Word: leatherizing
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...nine of 137 shots in five games. To defend their championship the Maple Leafs had a crack team of seasoned players. Charlie Conacher, 23-year-old forward, seemed to have ended his career three years ago when he had to have a kidney removed. He plays in a leather harness which has not prevented him from developing the hardest shot in hockey, surpassing his famed brother Lionel, defense player for the Montreal Maroons. Lean, morose goalie for the Maple Leafs is Lome Chabot, who has worn the same pair of lucky trousers in every hockey game for five years...
Exhaling cigaret smoke through his nose, a slight man, tough as raffia, brown as leather, leaned over a collapsible campstool tugging at the laces of his chamois slippers. Into the concrete cave of his dressing-room crept the sound of remote applause. A distant rain of handclapping drifted in, and many smells-a realistic mixture of axle-graphite, new timber, horse sweat, ropes, giraffe dung. His laces pulled and fastened, the wiry little man stood up and flexed his fingers, appraised their steely strength. A buzzer sounded from behind a dented locker, a girl's voice called out with...
...remarkable saltations. With his first spring 23 years ago Joshua S. Cosden leaped out of a drugstore in Baltimore and landed in the boots of 50-million-dollar oilman in Tulsa. His second spring took him from the boots of Tulsa nouveau riche and landed him in the patent leather pumps of one of Manhattan's 400; with a $600,000 string of pearls for his wife (the second Mrs. Cosden by that time), with a million-dollar estate on Long Island, a two-million dollar home at Palm Beach, a stud farm in Virginia...
Divorced. Evelyn John St. Loe Strachey, editor of the Socialist Review, son of the late Editor John St. Loe Strachey of the London Spectator; and Esther Murphy Strachey, daughter of the late Patrick Francis Murphy, head of Mark Cross Co. (leather goods), famed after-dinner speaker; in London...
...collar, his cupid mouth pursed in an easy little smile, sitting informally on the edge of his desk, swinging his legs. Piped a pert newshawk: "Mr. Secretary, you're in a pretty hot spot, aren't you?" The brand-new Secretary reached down to his big black leather chair, rubbed his hand slowly over its seat and softly replied: "No, it isn't hot. really...