Robert Clyde Andrews Jr., five years old, is one of the talkingest youngsters I ever knew. Get him started and the monologue keeps up until he is choked off. Saturday he gave me an account of his automobile trip to Wilmignton Christmas, with full details of the route followed, the weather conditions, and the halts along the way. The length of some of his words astonished me. When I asked him if he knew my little nephew, he replied: “I see him occasionally, and he is a nice boy.” His parents must have been training him on Webster’s Dictionary instead of Mother Goose.
His father of the same name—who, however, is commonly known as Jack—is a pretty fair talker himself, and when they are at home together, I think it must be one of the most conversational households in all the town. this reminds me of how the father came to be called Jack. Some 30 years ago, when he was smaller than his son is now, he was sitting on a show case in Dr. Roberson’s drug store. Clyde Eubanks, who worked there then as a salesman, asked him his name, and, when he said that it was Robert Clyde, Mr. Eubanks, to tease him, said; “Well, I’m going to call you Jack.” Whereupon the boy became so indignant that he shattered the show case with a kick. The incident was much talked about, and it resulted in the fastening upon the kicker the nickname of Jack.
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John Latta is still going about with about 35 birdshot in his arm between elbow and wrist, and seven or eight in his back. The other day he drifted into the Infirmary and asked Dr. Abernathy to probe for some of the shot. The doctor cut one out and then decided he’d let the others stay a while longer. They don’t seem to bother him much, but before long he is going to be examined again by Dr. Foy Roberson, the Durham surgeon, and maybe there will follow a wholesale extraction.
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When I was in Hillsboro the other day, I heard some of Cheshire Webb’s friends calling him the Prince of Orange. I take it that there must not be any special exemptions for the nobility over there, for when the subject of taxes came under discussion I noticed that Cheshire seemed as much concerned about them as anybody else.
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in a dream the other night Oliver Towles was threatened by a gigantic black cat. He grabbed a poker with which to attack the beast, but when the cat did not give way at his approach he was frightened. Just then he awoke and found that the family kitten, which always sleeps in the house, had been shut out by mistake, had made its way to the roof of the porch, and was scratching and meowing at the bedroom window. Mr. Towles, grateful at being thus rescued from the black cat, got up willingly and let the kitten in.
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While her father was in the garden and Mrs. Venable was in Raleigh and Miss Louise was in Durham, Miss Frances Venable had her hair bobbed the other day. Her friend Miss Daisy Cooper did the bobbing. If I may make so bold as to say so, it is very becoming. I do not know whether family opposition was responsible for the operation’s being performed when everybody was away, but if there was any such opposition I am glad that the family were thwarted. I know they think well of it now when they look at Miss Frances.
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Collier Cobb probably qualifies as Chapel Hill’s best traveler. Until this winter he had never passed a month without leaving Chapel Hill; he has never passed a year continuously in North Carolina, and has never passed three years without leaving the United States.
Pages 1 and 4 of The Chapel Hill Weekly, Thursday, March 6, 1924
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