With the census seven weeks old and still unfinished, the nation was acting as apprehensive as a housewife getting a new hairdo. Many a city had a horrible premonition that it wasn't going to look as flashy as it had hoped when it finally got to the mirror. The alarm over a short count was greatest on the West Coast; city officials were using everything but moose calls and native beaters to get every last bum and baby located, quizzed and accounted for.
San Francisco, mortally afraid that it would be credited with fewer...
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