Word: tubs
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Next to Harry Truman (who has the presidential prestige), Barkley is the most-sought-after speaker in the Democratic Party. His political oratory booms and pulses with echoes of the old-fashioned tub thump (even though he has consciously tried to tone it down for the microphone). Most of his stories are as whiskery and old as Abe Lincoln. But from Atlanta to Manhattan they love them, because they can't help loving the man who tells the stories. Somehow he stirs an impulse that every splintered Democrat feels more deeply than the jagged hatred of the other splinters...
...that no one would bother for a moment about his identity. He has excited interest precisely because he has played such impressive variations on his class-struggle theme. In The Death Ship (probably his best novel), his seascape of enslaved stokers struggling to keep a leaking tub afloat was drawn so well that it inflamed the reader's heart regardless of his politics. Similarly, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre sounded the rousing bell note of treasure-hunting, and the reader might take or leave Traven's views on the effect of gold on human nature...
...holes at Merion to tie for first place in the U.S. Open, and now his legs were swelling and tightening with cramps. Hogan tried to sleep that night but it was no use. Since he is allergic to painkilling drugs, his only recourse was to draw a hot tub of water and sit in it. He drew one tub, sat in it a while, then drew another tub. He got no sleep that night. At the club next day he put elastic bandages on his legs and walked purposefully to the practice tee. He hit a couple of balls with...
...another occasion, the tub in his old bathroom began to sink through the floor when he was in it. He asked the madam what she would have thought if he had fallen into the Red Room when she was having one of her receptions for the ladies of the D.A.R. She didn't think it was funny, and wanted to slap his face...
Lesser functionaries, just as cute, dispensed beer, food, soft drinks and cigarettes. There was a mass milk bath for sensitive males in a huge, raspberry-tiled tub on the second floor; a lemonade bath for ladies on the first. There were private rooms with beds and attendants for after-bath relaxation, a roof garden, a nightclub, a tea room, three restaurants, a barber and a beauty shop. Visitors (among them Errol Flynn) and customers, spending a relaxed Saturday evening at Konomi's Hot Springs, thought nothing of getting a bill of $100 or more. It was, in short...