We use Optical Character Recognition (OCR) during our scanning and processing workflow to make the content of each page searchable. You can view the automatically generated text below as well as copy and paste individual pieces of text to quote in your own work.
Text recognition is never 100% accurate. Many parts of the scanned page may not be reflected in the OCR text output, including: images, page layout, certain fonts or handwriting.
at the sleeping apparel of some of our rugged stars. Of course we all wore our riding clothes, but some of the men were muffled so that only their eyes, nose, and mouth could be seen.
Long before dawn a rustle among the dead leaves awakened me. I turned over to look, and there was Big Chief and Little ChiefMr. Hearst bundled up from his neck to his ankles in a long gray dressing gown with a Peter Pan collar, and Marion also in a dressing gown, Stealthily they tiptoed down to where die horses were tethered, and started searching in the saddlebags. They didn't miss one. Then W.R. shook his head and started back to his tent.
I was in a lather of curiosity and finally got Marion alone to ask what he was looking for. "Oh," she said, "his valet forgot to put in his Seidlitz powders."
You've heard about W.R. having a telephone behind each tree. That story isn't too great an exaggeration, because in the wilds of northern California I saw him stop on a summit, rein in his horse, ride around a tree, take out a telephone, call San Simeon, and give an order for an editorial he wanted in the paper next day.
Coming home by automobile, we went through a forest fire. Flames leaped across the road over our heads to the trees on the other side— a regular inferno. Several of the cars were stopped by highway police to see if any of our males could help fight the fire. After looking them over the police waved us on.
One year I was asked to show Bernard M. Baruch around San Simeon. Bernie lives no drab life himself. His South Carolina plantation, Hobcaw Barony, situated on the King's Highway built by the British many years ago, is no shack. But while San Simeon shelters treasures from the four corners of the world, the treasures on Bernie's Southern plantation were bestowed by God and nature.
His house, an old rambling colonial affair which is simply furnished (no signed antiques at Hobcaw), is surrounded by two thousand acres of pine trees and live oaks. In the spring, peeping through the pines, are thousands of dogwood in full bloom, looking for all the world like they were dressed for a bridal procession for a mating with the giant fir trees. Azalea hedges fifteen feet high add a blaze of color. When the breeze ruffles the Spanish moss hanging
159