Word: trailings
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...many memorials to Pope Pius XI, dead last week, least famed but most lofty perhaps is the Ratti Route, an Alpine trail on the way from Chamonix to the top of Mont Blanc (15,781 ft.), so named to commemorate the feat of Achille Ratti and a fellow priest, Monsignor Luigi Grasselli, two of the most adventurous mountain climbers in Italian history, who first blazed the trail in 1890. Another monument to the Pope's Alpine enthusiasm: a stone tablet in a little church at Macugnaga, at the foot of Monte Rosa, celebrating the first conquest of its highest...
...entirely lacking; 4) many a muted Walter Winchell is doing a bangup job of columning for a few hundred neighbors. Exciting examples: Joseph Chase Allen's "With The Fishermen" in the Martha's Vineyard Gazette (tangy dockside gossip about a picturesque industry); Douglas Meador's "Trail Dust" in his Matador, Tex., Tribune (sentimental homilies on the old Southwest) ; "The Pole Cat Editor" of the Sikeston, Mo. Standard...
...Feslermen are still seeking their second league victory and the Tigers will be anything but a soft touch tonight. Cappy Cappon has an aroused Orange and Black squad which cannot be kept at the very threshold of the comeback trail indefinitely. Despite the addition of Bob James to the starting lineup and improved all-round play, the Crimson must rate as slight underdogs to the Bengals...
...class with its predecessor, for it is not; but on the other hand this latest attempt will doubtless be even more popular because of the delightful humor that has been skillfully interwoven with the story. Fredric March, as Sam Wye, expert detective, is put on the trail of Joan Bennett, murderess, because of his peculiar fascination for beautiful women. Constantly harassed by Ann Sothern who, as "Dr. Livingston," easily walks away with the acting honors, and Ralph Bellamy, as an incredibly stupid detective, he traces her half way around the world and, of course, falls madly in love with...
...window, watching the snowflakes whirl out of the blackness into the light that radiated from his room, following them as they curved past the panes and out of sight again. Large clots occasionally caught on the glass; began to melt, then dragged downward until they disappeared into a trail of water. Fleece piled up into triangles in the corners of the windowsill, slowly creeping up over the edges of the bottom panes, rounding off the window's squareness. There they hung, shining glazier's points, with their pale faces flattened against the panes, peering in at the light...