Word: spattering
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...Cambridge a foot of slush lies in the Square, mute tribute to a Street Department which feels that destruction of snow is a unique act of God. Galoshes appear, gutters run, taxis spatter, professors swear, officials sit. Students get wet feet, students get colds, students consider Stillman, students do not consider Stillman. Women slip, men assist, men slip. Clothes are changed, there are no clothes to change. Umbrellas are lost, cars skid, fenders crumble, the Yard is beautiful, Mt. Auburn is not, officials sit, board walks are shoveled. Cambridge is slush girt. Cambridge is noisy and hurried, and surpassingly ugly...
General opinion on the Lake Forest campus: This most recent spatter of mud is an effort to attack the smiles of Dakota universities, jealous of the place of the East, to get them into a position to favor his application for a job. Puddling would be bigger there... Very truly yours, Timothy Perry...
...temptation of cuckolding him, an officer who comes from the right school will ask for a transfer. A playwright who comes from the right school will then get the woman into danger. In the besieged Buddhist monastery Esther Ralston and Dix kiss while tribesmen's 'bullets spatter around them. At intervals they speak with as much conviction as they can bombastic lines shopworn 'by ten years of theatrical use. Miss Ralston is beautiful and a good actress. Dix is handsome but doesn't fit his part. Silliest shot: a horrible painting of the late Lord Kitchener...
...last week a sudden spatter of rain drove Rye Cove school children into their plain board study-rooms before the noon recess ended. They were just wriggling themselves quiet in their seats when, down the valley, came a loud howling noise. The sky blackened. A monster wind came twisting between the mountains. It swooped down, caught at the schoolhouse, ripped off the roof, scrunched the rest of it to bits, scattered things insanely. Then it went roaring away, up over the ridge...
Great was the regret of short, round-faced Boss O'Connell when the spatter of bullets broke the peace of his demesne on an early morning of last week. Into the heart of "The Gut" had marched Prohibition Agents Irving Washburn and Wilfred Grisson, bent on arrest. Suddenly, a group swarmed from an open doorway. Guns were drawn, fired. Agent Grisson escaped uninjured. But Agent Washburn fell to the pavement, mortally wounded...