Word: skirtings
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...possessor of the traditionally incompatible faculties is usually bored by undue reference to them, as was National Women's Tennis Champion Helen Wills, last week, when newspaper men panted up to ejaculate and interrogate about her election to Phi Beta Kappa. In red blazer, white skirt, her hair in a bun, she was about to play a set or two of the sport she dominates and she bounced her ball impatiently during the rigmarole of questions...
...possessor of the traditionally incompatible faculties is usually bored by undue reference to them, as was National Women's Tennis Champion Helen Wills, last week, when newspaper men panted up to ejaculate and interrogate about her election to Phi Beta Kappa. In red blazer, white skirt, her hair in a bun, she was about to play a set or two of the sport she dominates and she bounced her ball impatiently during the rigmarole of questions...
Years passed. Shorter of skirt but not of wind, she continued to play sterling tennis. In 1921 she was put at number 4 in the national ranking. Last March, in Pasedena, she took a set from Champion Helen Wills. She played her again last week in the third round, won the first two games, returned Miss Wills' terrific forehanders with a sting that made a huge gallery rise to cheer her. The match, however, could have only one outcome; the score of her de-feat was 6-3, 6-2. While this was occurring, Mrs. Lambert Chambers, Mrs. Bundy...
Next day Miss Kathleen McKane, Wimbleton winner, played a nip and tuck match with Miss Elizabeth Ryan. When Miss Ryan took a tuck in her skirt, Miss McKane helped herself to a nip from a glass under the umpire's chair, pulled out the victory, 3-6, 7-5, 6-2. Miss Goss and Mrs. Mallory won; Miss Wills ended the hopes of the precocious Fry. In the doubles, Miss Goss and Mrs. Jessup put out Miss McKane and Miss Colyer, the English Davis Cup pair who had been favored to reach the finals...
...corridors goes Cosima Wagner, his widow-a grim, gaunt woman with the eyes of a sick eagle and the mouth of a field marshal; up and down she parades, while her petticoat rustles. The whisper of memories, ludicrous, pathetic, stirs to the swish of the old woman's skirt along the empty hall. ... A shaggy little man contorted over the piano, begging his wife to walk up and down the room because he "so loves the rustle of silk. ..." A swollen little man, throned among his friends, shouting: "Go away. Go to the kitchen. That is the place...