"Names make news." Last week these names made this news:

In Manhattan arrived Captain Bede Edmund Hugh Clifford, Governor of the Bahamas, to place contracts for publicity and advertising to boost next season's U. S. winter-resorting in Nassau.

In his suite in the swank hotel George V in Paris, where his wife lay ill, Samuel Instill stared pop-eyed at a squib in The People, London weekly: "Stricken Dollar King, now living in a Paris attic on $5 a week. . . cooking his own meals . . . beginning life all over again, only at the wrong end." When comparative strangers began to telephone with offers of alms Mr. Insull, whose pensions from utility companies which he once ruled total $18,000 a year, decided to end his incognito. To newsmen he snorted: "The very idea! Cooking my own meals! Why, I could not fry an egg! Not even the much abused American tabloid has ever served me in such fashion. I would call this going a bit too far."

Frizzy-haired Eva Tanguay, 54, famed for her oldtime vaudeville singing ("I Don't Care!") was discovered to be destitute, critically ill of Bright's disease, rheumatism and a heart ailment, nearly blind. Since last May she had occupied a small cottage in Hollywood, refusing to let her friends know her plight. When the news spread, Mrs. Lucy Cotton

Thomas, beauteous onetime actress, relict of Publisher Edward Russell Thomas of the New York Morning Telegraph, placed a "substantial sum" at Miss Tanguay's disposal.

George Washington Hill, tobacco tycoon, bought $2,500,000 life insurance through James Roosevelt, 25, eldest son of the Democratic presidential nominee.

From Miami, where he had arrived from South America, Playboy Richard Joshua Reynolds, 26, hurried home to Winston-Salem, closeted himself with family lawyers who told him what they knew about the death of his brother Smith, for which Smith's widow, the former Libby Holman, and his best friend Albert ("AB") Walker are awaiting trial. "R. J." Jr. read the coroner's inquest testimony, then announced: "In view of all the facts available at this time, I believe my brother's death was murder." A New York Sun newsman asked heavy-jowled Col. Jacob Ruppert, brewer and owner of the New York Yankees (see p. 20), if winning baseball championships had given him his biggest thrills in life. Replied the Colonel: "Yes and no. . . . Looking back now I doubt if I ever felt more elated than when I was a youngster and on occasions would go galloping out driving the ambulance to bring in one of our ailing brewery wagon horses. And what a thrill I had once when I mounted the seat and actually took out one of our tandem outfits. . . . When the elevated railroad structures were built it sounded the knell of tandems pulling brewery wagons. It was too much of a trick to guide them in and out around the 'L' pillars. Ah, but there was a sight for you! Those brewery teams were as pretty to see operate as a nicely stepping ball team."

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