Word: telegrapher
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Tune-Swept reported home three-quarters of a length before the mare Good Jane, owned by the Estate of W. J. Beattie, who closed with a rush on the outside. --The Morning Telegraph, August...
Last week the Times Sunday magazine ran another notable dissent-this time from an outsider, Henry Fairlie, British political analyst for the Spectator and the Daily Telegraph. Fairlie suggested that the U.S. is a benevolent, modern-day empire entrusted with peacekeeping in the world whether it likes the idea or not. "No empire," said Fairlie, "can contract and hope to survive. It must either be strenuously maintained or disintegrate. No empire, it follows, can selectively withdraw from its frontiers without inviting another empire to advance. America cannot abandon her responsibilities in any one part of the world without sacrificing them...
...defendant was the one corporate entity that many Americans would give their digit-dial Princesses to see haled into court: the telephone company. On behalf of Client Garrett, Attorney Garrett was suing the Pacific Telephone & Telegraph Co. The specifics were a little vague, but they amounted to a charge of continued harassment over a period of four years. Attorney Garrett had only one witness-himself...
...Avenue." Many a Cal dropout "goes on the Avenue," which means he prowls the coffee shops, self-service laundries, bookstores and record shops in nearby Telegraph Avenue's grimy red brick buildings. One frequent stopping place is a shoestore called Sandals Unlimited; another is a self-service laundry where the machines, arranged in pairs, bear student-humor names: Tristan and Isolde, Godliness and Cleanliness, Toulouse and Lautrec, Dun and Bradstreet, Anthony and Cleopatra...
Miller's hero, as usual, is called Henry Miller. As usual, he works by day hiring messengers for the Cosmococcic Telegraph Co., while by night, he foozles about Manhattan. He meets Mara, the beautiful dance-hall girl. Zap. He weaves home to his wife. Zap. Back to Mara. Zap, zap, zap. An old girl friend and her roommate. Certainly. Then a girl in a restaurant. And so it zaps, until the reader wishes that either Writer Miller or Hero Miller had spent an occasional evening playing bridge...