Word: cub
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...Cub Scouts" sweatshirts for the boys for 56?. In Accra, attracted by the hawkers' tinkling bells, Ghanaian dandies eagerly sifted stacks of multicolored "Yankee shirts" selling for 28?, judiciously fingered other broni waawu-which literally means the "white man has died." The expression was coined after World War II for used clothes, then chiefly Army surplus, when the natives assumed secondhand garments had belonged to dead soldiers. It has even wider applications today...
...description makes Mme. Vuillier blush like a Cub Scout den mother who has been praised for her chocolate-chip cookies. "Please don't call me a magician," she says. "My magic is science. My art is genealogy. A good pedigree reads to me as a Bach fugue sounds to a musician. It's heredity that's winning, not the horse. What difference does it make what the horse looks like, so long as he has the correct genealogy...
...Galveston, Texas, Lasker was off and running before he was in his first pair of long pants. He attracted national attention as a cub reporter of 16 when he got an exclusive interview with Eugene V. Debs, the labor leader and Socialist presidential candidate. Learning that Debs, just out of prison (for contempt of court), was hiding in a house near Galveston, Lasker borrowed a Western Union messenger's uniform and delivered a wire to the stormy labor leader: I AM NOT A MESSENGER BOY. I AM A YOUNG NEWSPAPER REPORTER. YOU HAVE TO GIVE A FIRST INTERVIEW...
Gradually, Johnny Marquand turned into a Marquand hero, with a certain capacity for drift. He fought through World War I untouched ("I saw a lot of people killed, but I don't think it did very much to me"). As a cub reporter, he seemed willing to hang on at $50 a week on the New York Tribune, but got a job as an advertising copywriter almost by accident. His first novel, a historical called The Unspeakable Gentleman, was not much good, but he sold it, and so, like his characters to come, he was trapped...
...delude himself that Hindon's old days were ever glorious, but the town once did have strength and reasonable expectations. Today, for reasons that are only partly economic, it has turned sick and sour. When Connie Tyler, fresh out of Harvard, came to Hindon in 1900 as a cub reporter for the Courier-Freeman, the reigning Yankees - the old-line whaling and rum-trading families which regularly produced one Harvard professor, one state Governor and one well-bred alcoholic in each generation - had only begun to abdicate. Jostled from political control by their own Irish and Italian mill hands...