Word: quirt
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...summers, whose age "if ye go by experience is 120." Brokenhearted, disappointed by his son's "ingratitude," "Nifty" is on the point of deserting the show when he sees the substitute barker flopping about in a feeble exhortation before an unresponsive crowd. Then, like Captain Flagg and Sergeant Quirt of What Price Glory, "Nifty" rushes onto the platform to discharge a duty too near his heart to be abandoned even by galled ambition. Thereafter the ballyhoo goes on as before...
What Price Glory (Victor McLaglen, Edmund Lowe, Dolores Del Rio). Those who have seen the play remember how Captain Flag and Sergeant Quirt are continually clutching at one another's throat hot-tempered rivals for any wench that happens on their common path, remember also how these fighting men unhesitatingly leave off the bitter wrangling when the bugle sounds the call to their "religion of soldiering." The love of the marines is nothing to make a prop lady sigh...
...with the bedclothes. After this highpoint (which, to be frank seems to have been reached by accident) the scenario settles down some banal sob hokum about ' mother's boy," equally unfortunate comic relief by the inevitable Jewish-Irish pair of privates, and painful insinuation that Sergeant Quirt's was a case of true love for the French ma'm'selle...
MANTRAP?Sinclair Lewis?Harcourt, Brace ($2). For the moment laying aside the loaded knouts with which he has scourged Main Street, Babbitt and the medical profession, Castigator Lewis now swings a cutting quirt upon upholders of "the most blatant of all American myths," namely, Roughing It Like a He-Man in the North Woods. The chief culprit is round, thick, heartily self-satisfied E. Wesson Woodbury, village fatboy grown up to hosiery sales-manager, who backslaps his tired little lawyer-friend Ralph Prescott into taking a canoe trip to Mantrap Landing, upper Canada, and then bully-rags...
...every able man sensibly expects to. Last week, the handicap figures of Great Britain were issued. Three golfers were listed at scratch-Roger Wethered, Sir Ernest Holderness, Cyril J. H. Tolley. The first is lean, composed, frosty. His wrists are steel springs ; his swing is the crack of a quirt. The second, gloomy, nervous, plays with the air of a martyr being tortured for his faith, has twice won the amateur championship. The immense shoulders, the full-moon face, the stocky legs of the third*, haunt the dreams of the many U. S. golfers who have seen him send...