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Updated: June 3, 2025
Haas's big fine auto. Where you can go and rest, mamma, and read the newspapers. Come." "My back ach my back!" "Yes, yes, mamma; we'll fix it. Up! So la!" They raised her by the crook of each arm, gently. "So! Please, Mr. Haas, the pillows. Shawl. There!"
And to these must be added others of high merit: Bilders, Scheffer, Bosboom, Rochussen, Bakhuysen, Du Chattel, De Haas and Haverman. The traditional representation of the Dutchman as stolid, unemotional, wholly absorbed in trade and material interests, is a caricature.
It began to grow dusk, and I thought I would go and dress, after being present at the meal taken by my grandmother and the child. My friend Rose Baretta was dining with me that evening, and I had also invited a most charming and witty man, Charles Haas. Arthur Meyer came too. He was a young journalist already very much in vogue.
Upon that scene, the quiet of the room so raucously lacerated, burst Mr. Haas, too breathless for voice. "Mr. Haas my mother! Help my mother! It's a faint, ain't it? A faint?" He was beside her at two bounds, feeling of the limp wrists, laying his ear to the grenadine bosom, lifting the reluctant lids, touching the flesh that yielded so to touch. "It's a faint, ain't it, Mr. Haas?
Then came the day, filled with excitement and thrills, when on a tow-line three hundred and fifty feet long, one hundred and six famous dogs passed through the streets of the far-away Arctic town, on their way to the battle-fields of France. At their head was Spot, with George Allan trudging proudly by his side. "I'll lend you Spot to get them down to the dock," was his offer to Captain Haas.
Haas, if I was around you, I'd get fat laughing." "I wish you was." "Selene would have fits. 'Never get fat, mama, she says, 'if you don't want " "I don't mean that." "What?" "I mean I wish you was around me." She struck him then with her fan, but the color rose up into the mound of her carefully piled hair. "I always say I can see where Lester gets his comical ways.
Upon that scene, the quiet of the room so raucously lacerated, burst Mr. Haas, too breathless for voice. "Mr. Haas my mother help my mother! It's a faint, ain't it? A faint?" He was beside her at two bounds, feeling of the limp wrists, laying his ear to the grenadine bosom, lifting the reluctant lids, touching the flesh that yielded so to touch. "It's a faint, ain't it, Mr. Haas?
Thus, as a sample of my rovings: in a single interval of fifteen minutes of subconsciousness I have crawled and bellowed in the slime of the primeval world and sat beside Haas further and cleaved the twentieth century air in a gas-driven monoplane.
Ludwig Haas, one of the Socialist members of the Reichstag, in an article in the Berlin Tageblatt made the following significant statements. "One man may be a hypocrite, but never a whole nation. "Woodrow Wilson is not so far wrong if he means the planning of war might be prevented if the people asserted the right to know everything about the foreign policies of their countries.
You will be a burgomaster as your uncle was before you, and the country folks, when they see you coming a mile off, will pull off their hats, and say 'Here is Monsieur Caspar Hâas, the richest man and the biggest herr in the country." These notions kept passing and repassing in my mind like the figures in a magic-lantern, with grave and measured step.
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