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Some of the latter retain their significant names even yet Hosier Lane, Cordwainer Street, Bread Street, Soper's Lane, the Poultry, Silver Street, Ironmonger's Lane, and Paternoster Row, in which last lived the text-writers and rosary-makers. But it is time to inquire what kind of patties were inviting the passer-by on Mr Altham's counter.
And if you go saying things you'll only make him angry." "Oh it's a him, is it?" Don't say Soper's been making himself unpleasant." "He's always unpleasant." "Is he? By 'Eaven, if I catch him!" "Do be quiet. It isn't Mr. Soper." "Isn't it?" "No. How could it be? You don't call Mr. Soper nice, do you?" Spinks was really quiet for a moment.
They find the Bo on the job and the money gone. Who did it? Ask me." At the cottonwoods they mounted. "Now, you fan it for Soper's," said Fadeaway. "I'll keep on for the Blue. To-morrow evenin' I'll ride over and get my divvy." Corliss hesitated. "You better travel," said Fadeaway, reining his horse around. "So-long."
Deacon Soper's countenance assumed a certain air of restrained cheerfulness. The conversation rose into one of its gusty paroxysms just then.
When Corliss had suggested Soper's place as a rendezvous, Fadeaway had laughed to himself, knowing that old man Soper had been driven from the country by a committee of irate ranchers. The illicit sale of whiskey to the cowboys of the Concho Valley had been the cause of Soper's hurried evacuation. The cabin had been burned to the ground.
Downey, "that he can't be coming." The middle-aged gentleman, Mr. Soper, was heard muttering something to the effect that he thought they could bear up if he didn't come. Whereupon Mrs. Downey begged Mr. Soper's pardon in a manner which was a challenge to him to repeat his last remark. Therefore he repeated it. "I say, I 'ope we can manage to bear up." "Speak for yourself, Mr. Soper."
Sprowle replied, "that there would be lemonade and srub for those that preferred such drinks, but that the Colonel had given folks to understand that he did n't mean to set in judgment on the marriage in Canaan, and that those that didn't like srub and such things would find somethin' that would suit them better." Deacon Soper's countenance assumed a certain air of restrained cheerfulness.
E. D. Soper's book "The Faiths of Mankind" in which there is an entire chapter called "Where Fear Holds Sway." "Where is it that fear holds sway?" the reader asks. The answer is, "In the Orient"! Yes, the whole Orient is one great gallery of dim, uncertain, weird, mysterious Flash-lights of Fear.
Every possible exertion was therefore made to get the task accomplished, and all hands were employed. Anxious as I was to hear what had become of my brother, I consequently had no opportunity for a long time of listening to a continuance of Miles Soper's narrative.
The dripping trees surrounding the hollow jumped into view to be blotted from sight as the succeeding crash of thunder diminished to far titanic echoes. Where Soper's cabin had stood there was a wet, glistening heap of fallen logs and rafters, charred and twisted. The lightning flash had revealed more to the rider than the desolation of the burned and abandoned homestead.
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