Word: litters
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Dates: during 1940-1949
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Next to John Harvard, nature's greatest heritage to the Yard is the squirrel. Everyone loves the healthy, frolicking animals except a callous few who wantonly litter the steps of Widener, Sever, and Emerson with countless cigarette butts where uneducated squirrels are liable to find and sample the "filthy weed." Already small, Harvard squirrels are becoming alarmingly stunted as a result of this carelessness, and grey-haired mothers are frantic over the sudden shrinkage in squirrel stature. In response to a Crimson survey, one mother waspishly noted that the Yard was beginning to look like a trash heap and that...
Outside, the main streets and back alleys of Pontiac, Mich. (pop. 65,000) were piled with litter. In the back alleys was a three weeks' accumulation of garbage, in which rats and flies were multiplying. But that was only part of the city's mess. Motorists parked free because the 800 nickle-an-hour parking meters had not been wound. Some of Pontiac's recent dead still lay in mortuaries, because the two municipal cemeteries had no gravediggers...
Huge, husky (242 Ibs., 6 ft. 3 in.) Cap Krug looked like an Alaskan himself when he got into a wool shirt. He flew across the Arctic Circle to Point Barrow, ate whale meat, and walked through a litter of walrus heads to duck into native shacks. He surprised his guides by landing two-foot rainbow trout in the Kenai River. He also listened-and listened. Everywhere he went-Fairbanks, Point Barrow, Anchorage, Seward, Juneau, Ketchikan, Sitka, Metla Katla-Alaskans who had always wanted to tell the Secretary of the Interior what they thought of the Government proceeded...
...April Princess Sophie went to Kronberg. But Captain Nash had returned to the U.S. and none of her successors knew anything about the priceless jewels. In the subcellar was nothing but a litter of wine bottles, and an empty hole. Princess Sophie then complained to the U.S. Army. Where were the jewels...
...sows, from weakness, clumsiness or distress, lie or roll on their farrow. Sometimes they try to eat them. Sweeter to a pig farmer's ear than the ethereal fluting of the prairie lark is a sow's "pumping," the regular ugh, ugh, ugh, which means that the litter has discovered how to suckle and that the sow, heaving over with a sigh to expose her batteries of teats, has taken on the thankless task. In a fortnight the pig population on the Kuester farm may bounce from about 40 to something like...