Word: coasted
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Poet Jeffers unfolds just such a story,* with the high seriousness of a prophetic pantheist. He follows the Rev. Dr. Barclay, a man of 50, from a deserted pulpit southward down the Pacific coast from Monterey. Common sanity is dropping from him like a cloak that he may carry or not. His spirit runs naked to the spirit of the hills, of the "iron wind" on the sea promontories. He will be possessed of a god beyond the old ethic, "good and evil...
...enemy. Coast dwellers frown when the grey banks drift in and smother the buoys. At sea the slowed ships feel their way; the sirens mourn incessantly. Voices are lowered in a fog, which muffles them yet lower as though it shrouded something grave about to happen. Fog, several hours of it, gets on men's nerves. Two thousand miles of groping through fog might drive two men in an airplane-a land airplane over an ocean-close to distraction. So thought radio operators listening last week to the day-and- nightlong flashes of Ernest L. Smith, civilian pilot...
...Scotland, went daft over a youth of 19 whose serious face was just beginning to sprout the mutton-chop whiskers then in fashion. His name was Tom Morris Jr. With his long-necked clubs, lumpy balls and tarn o'shanter, he had gone over to Prestwick on the west coast andi for the third year running, whipped all the golfers in the land for the British Open Championship. They gave him the champion's belt, to keep permanently. The next year they did not bother to hold the tournament...
...with seven passengers in a cabined monoplane of his own design. Of the merit points awarded for keeping to schedule, not having accidents, fuel economy, etc.-he had 2,000 more than any other contestant. The ships had traveled 4,200 miles, from Detroit to New England, down the coast to Baltimore, cross country via Pittsburgh and Cleveland into Michigan again, back south to Dayton, Louisville, Dallas, Tulsa and thence up the continent to Detroit. Henry Ford, watching the pilots jockey their controls to keep even keels in the rain and gale at the finish, said: "This shows the reliability...
...position, has never come out. But last week the Herald Tribune left no doubt in the public mind but that Mr. Forrest is now in the best of standing. Mr. Forrest, like many another correspondent, had hurried last fortnight from Paris to Ver-sur-Mer on the Channel coast as soon as news was flashed that Flyer Byrd and comrades had come down there. Mr. Forrest was alert and daring enough to get a commercial pilot to whisk him off to the coast through the stormy night so that he arrived before any of his competitor-colleagues. Of this feat...