Word: twilighter
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Overhead the hollow stretch of whitish cloud formations shut out the sky and cloak the whole land in a tent that had the earth for its floor. Absent is the late pale green of heaven, the distant rims of the world are suffused into the gathering twilight. The land is barren and fruitless except for the smiling champaigns of flowers blotched intermittently throughout all the wastes. There is no wind, or breath of air, or life along this unemancipated expanse of soil. For the world and all its singing birds and budding trees and songs and mountains and summits...
...that was long ago and Tesla has lingered on into a twilight of semiobscurity. His hotel room is now his only laboratory, his brain his only tool. When callers importune him he takes a bath or goes to bed. When he talks about his work his deep-set blue eyes burn with an icy fire. He walks prodigious distances through the city streets. His most valued friends are the New York Public Library's somnolent pigeons. A life-long bachelor, Dr. Tesla is tall, spare, erect, parchment-skinned, beak-nosed. The mustache he once wore is gone...
...Vagabond drove by hills and valleys, through mill towns and the country seats of the mighty. He tarried at metropolitan hostelries and rural inns. He ran by rivers at twilight and by factories in the glare of noon. Mountains shouldered out of the plains in front and fell away to the horizons behind. He saw the sun catch the chromium glint, of the skyscraper and he watched a single pine tear the rising moon to shreds on a distant hill. And always by the side of old and winding roads, on the kerbs of four-width highways, red dress...
...twilight in St. Louis last week Hugh Sexton, 29-year-old aviation editor of the Chicago Tribune, climbed into a ten-passenger American Airways plane, started back to his job. For fellow passengers he had a Manhattan advertising man and an Ohio sanitary engineer. Pilot Walter Hallgren had made the St. Louis-Chicago run for six years and was approaching his millionth flight mile. After the plane had bored 100 mi. into Illinois, thick, wet snow began to envelop it. The Chicago radio operator heard its pilot report: "Visibility one-eighth mile, ceiling 500 ft., ice forming on wings...
...Stillmans and the National City Bank-John K. Winkler-Vanguard ($2.50). Once upon a time bankers were considered the pillars of Church & State. Even 25 years ago such a word as "bankster" would have been blasphemous. But not now. For these onetime gods of the U. S. scene twilight has come. If keepers of other people's money continue to lose caste at the present rate, "banker"' may some day be an insult. And some future Lytton Strachey will have a gay time humanizing the pre-1929 financiers to less than lifesize. Such a student of the period...