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Updated: June 6, 2025
He smiled and said so gratefully, so-so joyously, as if Ulrich were his own son: 'Thank God, he will be spared to us! The little girl ran to her dumb mother, who was sitting by the stove, winding yarn, exclaiming: 'Mother, he'll get well again.
Get a cinch on her spare time ahead so as to shut the other fellow out. Don't get down in the dirt to her, she's not that kind, but don't be too high and mighty, neither. Just so-so savve? And then, some time when you see she's feelin' good, and smilin' at you in that way of hers, why up and call her hand. Of course I can't say what the showdown'll be. That's for you to find out.
Follingsbee was one of the class of returned travellers who always speak condescendingly of any thing American; as, "so-so," or "tolerable," or "pretty fair," a considerateness which goes a long way towards keeping up the spirits of the country. "I say, Dick," said his lady, "have you seen to the bags and wraps?" "All right, madam." "And my basket of medicines and the books?"
By-and-bye little Joan unfastened the bar, and opened the door, and she and the doll and So-so went out and sat on the doorstep. Not a stranger was to be seen. The sun shone delightfully. An evening sun, and not too hot. All day it had been ripening the corn in the field close by, and this glowed and waved in the breeze.
The play was a new play: and infinitely full; the King and all the Court almost there. It is "The Storme," a play of Fletcher's; which is but so-so, methinks; only there is a most admirable dance at the end, of the ladies, in a military manner, which indeed did please me mightily. 27th.
Why, the last fellow left a little pile of white bones beside the trail on the way to my girl's house, after the coyotes picked him clean. Every time I go up there I got to turn my head the other way." Sam smiled stiffly at Mahooley's humour. "Can you cook?" the trader asked. Sam's heart sank. "So-so," he said.
There could be no doubt; yet, to keep the old man talking, he put the question, "She is very beautiful, the donzella?" "Eccellenza" with a pause and deprecatory movement of the shoulders "cosi so-so a little pale like a saint devote. For the poor? Good, gentile, the donzel of Messer Girolamo. Bella, with rosy colors? Non!"
"Mornin', sah." "I'm sorter up an' about," responded Uncle Remus, carelessly and calmly. "How is you stannin' it?" "Tanky you, my helt' mos' so-so. He mo' hot dun in de mountain. Seem so lak man mus' git need*1 de shade. I enty fer see no rice-bud in dis pa'ts." "In dis w'ich?" inquired Uncle with a sudden affectation of interest. "In dis pa'ts. In dis country. Da plenty in Sawanny."
Downstairs, on the way out of the place, if by chance he encountered the warden in his office, the warden, in all likelihood, would say: "Well, how about it this time, Uncle Tobe?" And Uncle Tobe would make some such answer as this: "Well, suh, accordin' to my reckonin' this here one will heft about a hund'ed an' sixty-five pound, ez he stands now. How's he takin' it, warden?" "Oh, so-so."
Ah! there's the rub. Miss Cormorant and all the Cormorant family are wanting me to hurry up with this history, and just so surely as I should skip over any part of the tale, or slight my background, or show any eagerness, that other family, the Critics the recording angels of literature take down their pens, and with a sad face joyfully write: "This book is, so-so, but bears evident marks of hurry in its execution.
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