They murmur “Excuse me” on the sidewalk but snarl defiance even death, on the road. Who are they? Read this — you may meet youBy ROBERT THOMAS ALLEN11 min
IF YOU had happened to be walking in Fleet Street on New Year's Day you would have seen a lot of worried faces. It wasn’t the Russian problem, nor the gap between imports and exports: freedom of competition had been restored to the Press. The President of the Board of Trade, under long pressure, had decided that sufficient newsprint would be supplied for newspapers to find their true circulations.By BEVERLEY BAXTER11 min
The Communists tried to forge the Bata chain into a spy ring but Tom Bata held them off. Now he’s fighting his stepuncle for controlBy FRANK HAMILTON20 min
During the course of an evening in almost any tavern there will appear on the scene a garrulous character who, on being well-primed with free beers, will gladly sit at your table and play the role of the Prophet of Doom . . . In printing “The Big Lies” (by Bruce Hutchison, March 1) Maclean’s has merely given the Prophet a coast-to-coast hookup . . .
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