Property:Has text

This is a property of type Text.

Usage2132

FilterThe <a target="_blank" rel="nofollow noreferrer noopener" class="external text" href="https://www.semantic-mediawiki.org/wiki/Help:Property_page/Filter">search filter</a> allows the inclusion of <a target="_blank" rel="nofollow noreferrer noopener" class="external text" href="https://www.semantic-mediawiki.org/wiki/Help:Query_expressions">query expressions</a> such as <code>~</code> or <code>!</code>. The selected <a target="_blank" rel="nofollow noreferrer noopener" class="external text" href="https://www.semantic-mediawiki.org/wiki/Query_engine">query engine</a> might also support case insensitive matching or other short expressions like:<ul><li><code>in:</code> result should include the term, e.g. '<code>in:Foo</code>'</li></ul><ul><li><code>not:</code> result should to not include the term, e.g. '<code>not:Bar</code>'</li></ul>

Showing 20 pages using this property.

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The Comet +

<div class="poem"> "Hello––hello––help, in God's name!" wailed the woman. "There's a dead girl in here and a man and––and see yonder dead men lying in the street and dead horses––for the love of God go and bring the officers–––" And the words trailed off into hysterical tears. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> She looked at him now with strength and confidence. He did not look like men, as she had always pictured men; but he acted like one and she was content. In fifteen minutes they were at the central telephone exchange. As they came to the door he stepped quickly before her and pressed her gently back as he closed it. She heard him moving to and fro, and knew his burdens––the poor, little burdens he bore. When she entered, he was alone in the room. The grim switchboard flashed its metallic face in cryptic, sphinx-like immobility. She seated herself on a stool and donned the bright earpiece. She looked at the mouthpiece. She had never looked at one so closely before. It was wide and black, pimpled with usage; inert; dead; almost sarcastic in its unfeeling curves. It looked––she beat back the thought––but it looked,––it persisted in looking like––she turned her head and found herself alone. One moment she was terrified; then she thanked him silently for his delicacy and turned resolutely, with a quick intaking of breath. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> The colored man heard nothing. He stood silently beneath the glare of the light, gazing at the money in his hand and shrinking as he gazed; slowly he put his other hand into his pocket and brought out a baby's filmy cap, and gazed again. A woman mounted to the platform and looked about, shading her eyes. She was brown, small, and toil-worn, and in one arm lay the corpse of a dark baby. The crowd parted and her eyes fell on the colored man; with a cry she tottered toward him. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> A low, grinding, reverberating crash struck upon his ear. He started up and looked about. All was black and still. He groped for his light and swung it about him. Then he knew! The great stone door had swung to. He forgot the gold and looked death squarely in the face. Then with a sigh he went methodically to work. The cold sweat stood on his forehead; but he searched, pounded, pushed, and worked until after what seemed endless hours his hand struck a cold bit of metal and the great door swung again harshly on its hinges, and then, striking against something soft and heavy, stopped. He had just room to squeeze through. There lay the body of the vault clerk, cold and stiff. He stared at it, and then felt sick and nauseated. The air seemed unaccountably foul, with a strong, peculiar odor. He stepped forward, clutched at the air, and fell fainting across the corpse. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> "Do you know the code?" she asked. "I know the call for help––we used it formerly at the bank." She hardly heard. She heard the lapping of the waters far below,––the dark and restless waters––the cold and luring waters, as they called. He stepped within. Slowly she walked to the wall, where the water called below, and stood and waited. Long she waited, and he did not come. Then with a start she saw him, too, standing beside the black waters. Slowly he removed his coat and stood there silently. She walked quickly to him and laid her hand on his arm. He did not start or look. The waters lapped on in luring, deadly rhythm. He pointed down to the waters, and said quietly: "The world lies beneath the waters now––may I go?" She looked into his stricken, tired face, and a great pity surged within her heart. She answered in a voice clear and calm, "No." </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> "I had been shut up in my dark room developing pictures of the comet which I took last night; when I came out––I saw the dead! </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> The crowd poured up and out of the elevators, talking and whispering. "Who was it?" “Are they alive?" "How many?" "Two!" "Who was saved?" “A white girl and a nigger––there she goes." “A nigger? Where is he? Let's lynch the damned––—" "Shut up––he's all right––he saved her." "Saved hell! He had no business––––" "Here he comes." Into the glare of the electric lights the colored man moved slowly, with the eyes of those that walk and sleep. "Well, what do you think of that?" cried a bystander; "of all New York, just a white girl and a nigger!" </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> Behind him hurried a younger, comelier man, carefully clad in motor costume, who bent above the girl with passionate solicitude and gazed into her staring eyes until they narrowed and dropped and her face flushed deeper and deeper crimson. "Julia," he whispered; "my darling, I thought you were gone forever." She looked up at him with strange, searching eyes. "Fred," she murmured, almost vaguely, "is the world––gone?" "Only New York," he answered; "it is terrible––awful! You know,––but you, how did you escape––how have you endured this horror? Are you well? Unharmed?" "Unharmed!" she said. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> "Hello!" she called in low tones. She was calling to the world. The world must answer. Would the world answer? Was the world–– Silence! She had spoken too low. "Hello!" she cried, full-voiced. She listened. Silence! Her heart beat quickly. She cried in clear, distinct, loud tones: "Hello––hello––hello!" What was that whirring? Surely––no––was it the click of a receiver? </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> The tears streamed down the woman's cheeks and she clung to his arm until the perfume of her breath swept his face and he felt the tremors racing through her body. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> In the great stone doorway a hundred men and women and children lay crushed and twisted and jammed, forced into that great, gaping doorway like refuse in a can––as if in one wild, frantic rush to safety, they had crushed and ground themselves to death. Slowly the messenger crept along the walls, wetting his parched mouth and trying to comprehend, stilling the tremor in his limbs and the rising terror in his heart. He met a business man, silk-hatted and frock-coated, who had crept, too, along that smooth wall and stood now stone dead with wonder written on his lips. The messenger turned his eyes hastily away and sought the curb. A woman leaned wearily against the signpost, her head bowed motionless on her lace and silken bosom. Before her stood a street car, silent, and within––but the messenger but glanced and hurried on. A grimy newsboy sat in the gutter with the "last edition" in his uplifted hand: "Danger!" screamed its black headlines. "Warnings wired around the world. The Comet's tail sweeps past us at noon. Deadly gases expected. Close doors and windows. Seek the cellar." The messenger read and staggered on. Far out from a window above, a girl lay with gasping face and sleevelets on her arms. On a store step sat a little, sweet-faced girl looking upward toward the skies, and in the carriage by her lay––but the messenger looked no longer. The cords gave way––the terror burst in his veins, and with one great, gasping cry he sprang desperately forward and ran,––ran as only the frightened run, shrieking and fighting the air until with one last wail of pain he sank on the grass of Madison Square and lay prone and still. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> "Here, my good fellow," he said, thrusting the money into the man's hands, "take that,––what's your name?" "Jim Davis," came the answer, hollow-voiced. "Well, Jim, I thank you. I've always liked your people. If you ever want a job, call on me." And they were gone. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> "What has happened?" she cried again. He answered slowly: "Something––comet or devil––swept across the earth this morning and––many are dead!" "Many? Very many?" "I have searched and I have seen no other living soul but you." She gasped and they stared at each other. "My––father!" she whispered. "Where is he?" "He started for the office." "Where is it?" "In the Metropolitan Tower." "Leave a note for him here and come." </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> "Honk! Honk!" Hoarse and sharp the cry of a motor drifted clearly up from the silence below. They started backward with a cry and gazed upon each other with eyes that faltered and fell, with blood that boiled. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> Dear Daughter: I've gone for a hundred mile spin in Fred's new Mercedes. Shall not be back before dinner. I'll bring Fred with me. J. B. H. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> Silently, immovably, they saw each other face to face––eye to eye. Their souls lay naked to the night. It was not lust; it was not love—it was some vaster, mightier thing that needed neither touch of body nor thrill of soul. It was a thought divine, splendid. </div> +

The Comet +

<div class="poem"> "Honk! Honk! Honk! Honk!" came the mad cry again, and almost from their feet a rocket blazed into the air and scattered its stars upon them. She covered her eyes with her hands, and her shoulders heaved. He dropped and bowed, groped blindly on his knees about the floor. A blue flame spluttered lazily after an age, and she heard the scream of an answering rocket as it flew. </div> +

The Girl Scouts' Motor Trip +

<div class="poem"> “Of course you know our family are all in modest circumstances, but it seems that there is this one wealthy relative—an elderly, maiden aunt on my father’s side. I have never seen her, because she has lived in California during all of my life, but naturally I had heard of her before. She never took any interest in us, however, and always said she was going to leave all of her money to her two nephews whom she is raising. “Well, I hardly thought she knew of my existence, when suddenly, out of a clear sky, I got this letter from her with its thrilling proposition. She must have learned somewhere of the work we did last summer, and of our reason for doing it, and she was impressed. She evidently never knew any Girl Scouts before, or in fact any girls who were interested in anything so worth while as a sick mother or a tea-house. So, lo and behold, she writes to me and tells me she wants to make my acquaintance—and not only mine, but that of the whole patrol!” “But we can’t go out west, Alice!” interrupted Marjorie, jumping at her meaning. “We couldn’t possibly afford it.” “No,” added Florence, “I was thinking of looking for a job for the summer.” “Wait till you hear the rest of it!” said Alice. “We won’t need any money. Aunt Emeline is offering to pay all our expenses, if we motor to California!” “Motor!” repeated Marjorie. “We girls? By ourselves—?” </div> +

The Girl Scouts' Motor Trip +

<div class="poem"> “We’re all here!” she cried, joyfully. “Together now—and together all summer! Isn’t it marvelous?” “Yes, if only Mae were here,” said Lily, who never could forget the absent members. “And if Doris and I could go with you,” sighed Marie Louise. “You can’t go?” asked Alice, her face clouding. “Oh, why not, Marie Louise? Are you going to get married too?” “No, indeed,” replied the other girl, laughingly. “But I am keeping on at art school this summer.” “What a shame!” cried several of the others at once. They were all genuinely fond of this girl who was the latest addition to their number. Without even removing their hats, the girls all dropped into chairs in the living-room and continued to talk fast and furiously about their proposed trip. It seemed that all of the college girls were planning to go; and Marjorie’s announcement of Mrs. Remington’s acceptance added another cause for rejoicing. Their only regret was that their two hostesses and Mae Melville could not go. “I honestly feel sorry for you married people!” teased Florence. “To think that you have to miss all the fun—” “But there are compensations,” Doris reminded her. “Maybe we feel sorry for you!” “Now Doris, we won’t stand for that!” retorted Alice. “And anyhow—” “Anyhow what?” demanded the other, as Alice paused in the middle of her remark. “Anyhow some of us may have gone over to your side by the time we come back. I expect some of the girls to fall for my cousins—” But Marjorie put an end to their bantering by a call to the practical. </div> +

The Girl Scouts' Motor Trip +

<div class="poem"> She led the way up the mahogany and white staircase to the dainty little guest room at the rear of the second story, a boudoir such as any girl would love, furnished in cream-colored painted furniture, with pink floral decorations and pink and cream curtains at the windows. Ethel admired it profusely. “And did you work that bed-spread yourself?” she asked, examining closely the applique work in a flower design, upon unbleached muslin. “It’s simply too pretty to sleep on.” “Oh, it will wash!” laughed Doris. “Yes, I did make it myself. I love to do fancy-work.” Then, in the same breath, “Now tell us all about the trip. I’m tremendously interested.” “I’m afraid I don’t know a whole lot myself—just the bare facts that you know. But wait till Marj and Alice get here—they’ll tell us everything. By the way, is everybody coming?” “Everybody but Mae,” replied Doris. “You could hardly expect so recent a bride. In fact,” she added, “I didn’t even invite her. I knew it would be of no use.” “And she’s too far away-way out there in Ohio,” said Ethel. “I’m afraid we won’t see much of her any more.” They descended the staircase just in time to see, through the glass door, a taxi stop in front of the house. A moment later five merry, laughing girls jumped out of the machine and skipped up the porch steps. Marjorie Wilkinson, the last to enter the house on account of the delay in paying the driver, decided to make up for lost time, and seized Ethel, Doris, and Marie Louise all at once in one inclusive hug. </div> +