Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 27, 2025
There it was, immovable through any storm or stress or injudicious investment by Albert Weener, "CP&AC ... 1/16." I must have raised my eyes from the newspaper just about the time the fog lifted. Before us, like the smokewreath accompanying the discharge of some giant cannon, the green mass volleyed into the sea.
For all this you need a man who has contacted the public on every level preferably doortodoor and with a varied background." She strode past the stove, which had gathered new accreta during the night and looked in the cloudy mirror as though searching for a misplaced thought. "No doubt, Weener, no doubt. But before all these romantically streamlined things eventuate there must be a hiatus.
"As for the Honeycomb, it is enough to say that careful research proves its most absorbing reading to be the 'throw away your truss' ads. Is it not natural, Weener, that two such journals of taste and enlightenment should appreciate your efforts? Unfortunately the Daily Intelligencer demands accounts written in intelligible English above the level of fourthgrade grammarschool."
"Know just how you feel," he muttered, "Know just how you feel. Horrible stuff. Swaddled in it here. Simply swaddled in it. Strangled." He cleared his throat as though to disembarrass it of a garrote. "But, uh, hang it, Mr " "Weener. Albert Weener. President of Consolidated Pemmican and Allied Concentrates Incorporated." " Well, you know, Mr.
You have outlived your usefulness as the man who started all this fuss; it is no longer good publicity; the matter has become too serious. "No, Weener, from now on, beneath your unearned byline the public will know you only as the first to set foot upon this terra incognita, this verdant isle which flourishes senselessly where only yesterday Hollywood nourished senselessly.
This was big, too big to be approached in any cockroach, build-up-slowly-from-the-bottom way. It was a real top deal, in a class with nylon or jukeboxes or bubblegum. You could smell the money in it. First of all I'd have to tie Josephine Francis down with an ironclad contract. Agents; dealerships; distributors and a general salesmanager, Albert Weener, at the top. Incorporate.
But why should I disillusion her and wound her pride? Down underneath her rough exterior I supposed she could be as sensitive as I; and I hope I am not without chivalry. I said nothing, but of course her interdiction of the only possibility killed any weakening inclination. And yet ... yet.... Afterall, I had to have something.... "All right, Weener.
"Would you like some tea, Mr Weener?" asked Constance. "Tea! He looks like a secret cocacola guzzler to me! Are you an American Mr Uh?" Mama demanded fiercely, deigning for the first time to address me. "I was born in California, Mrs Thario," I assured her. "Pity. Pity. Damned shame," she muttered.
"Ive really got it now, Weener," she assured me in a tone hardly befitting a suppliant for funds. "In spite of the incompetents you kept sending, in spite of mistakes and blind alleys, the work on Whitney is done and successfully. The rest is routine laboratory work a matter of quantities and methods of application." "I don't know that I can spare you any more money, Miss Francis." She laughed.
Just give out on what made the grass go wild." "I can only hazard a guess. As I told Weener, if you create a capacity, you engender an appetite. I imagine that patch of Cynodon dactylon just couldnt stop absorbing once it had been inoculated." "Aha. Like giving a man a taste for bourbon." "If it pleases you to put it that way." "O K. O K. Now let's have an idea how this growth can be stopped.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking