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As there were no houses along the line of travel, Brother Frink was compelled to spend the first night in the woods. Fortunately, however, he found a small, tenantless cabin by the wayside, in which he was safe from the wild, noisy beasts, that prowled without. The following day he reached Sheboygan.
Brother Frink is still vigorous, and is doing effective service. He has kept a cheerful spirit up to the present hour, and is highly esteemed by his brethren. Exhorter in Charge. The First Sabbath. The Superb Singing. Class and Prayer Meetings. A Revival. Stockbridge Counted In. A Remonstrance. Another Exhorter Found. Decide to Hold a Great Meeting.
The only thing is: I wonder if it sells the goods? Course, like all these poets, this Prince Albert fellow lets his idea run away with him. It makes elegant reading, but it don't say nothing. I'd never go out and buy Prince Albert Tobacco after reading it, because it doesn't tell me anything about the stuff. It's just a bunch of fluff." Frink faced him: "Oh, you're crazy!
When he mentioned his friends Sir Gerald Doak, Lord Wycombe, William Washington Eathorne, and Chum Frink, he was proud of their condescending interest.
Thus the therapeutical experience of the psycho-analysts reinforces the lessons we learn from physiology and psychology and the intimate experiences of life. See, for instance, H.W. Frink, Morbid Fears and Compulsions, 1918, Ch. Sexual activity, we see, is not merely a bald propagative act, nor, when propagation is put aside, is it merely the relief of distended vessels.
He patted Louetta's hand, to indicate that he hadn't meant anything improper by squeezing it, and demanded of Frink, "Say, see if you can get old Dant' to spiel us some of his poetry. Talk up to him. Tell him, 'Buena giorna, senor, com sa va, wie geht's? Keskersaykersa a little pome, senor?"
Babbitt and Frink were enchanted to join him. If you had asked Babbitt what his religion was, he would have answered in sonorous Boosters'-Club rhetoric, "My religion is to serve my fellow men, to honor my brother as myself, and to do my bit to make life happier for one and all."
To the eye, the men were less similar: Littlefield, a hedge-scholar, tall and horse-faced; Chum Frink, a trifle of a man with soft and mouse-like hair, advertising his profession as poet by a silk cord on his eye-glasses; Vergil Gunch, broad, with coarse black hair en brosse; Eddie Swanson, a bald and bouncing young man who showed his taste for elegance by an evening waistcoat of figured black silk with glass buttons; Orville Jones, a steady-looking, stubby, not very memorable person, with a hemp-colored toothbrush mustache.
Besides, gosh, we got to have some boob for audience, when a bunch of hot-air artists like Frink and Littlefield get going." "Well, dear I meant to speak of this I do think that as host you ought to sit back and listen, and let your guests have a chance to talk once in a while!" "Oh, you do, do you! Sure! I talk all the time! And I'm just a business man oh sure!
The spirit of Dante had come to the parlor of George F. Babbitt. He was, it seemed, quite ready to answer their questions. He was "glad to be with them, this evening." Frink spelled out the messages by running through the alphabet till the spirit interpreter knocked at the right letter. Littlefield asked, in a learned tone, "Do you like it in the Paradiso, Messire?"
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