Mostly the adult Indians did not wish their children to learn these arts from the emissaries of what they astonishingly considered an alien, false an… - Sinclair Lewis

Slow yellow river flowing, willows that gesture in tepid August airs, and four children playing at greatness, as, doubtless, great men themselves must play.

He was an actor of genius. There was no more overwhelming actor on the stage, in the motion pictures, nor even in the pulpit. He would whirl arms, bang tables, glare from mad eyes, vomit Biblical wrath from a gaping mouth; but he would also coo like a nursing mother, beseech like an aching lover, and in between tricks would coldly and almost contemptuously jab his crowds with figures and facts—figures and facts that were inescapable even when, as often happened, they were entirely incorrect.

He still had a fragment of his boyhood belief that congressmen were persons of intelligence and importance. ~ Ch. 22