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.
When the comedian decided to give up the wine, which he said was too rich for his blood, he had iceboxes placed in nearly every room in the house. He had thought it best to return to the less dangerous martinis, and martinis, he said, should be kept cold to preserve their medicinal powers. His additions to the house, of whatever kind, were all done at his own expense. As prices continued to climb, and he steadfastly refused to boost his rent, the owner understandably balked at making the slightest improvement or repair. The house more or less went to seed. Parts of the downstairs ceiling became loosened, and huge strips hung down several feet. One of the largest was directly over the pool table, making it a little hazardous to play. As games nevertheless progressed, chunks of plaster and wood occasionally fell down and had to be brushed aside before the players could continue.
Fields' ideas of improvements were frequently bizarre. Without much hesitation the owner declined to install a system of dictaphones throughout the house during a period when Fields felt that his servants were plotting. The comedian went ahead and had the system put in himself. It was expensive, but he placed the machines everywhere, even in the pantry and over the front door stoop. Upon this program Fields brought to bear all his furtive ingenuity, suggesting such hiding places as in chandeliers, behind pictures, in the bottoms of chairs, and under washbasins. The master panel of all this foolishness was on the outsize desk in Fields' study, a large upstairs room, with a balcony, that served as the pilothouse, so to speak, of his domestic ship. On days when conspiracy seemed thick in the air, he stayed close to his panel, hoping to pick up mutinous scraps. Since all the servants soon knew about the dictaphones, and because they had no plans to mutiny, the tidbits he collected made pretty dull listening. Nevertheless, he remained alerted, his face lit up in vindication, as he struggled to read sinister imports into remarks like "We need
273