Word: strings
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...camp, and Major General C. P. Summerall. Before them marched 1,600 citizen soldiers. Then Mr. Coolidge proceeded to inspect the camp in general and the mess hall in particular. The mess sergeant gave him the day's menu: fresh fruit, ham and eggs, roast beef, baked potatoes, string beans, corn on the cob, raisin bread, ice cream. The President pondered, smiled, said: "Well, they can't famish on that." The punctual limousine appeared, started toward White Pine Camp.... Suddenly, Presidential Chauffeur Robinson jammed on his brakes. From the car leapt Richard Jervis of the U. S. Secret...
...grape juice counties along the Pennsylvania line-they all know Frank Ernest Gannett. He is the big newspaperman of the region; owns seven dailies, in Rochester, Utica, Elmira, Ithaca, Newburgh. He is a sort of little Munsey in his way, having consolidated various competing organs to make up his string, always keeping an eye open for fresh opportunities...
...laid by secret service men watched the shirt-sleeved President uprooting rotten posts, nailing industriously. Later Head Secret Serviceman Dick Jervis was sent to market for victuals. As he was getting into his car Mrs. Coolidge called "Oh, Mr. Jervis, don't forget to get two pounds of string beans...
...British Association for the Advancement of Science, a pale, cheerful, young man, stood upon the platform of the august Sheldonian Theatre at Oxford last week and remarked: "The state of fishing has, I believe, been said to exist when there is a fool at one end of a string and a worm at the other. . . ." The president, elected to preside over the 95th annual meeting of this hoary and distinguished assemblage, had chosen to quip facetiously and without precedent. The president's audience, numbering some 1,500 distinguished scientists, twittered and tittered with ap- preciation-for the president...
...Tsar Ferdinand smiles in his beard. He answers no questions. Little Tsar Boris motors with abandon, hunts in picturesque attire, confides to pressmen that he loves birds, flowers, wolfhounds, but no woman-and witless rumors fly. Behind the iridescent screen of these puerilities, the old Tsar tweaks many a string, moves about Europe in welcome obscurity, continues to be a force which statesmen do not neglect to recognize...