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Updated: May 3, 2025
P. Blaho, and the veteran leader of the Slovak National Party, M. Dula, have been subjected to all sorts of persuasions and threats on the part of the Magyars who were anxious that the Slovaks should disavow the declaration of the Bohemian Club in favour of the union of all Czechs and Slovaks in an independent state.
"Doc-tor like?" questioned the woman, with an anxious look. "Yes," he replied, smiling. "I like them very much." "Like very much," said the woman. "Dula glad." And then, soothing her child tenderly, she whispered a few words to it in her native language. "Oh, come," said the Doctor, "I do understand that. Your mother's quite right: I sha'n't eat you."
Eugene's feeling was that they were a little raw and sketchy that they might not have sufficient human appeal, seeing that they dealt with factory architecture at times, scows, tugs, engines, the elevated roads in raw reds, yellows and blacks; but MacHugh, Dula, Smite, Miss Finch, Christina, the Evening Sun, Norma Whitmore, all had praised them, or some of them.
I got all out of sorts with myself and I've been pretty near four years getting back. I think I am getting better, though. I'm going to knock off on the road one of these days and try my hand at painting again. I think I can do it." "Isn't that curious," replied Dula reminiscently, "I was just thinking of you the other day and wondering where you were. You know I've quit the art director game.
Truth failed and I went into the lithographic business. I have a small interest in a plant that I'm managing down in Bond Street. I wish you'd come in and see me some day." "I certainly will," said Eugene. "Now this nervousness of yours," said Dula, as they strolled into the restaurant where they were dining. "I have a brother-in-law that was hit that way. He's still doctoring around.
The result of Angela's outburst was that Eugene hastened to notify those whom he had not already informed Shotmeyer, his father and mother, Sylvia, Myrtle, Hudson Dula and received in return cards and letters of congratulation expressing surprise and interest, which he presented to Angela in a conciliatory spirit.
He might have heard of his present need and be trying to palm off some friend of his, an incompetent, of course, on him. "What makes you ask?" "Why, Hudson Dula, the manager of the Triple Lithographic Company, was telling me of a man who is connected with the World who might make a good one for you. I know something of him.
They offered the mother her choice of three names, Mokiya, Sossiya, or that the child should be called after the martyr Khozdazat. "No," said the good woman, "all those names are poor." In order to please her they opened the calendar to another place; three more names appeared, Triphiliy, Dula, and Varakhasiy. "This is a judgment," said the old woman. "What names! I truly never heard the like.
Turn off the main thoroughfare and you may perhaps find a lean Musalman, with a green silk skullcap, sitting in a raised and well-lighted recess in front of an urn in which frankincense is burning. He has taken a vow to be a "Dula" or bridegroom during the Mohurrum.
A grocer with one delivery wagon has the best artist that ever lived backed right off the board for financial results." "Not quite as bad as that," said Dula smilingly. "An artist has something which a tradesman can never have you want to remember that. His point of view is worth something. He lives in a different world spiritually.
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