Word: gravesend
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...London, where any temperature above 80° is called a heat wave, it was so hot last week that ten extra waiters were engaged to serve cooling drinks to perspiring legislators in the House of Commons terrace restaurant. A woman fainted from heat in a Gravesend bus and, as her collapse wedged her inextricably between the seats, the whole bus had to be driven to the hospital. An unseasonable drought half ruined the strawberry crop (strawberries and clotted Devonshire cream is a favorite English dish this time of year), but the countryside had seldom looked greener. Elsewhere in Europe...
Past the furrowed water of the Potato Patch, where the Atlantic currents sweep around Coney Island into Gravesend Bay in New York Harbor, seagoing, 23-year-old Cowboy William J. ("Tex") Langford poked the nose of a $100 put-put in which he had sputtered down from Boston. Moored just off the pier he tied up to was a slim, long yacht hull. The masts were off her, she could have done with some swabbing, but to Tex's longing eyes she was a jimdandy. To a benign-looking stranger gazing off to sea he said so. Then things...
Then frisky fate dealt Tex Langford as rude a bulldogging as any Panhandle dogie ever got. In over the Potato Patch whisked last week's hurricane (see p. 11) at week's end Tex's dream was jagged driftwood on the Gravesend strand...
Thereupon Captain Allen made for London, but news of the two tons of TNT had preceded him, and at Gravesend he was told that the Santa Maria was not wanted. Desperate now, he put in at Guernsey, one of the Channel Islands, was shooed off, Iried Sark and alarmed the Channel Islands' Royal Court into passing a special ordinance against him. The Santa Maria lolloped around Land's End to autonomous Lundy Island in the Bristol Channel, but the British Home Office bestirred itself to forbid Captain Allen to unload...
Last week the scene of his great stroke for Capitalism against Depression was again Brooklyn, this time to the west of Coney Island. On Gravesend Bay, where ocean liners, after passing through The Narrows, almost cross his front yard, he owns 13 acres of bona fide land, some 38 acres beneath the sludgy waters of the Bay. What Joe Day wanted above all else was $5,500,000 in cash to build apartments on his land...