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...bank holidays by closing the banks in his State. Last week, having lost both the Democratic renomination and a large inherited fortune, ex-Governor Comstock went into bankruptcy. Among liabilities of over $1,000,000 were $150,000 in assessments on stocks of reopened banks. Assets: $6.376.66. In search of "some good Milwaukee beer." Wisconsin's Representative Raymond J. Cannon and a U. S. marshal named McKenna bargained with a Washington taxi driver to take them to suburban Maryland Club Gardens and back for $2.50. Thirsty Representative Cannon & friend strode into the club at 10 p. m., found their...
Playwright Delafield comes close to Chekovian penetration in the scene in which the wife, verging on collapse, daubs her face with cold cream while pouring out her anguish to a husband whose attention is distracted by a bumbling search for toothpaste. Miss Delafield also occasionally gets off such lines as: "Every Englishman is an average Englishman." The husband, ringing for the harried servant in spite of the wife's wishes, observes with exquisite Edwardian pomposity: "What's the use of keeping a dog if you do your own barking...
...will noise it about. While the gleaming Taj Mahals still stand in not-so-mute testimony of the glory that was Ogden Goelet's, Cornelius Vanderbilt's, and Oliver Belmont's, most of the notables of Newport have packed up the family jewels and scandals and gone off in search of simpler dwelling-places on the coasts, of Maine. Not only did conscience-stricken Ogden Mills sell his Newport place last year in preparation for running for the Presidency of this democratized country in 1936, but even the John Jacob Astors slink into the main dining-room of the Providence...
...most practicable place to begin the policy of the H.A.A. living within its income (which includes both what it makes and what it gets from the college) and of building up an endowment. If the undergraduate mandate is strong enough, it may then be time to begin to search for major sports which can be shaved...
...evening at Boston's palaces of refreshment left its marks upon my equilibrium when, driving away from one of the houses in search of a final noggin, my progress down Memorial Drive was interrupted by an M. D. C. squad car, equipped complete with two officers and radio. An unaccountable glow of happiness had compelled me to dash with elan through a yellow light, which happiness the officers did not seem to share. In reply to their greeting inquiry as to whether I wanted to pay a hundred dollar fine, I parried that I had but two dollars...