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...take a hand in stage-managing his pictures. This brought on arguments. One day he almost quit because it seemed to him there were not enough chickens around a farmhouse set. Another time he got into a furious fight about his dialect, which Director Charles Vidor criticized. "Oh, it ain't Irish, isn't it?" he yelled. "Well, let me tell you, Mr. Know-It-All, it's been Irish enough to earn me a good living for 25 years. If any man could tell good from bad Irish it wouldn't be a thick-talking Dutchman like yourself...
...Hopkins appeared to row over relief policy (see col. 2). But at the close of Squire Roosevelt's second vacation week at Hyde Park House, his visitors had left only one resignation behind. That came from New York City's Works Progress Administrator Hugh Samuel Johnson. "It ain't gonna be any more pro bono publico," declared the grinning General. "I've got to get out and make me some money...
...only when someone with a kind heart produced a windfall. Last week Daniel Jenkins sent Band No. 2 back to Charleston, where Band No. 1 would rejoin it, playing its way southward by way of Philadelphia, Baltimore, Washington, Richmond and Durham. Daniel Jenkins also is soon returning South. "I ain't got long to stay here," he cackles. "But I'll carry on till Jesus calls me home...
Last of the great pre-Repeal gangsters left alive or at liberty is blank-faced, chicken-hearted Arthur ("Dutch Schultz") Flegenheimer, onetime master of The Bronx beerage, reputed boss of the policy-game racket. "The cooler ain't never so cold as the morgue," quavered this pulpy nervous underworking last winter on giving himself up on a Federal charge of evading $92,103.34 in taxes on a 1929-31 income of $481,637.35. At his trial in Syracuse, N. Y. last spring he got a hung jury. Last week in rural Malone...
...slow in recognizing that Author Rylee has unobtrusively built him up as a strong character, a human being extraordinary in his selflessness, his patience and simple eloquence, his deep inner contentment with the seasonal simplicities of farm life. "De Lord done been trampled on befo. . ." he sermonizes. "An hit ain't never ruffle de Lord none. Dey done nail de Lord up an poke a knife in he side and done laid de crown o' thawns on he haid, an hit didn't no more'n make him groan out wunst...