Word: smelts
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...last week. Before he caught his train he announced that he would, on his return, start an investigation to determine the economic effects on farming which the manufacture of beer might bring. Aware that Secretary Hyde had just been closeted with President Hoover, newshawks who have fancied they smelt the beer idea brewing in the White House for the past fortnight (TIME, Sept. 28) rushed to find out if the President had suggested the Hyde investigation. No. said Secretary Hyde, he just wanted to provide himself with a set of facts-the better to answer many farmers' queries...
...Augusta, Me., Harold D. Jennings, treasurer of Central Maine Power Co., president of the city aldermen, was fishing for smelt. A salmon ate his bait. He had no license to catch salmon, yelled to S. Sewell Webster, city clerk, nearby, to make him out a salmon-catching license, got it, hauled in his salmon...
...Spanish spies. . . . They were trained to eat nothing but French posters. More cautiously Administrator Alberge continued his investigations. Dramatically he announced the solution. It was not the posters but the paste with which they were posted that attracted the goats. The Spanish paste was bitter, unpalatable. The French paste smelt and tasted of honey. The French cinema proprietor added a few drops of oil of bitter almonds to his paste...
Appropriately born at Quincy, at ten he was scudding over Quincy Bay in a sail boat, out to Hangman's Island, where his father doted on the smelt-fishing. At twelve he was racing his own little boats and, soon after, sailing with Capt. Crocker on the sloop Shadow. Then came his string of "oo" boats-Papoose (1887), Babboon (35-footer), Gossoon (40-footer) in which he beat Capt. Charles Barr in the Scotch cutter Minerva; Harpoon (1892) in which he won the Goelet Cup at Newport; and the Rooster and Crooner. He is a stern skipper...
...gallery. There parishioners and sympathizers sat in cheapest seats with stench and tear bombs ready. At the signal they let fly, aiming not at the players but at the patently godless Frankfurters who sat in orchestra stalls. Ladies in sparkling décolleté who had never smelt anything worse than an onion, found their gowns and hair suddenly reeking with a liquid that stank like putrid eggs. Gentlemen in evening dress who had never wept, shed rivulets as tear bombs burst around them. Amid frantic pandemonium the élite of Frankfurt rushed stumbling forth pellmell. Meanwhile the good...