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did; Charley cruised around on the outside of the group while the ladies were getting their wraps on before going out to the taxicab, but he couldn’t get a look from her. It was just, “Goodnight, Ollie dear, goodnight, Lieutenant Anderson,” and the doorman slamming the taxi door. He hardly knew which of the hands he had shaken had been hers.

Newsreel XLV
’Twarn’t for powder and for storebought hair
    
De man I love would not gone nowhere
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    if one should seek a simple explanation of his career it would doubtless be found in that extraordinary decision to forsake the ease of a clerkship for the wearying labor of a section hand. The youth who so early in life had so much of judgment and willpower could not fail to rise above the general run of men. He became the intimate of bankers
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St. Louis woman wid her diamon’ rings
    
Pulls dat man aroun’ by her apron strings
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    Tired of walking, riding a bicycle or riding in streetcars, he is likely to buy a Ford.
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    DAYLIGHT HOLDUP SCATTERS CROWD
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    Just as soon as his wife discovers that every Ford is like every other Ford and that nearly everyone has one, she is likely to influence him to step into the next social group, of which the Dodge is the most conspicuous example.
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    DESPERATE REVOLVER BATTLE FOLLOWS
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    The next step comes when daughter comes back from college and the family moves into a new home. Father wants economy. Mother craves opportunity for her children, daughter desires social prestige and son wants travel, speed, get-up-and-go.
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    MAN SLAIN NEAR HOTEL MAJESTIC
BY THREE FOOTPADS
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I hate to see de evenin sun go down
    
Hate to see de evenin sun go down
         
Cause my baby he done lef’ dis town
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    such exploits may indicate a dangerous degree of bravado but they display the qualities that made a boy of high school age the acknowledged leader of a gang that has been a thorn in the side of the State of

The American Plan
    Frederick Winslow Taylor (they called him Speedy Taylor in the shop) was born in Germantown, Pennsylvania, the year of Buchanan’s election. His father was a lawyer, his mother came from a family of New Bedford whalers; she was a great reader of Emerson, belonged to the Unitarian Church and the Browning Society. She was a fervent abolitionist and believed in democratic manners; she was a housekeeper of the old school, kept everybody busy from dawn till dark. She laid down the rules of conduct:
    selfrespect, selfreliance, selfcontrol
    and a cold long head for figures.
    But she wanted her children to appreciate the finer things so she took them abroad for three years on the Continent, showed them cathedrals, grand opera, Roman pediments, the old masters under their brown varnish in their great frames of tarnished gilt.
    Later Fred Taylor was impatient of these wasted years, stamped out of the room when people talked about the finer things; he was a testy youngster, fond of practical jokes and a great hand at rigging up contraptions and devices.
    At Exeter he was head of his class and captain of the ballteam, the first man to pitch overhand. (When umpires complained that overhand pitching wasn’t in the rules of the game, he answered that it got results.)
    As a boy he had nightmares, going to bed was horrible for him; he thought they came from sleeping on his back. He made himself a leather harness with wooden pegs that stuck into his flesh when he turned over. When he was grown he slept in a chair or in bed in a sitting position propped up with pillows. All his life he suffered from sleeplessness.
    He was a crackerjack tennisplayer. In 1881, with his friend Clark,
he won the National Doubles Championship. (He used a spoon-shaped racket of his own design.)
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    At school he broke down from overwork, his eyes went back on him. The doctor suggested manual labor. So instead of going to Harvard he went