Word: softe
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...Dearborn memorials, Mr. Edison, Mr. Ford and a group approached the buildings to enter. Near the door was a fresh-laid sheet of concrete, around which the party started to walk. But not Mr. Edison. Always he takes the short cut and across the concrete he walked. It was soft. His shoes sank into it. Consternation came upon his face, then stubbornness. He plodded ahead leaving a string of footprints behind. Mr. Ford was delighted and said something flattering about "the sands of time." He gave orders that the footprints be allowed to harden, furthermore, he made Mr. Edison take...
There is no place in whimsical comedy for such incubi as the three little cradles that are dragged on for the line "they're my hope cradles," of Miss Cowl. There is perhaps little more for soft epigrams like "Agenius? Someone who's always searching for something", which are five percent humor and ninety-five percent Jane Cowl. But there is something magical in the transformation of earned power that follows upon Harlequin's cool comfort of "That's life" to deserted Columbine. Miss Cowl turns her head suddenly up, and cries: "It's not; it's hundreds of little...
...Manufacturer of "Wright's Pure Soft Drink Powders"-("one pound will make a whole barrel-60 gallons-1,200 glasses...
Last week the Committee reached Schedule 7?the agricultural section?of the Tariff Act of 1922. Into the Committee room in the House Office Building strode, not the farmers themselves, but their hired lobbyists, suave, well-garbed, soft-spoken gentlemen, prosperous on their fees. They came to make the farmers' argument. Here and there a "dirt farmer" (as he always carefully introduced himself) would get in by mistake, but by and large the touch and feel of the soil was noticeably lacking from the agricultural witnesses who journeyed from New York and Chicago offices, from chambers of commerce, from large...
Bowed in by Mr. Penney's butler and by Lawrence Richey, Hoover secretary, the Democracy's battered candidate felt the friendly grip of the next President's soft hand. Mr. Hoover had not slicked up much. His coat was blue, his trousers white, his shoes blancoed. The large sun-room took them all in, doors closing behind. Outside, wind whipped rain against the glass and chopped up the waters of Biscayne...