Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: May 26, 2025
"Jeff Tuttle, you dashed old long-horn!" exclaimed Cousin Egbert. "Good old Sour-dough!" exploded the other. "Ain't this just like old home week!" "I thought mebbe you wouldn't know me with all my beadwork and my new war-bonnet on," continued Cousin Egbert. "Know you, why, you knock-kneed old Siwash, I could pick out your hide in a tanyard!" "Well, well, well!" replied Cousin Egbert.
If there's one thing a sour-dough can do it's sure walk." Once, Smoke lighted a match and glanced at his watch. He never repeated it, for so quick was the bite of the frost on his bared hands that half an hour passed before they were again comfortable. "Four o'clock," he said, as he pulled on his mittens, "and we've already passed three hundred."
To Folsom it seemed that the distant stretch of dark water was like a prison wall, barring the outside world from him and the other fools who had elected to stay "inside." Fools? Yes; they were all fools! Folsom was a "sour-dough."
The Judge says to me when Eddie Pierce comes, 'Sour-dough, he says, 'look in at Mis' Kenner's this afternoon if you got nothing else on; I fancy it will repay you. Just like that. 'Well, I says, 'all right, Judge, I fancy I will. I fancy I ain't got anything else on, I says.
"Well, fur two or three years at a time the nearest I'd ever get to them dainties would be a piece of sour-dough bread baked on a stove-lid. But whenever I was in the big camps I'd always go look into the bake-shop windows and just gloat. 'rubber' they call it now'days. My! but they would be beautiful.
That's where I've slept, the last few years when I wasn't off on location but it's just as sensible to think I don't know anything else, as it would be for me to think you can't do anything but skim milk and fry bacon and make sour-dough bread, just because I've seen you do it!" Brit laughed and patted her awkwardly on the back.
Brit looked in, tested the heat with his gnarled hand to make sure that the sour-dough biscuits would not be dried to crusts, and closed the door upon them and the bacon and fried potatoes.
I tried to explain the feeling to Dinky-Dunk. He said he understood. "I'm a Sour-Dough, Gee-Gee, but it still gets me that way," he solemnly confessed. He said that when he listened to beautiful music he felt the same. And that got me thinking of grand opera, and of that Romeo and Juliet night at La Scala, in Milan, when I first met Theobald Gustav.
Here the driver, a loutish and familiar youth, also seized his hand and, with some crude effect of oratory, shouted to the crowd. "What's the matter with Sour-dough?" To this, with a flourish of their impossible hats, they quickly responded in unison, "He's all right!" accenting the first word terrifically. Then, to the immense relief of Mrs.
Look at his eye! Whoa! there you would, would you!" Here he made a pretence that the beast had seized him by the shoulder. "He's a man-eater! What did I tell you? Keep him away!" "I'll take that out of him," said the Tuttle person. "I'll show him who's his master." "You ain't never going to try to ride him, Jeff? Think of the wife and little ones!" "You know me, Sour-dough.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking