely from the job-hungry following of Congressmen, bothered him not at all. Many of them attend Washington's law schools. No detectives, most of them are too immersed in thoughts of the Law to observe the faces of the hundreds...
...night last week a yawning Capitol policeman heard a noise down a corridor, tiptoed nearer to investigate. The beam from his flashlight revealed Fulton Bond exploring the Senate restaurant's icebox. Dragged off to a station house where sheepish Capitol police attempted to keep the story quiet, Negro Bond mournfully gave his age as 22, his residence the U. S. Capitol...
...National Committee were annoyed by pungent cooking odors wafted through the transom of General Hugh Samuel Johnson's office next door. When their complaints went unheeded, they bided their time, found the door open one day, spied the General's loyal Secretary Frances ("Robbie") Robinson midway between icebox and stove with a bowl of onions. Questioned, Secretary "Robbie" admitted she often cooked steak for the General's lunch, but snorted: "I never cook onions because they don't agree with...