Word: tasker
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Dates: during 1920-1929
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...contains not a word of "war scare" claptrap, there is room upon its vivid pages for enough striking fact and comment to burst the covers off an average volume of like heft. Yet Mr. Bakeless' thesis is expressible in a few lines, which he modestly quotes from General Tasker H. Bliss...
...Dairyman Tasker, who is not the hero of this story (it has none), lived in Shelton with his gods, which gods were large black boars and sows in a pig-yard deep with manure...
...When Mr. Tasker went to his worship in the darkness of dawn, he flung his stunted daughters from their beds to serve as acolytes, If the ceremonies were bungled, Mr. Tasker booted the acolytes or smashed their faces with a pitchfork. On feast days, the gods were offered the carcasses of horses or cows. The blood thirst that the gods thus developed happened to save Mr. Tasker the embarrassment and expense of burying his father when he, a drunken tramp, was throttled in the pig-yard one night by Mr. Tasker's watchdog. It was at moments of this sort...
Slightly more pleasant than Mr. Tasker, though not really so different psychologically, was his vicar, the Rev. Hector Turnbull. Days at the vicarage, all identical, were punctuated by the Rev. Hector's heavy and regular meals, heavy and regular tread, heavy and regular sermons, tooth troubles and grumblings over money. Occasionally, the Rev. Hector noticed the second maid's ankle. Occasionally, he went away to a dentist. That ankles and teeth were connected in the life of a churchman with so proud a bearing as the Rev. Hector's, none would have guessed; and when the Rev. Hector fell heavily...
...TASKER'S GODS-T. F. Powys-Knopf...