ellauri107.html on line 500: But as he went through the corridor of the Reeves Building he sighed, “Poor old Paul! I got to—Oh, damn Noel Ryland! Damn Charley McKelvey! Just because they make more money than I do, they think they're so superior. I wouldn't be found dead in their stuffy old Union Club! I—Somehow, to-day, I don't feel like going back to work. Oh well—”
ellauri107.html on line 505: This advance in civilization could be carried too far, Babbitt perceived. Noel Ryland, sales-manager of the Zeeco, was a frivolous graduate of Princeton, while Babbitt was a sound and standard ware from that great department-store, the State University. Ryland wore spats, he wrote long letters about City Planning and Community Singing, and, though he was a Booster, he was known to carry in his pocket small volumes of poetry in a foreign language. All this was going too far. Henry Thompson was the extreme of insularity, and Noel Ryland the extreme of frogginess, while between them, supporting the state, defending the evangelical churches and domestic brightness and sound business, were Babbitt and his friends.
ellauri316.html on line 203: John Rylands Library donating the cost of a small extension in 1961. The Edith and
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