Word: ho
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Where oh where can that battle horn be? The well-aled machinery of the Yard begins to ho-hum. "Police photographers" rush in, set up their cameras, photograph the police. Dragnets are spread. "Calling Car ii D. Turn left into Oxford Street . . . Calling Car 5 K. Turn right into Oxford Street." Crash! A few frames later a man's suit is found without a man in it. After exhaustive analysis, the lab releases its report: "This suit needs cleaning." Suddenly a stone comes flying through the window and lands on Quilt's desk. "Aha!" cries the master sleuth...
...will lift up mine eyes unto the pills. Nembutal yellow as buttercups, azure amytal and the purple benzedrine, slum-berol, and hey, ho, the valleyol. Life pills to keep you sterile and death pills for inducing permanent sleep and an open verdict." The dangers of drugs were everywhere in the headlines, and Malcolm Muggeridge, 59, the gadfly columnist of Britain's New Statesman, was not the man to let opportunity sleep. Continued Muggeridge, in a biting psalm for the pill takers of our time: "A pill a day keeps the druggist in pay. Pills for slimming, pills for fattening...
...does the character of the fugues gibe with the analogous Stations of the Cross. For instance, we have the Daughters of Jerusalem Weeping over Jesus in a piece with a cackling, repeated-note theme ('ha-ha-ha-and-ho-ho-ho'). The same theme turns up when Jesus is Nailed to the Cross (or is it now the 'rat-tat-tat-and-tap-tap-tap' of the hammer...
Swimming Lesson. As the hunt for prisoners continued, the Rangers found two Viet Cong youths, 15 and 19, hiding in a canal. The elder carried a packet of Communist songbooks and a picture of North Viet Nam's Red Leader Ho Chi Minh. The Rangers were in no mood for a kid-glove interrogation of the prisoners; only last spring a Ranger camp had been sacked by the Viet Cong and a number of Ranger wives and children killed. The older boy was pinned to the ground and -as the Rangers call it-"taken for a swim...
...Ho wells went on writing his pale, successful novels and his unsuccessful plays (although George Bernard Shaw saw promise in them), urged people to read Zola and Tolstoy, Frank Norris and Stephen Crane, and wrote an appreciation of Mark Twain that is a good deal better than the piece Twain wrote about him. At the end, when the bright young men he had encouraged had gone far beyond him. he endured patiently the cutting down of his statues. But his eclipse was only temporary. Eventually he came to be acknowledged a great man of letters, if not a great author...