Word: closet
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That droning--an airplane? Japs? Germans? Reds? It swells and fades, angry, important, businesslike. Ah, a wasp, or is it a hornet, zooms gracefully through the window and roars headlong into the closet. Sudden silence. Probably sampling the various gravy and beer spots on the Vagabond's suit. That'll hold him for a while--maybe kill him. The Vagabond relaxes: let's see, history review today. Damn, action again. The wasp-hornet breezes out of the closet, squats on the bowl of a pipe, sharpens up his stinger with his hind legs, hums contentedly to himself...
...small Scoutmaster, trooped to the station and got on the Azalea Special. In Charleston, as the guests of the city, they visited the Navy yards, rubbered at beauty queens, went to a ball. At a luncheon given by Mayor Burnet Maybank, Mr. Garner made news by opening the closet and displaying the current Democratic family skeleton. Referring to a "misunderstanding between me and my boss" (by whom he meant President Roosevelt) he said: "I sometimes do not agree with my wife. You can understand. . . . But that does not take away my love and affection for this lady...
...front of a camera. In Washington last fortnight, actress and cameraman were ready, but the matron of Friendship House, the charity organization selected, balked. Said she: "Publicity? We couldn't have that!" Said Donor Velez before stalking off irately: "Me geeve my good money in a clothes closet? Nuts...
...examinations, which comes twice a year, is another demand which deserves the attention of librarians now. The constantly changing nomenclature of courses in the various departments has led to mild confusion in the use of the examinations that have been placed on reserve. If some young librarian were to closet himself in the bowels of Widener with an armful of catalogues and emerge sometime before June with an accurate list of what courses used to be and are now, a whole generation of Harvard men would rise up and call him blessed...
...wrong. His very rages and imprecations are treasured in musicians' memories, his broken batons are collected and respectfully preserved. In a rehearsal tantrum several years ago he rushed off the stage, scurried up the stairs to his dressing room, pounded his fists against the door of a closet until the wood paneling splintered. A lady Philharmonic subscriber heard of the incident, drove with her chauffeur to the stage entrance, begged to be given the door as a sacred relic. Allowed to carry off a few of the splinters, she took them reverently home to be enshrined...