Word: lather
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David Lloyd George, strode, for the first time in his long life, upon a public race track. He wore a light blue hat, dark blue coat, many-colored bow tie. He seemed happy to see the horses run and lather; but he placed no bets. He, a Welsh Baptist, has long found his strongest support among sections of the British public which frown upon horse racing. Yet he caused more excitement at the track than the horses themselves...
...accordingly. Quaint was Mr. Lever's presentation to King Leopold II of an ivory box containing the first cake of soap made from Congo palm-oil extracted at Leverville. Uncle Leopold, whom no gift could dazzle, afterwards said that the presentation cake "stank cursedly and wouldn't lather," when he sought to use it "out of compliment to M. Lever...
...Tipperary Tim was being led to the paddock, English folk crowded to pat him. They liked the feel of the hot lather on his flanks. They were glad that he had licked the U. S. invader, Billy Barton. Tipperary Tim was a dull horse, a plodder; but he had a nice name that would go down with powerful Poethlyn who won the Grand National in 1918 and 1919 and with nimble Jack Horner, U. S. horse who won in 1926. Hardly anybody noticed two other horses being led to the paddock. They were not feeling well. One of them...
...phenomenon. Was it an earthquake? Seis- mographs sensitized to the slightest disturbance for thousands of miles had recorded nothing. A tidal wave? No wall of water had been visible on the surface. Many hours later a northward moving hurricane did bang that part of the Atlantic into a colossal lather, but what manner of hurricane forerunner would travel invisibly beneath the surface? A convulsive bottom current? A ponderous flotilla of mad leviathans? A freak pelagic tide-rip seething in the depths as masses of the Atlantic changed position...
...grow as the barrister matured and developed a beard. The gentleman was quite excited. He was, he said, to be married in the morning. Carlo Salvator Cicero and no one else must come to his house after breakfast. Mr. Cicero went. He whetted his blade, he whipped his lather, he wielded scissors, comb and brush to achieve the acme of tonsorial impeccability the masterpiece of a career. He finished with a gesture?and Charles Evans Hughes, pleased, handed...