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ahead answered asked began Billy boat Brooklyn caught crowd damn deep Dillon dockers docks dollars East River Elea Eleanore eyes face feel felt friends girl gone grew GROSSET & DUNLAP Guy de Maupassant hand harbor hard heard Henry Ward Beecher idea Joe Kramer Joe's keep kind knew laugh light lives look Marsh mind mother muckraker never night North River ocean ocean liner ocean roads once Paris queer quiet remember replied rose rush sails scabs seemed seen ships side silent slowly smile smoke song soon stokers stop story street strike strikers suddenly Sue's sure talk teamsters tell tenement there's things thought thousand thrilled told took town turbing turned voice Voltaire waiting watched waterfront week What's whole wonderful write young
Page 250 - Let's get out!" I caught a glimpse of his strained frowning face. Again it came over me in a flash, the years he had spent in holes like this, in this hideous rotten world of his, while I had lived joyously in mine. And as though he had read the thought in my disturbed and troubled eyes, "Let's go up where you belong,
Page 390 - McCabe tell of his studio for physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at swell yachting parties. TORCHY. Illus, by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the Btory of his experiences.
Page 47 - Rolling Home, Rolling Home, Rolling Home across the Sea Rolling Home to Dear Old England Rolling Home Dear Land to Thee.
Page 68 - Albert Edwards" and who had fought on the barricades at Moscow. Bullard had finally made his escape on the ice, walking directly under the walls of the Kremlin. This Russian revolution had profoundly impressed the sensitive young whose first glimmer of social conscious• "What could American writers today, with their sentimental little yarns covering with a laugh or a tear all the big deep facts of life, show to compare to the unflinching powerful work of the best writers over in France? In Paris...
Page 58 - I saw a big crowd on the front campus. It grew every moment, became a mob, shoving and surging, shouting and jeering. I climbed some steps to look into the center, and saw two painted terrified girls, hysterical, sobbing, swearing and shrieking. So they were shoved, a hidden spectacle, to the station and put on the train. Nothing like that on our front campus! Nothing like "sex" in the front rooms of our minds.
Page 5 - I was so little that I could barely walk alone, you had the first mighty thrill of your life. For you found that through a hole in the ivy you could see a shivery distance straight down through the air to a street below. You found that the two iron posts, one at either end of the fence, were warm when you touched them, had holes in the top, had smoke coming out — were chimneys! And slowly it dawned upon your mind that this garden of yours was nothing at all but the roof of a grey old building —...
Page 387 - Make way for me. Make way, all you little men. Make way, all you habits and all you institutions, all you little creeds and gods. For I am the start of the voyage — over the ocean to heathen lands! And I am always starting out and always bearing you along! For I am your molder, I am strong — I am a surprise, I am a shock — I am a dazzling passion of hope — I am a grim executioner! I am reality — I am life! I am the book that has no end!
Page 52 - You were alive!" "Merci! Au revoir, monsieur!" What a desert of knowledge it was back there. Our placid tolerance of the profs included the books they gave us. The history prof gave us ten books of collateral reading. Each book, if we could pledge our honor as gentlemen that we had read it, counted us five in examination. On the night before the examination I happened to enter the room of one of our foptball giants, and found him surrounded by five freshmen, all of whom were reading aloud.
Page 5 - ... warehouse" long ago when the waters of the harbour had come 'way in to the street below. The old "wharves" had been down there, she said. What was a "wharf"? It was a "dock," she told me. And she said that a family of "dockers" lived in the building under our garden.