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The announcer lifted his hand. "Jed The Red fights at one hundred and ninety-six," he said, "'The Pilgrim' at one hundred and seventy-two." Immediately he turned and dropped through the ropes. His going was accompanied by a flurry in each corner as the seconds scuttled after him with stools and buckets. They faced each other, alone in the ring save for the referee The Pilgrim and Jed The Red.
"The Crummies announcer is cuter," Barby explained patiently. The boys grinned and fell silent as the cereal salesman went into his spiel. Barby perched on the edge of a chair and listened attentively. Rick watched his sister's expressive face, chuckling to himself. Barby always listened to the commercials. It was only fair, she insisted, and the boys went along with her wishes.
"Why all the interest in a breakfast-food commercial?" Scotty asked. "The announcer is cute," Barby stated. This made no sense to Scotty. He stretched out on the rug in front of the set, then rolled over on his back and looked up at the girl. "I don't get it. Then why do you eat Crummies for breakfast instead of the hay this guy sells?"
Her hands gripped the arms of the wheel chair as though for security. Her legs were covered with a shawl. "This is Mary," said the announcer, then leaned toward her. "Will you speak to the audience, Mary?" She lifted deep blue eyes briefly to the camera, then dropped them quickly. "Hello," she said in a voice barely audible. "Mary is not used to many people, or to audiences," the announcer said.
Leaving the restaurant, Bob returned to the waiting-room, where he picked out a seat nearest the place where the train announcer always stood when he called out the trains that were ready for the passengers. But as he sat there, he could not get the words of the girl in the restaurant out of his mind, and kept repeating to himself: "Only just green."
Hope you'll like us and decide to stay." "Hazelton," continued the announcer, "shake hands with Slim Morris, whether he'll let you or not. And here's Matt Rice. We usually call him 'Mister' Rice, for he's extremely talented. He knows how to play the banjo." The assistant engineer then turned away, while one young man, at the farther end of the long wash bench stood unpresented.
He stared at me strangely. "You're thinking that, too. I told the British National Announcer it was a Venus plot. He laughed at me. Those Great Londoners can't see their fingers before them. He said, 'That's your lurid sense of newscasting." Venus plot! I remembered my impressions of the Venus man who was beside me when our President fell. Greys was back at his work.
Every time the official announcer would put the megaphone to his mouth, to call out winners and time to a hushed and eager throng, Nandy, not yet a year old, would begin to squeal at the top of his lungs for joy. Nobody could hear a word the official said. We were as distressed as any one we, too, had pencils poised to jot down records. Carl studied very hard.
Dispassionately and detachedly, as though this were some ordinary disaster, announcer after announcer went on the air and read reports; heartpiercing, anticlimactic, tragic, trivial, noble and thoroughly English reports.... The people vented their futile rage and terror in mass pyromania. Building after building, city after city was burned to the ground.
Fifteen minutes later a golden-hued aeroplane flashed past the Cape Charles light. The announcer posted there, instantly sent in a wireless flash to Hampton. "Number Six has just passed. Mortlake was among the crowd that read the bulletin which was instantly posted upon the field outside Hampton.
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