Fiction Books

CHAPTER I ROOM NO. 317 I laid my papers down upon the broad mahogany counter, and exchanged greetings with the tall frock-coated reception clerk who came smiling towards me. "I should like a single room on the third floor east, about the middle corridor," I said. "Can you manage that for me? 317 I had last time." He shook his head at once. "I am very sorry, Mr. Courage," he... more...

CHAPTER I It was sunrise on the Colorado desert. As the advance guard of dawn emerged from behind the serrated peaks to the east and paused on their snow-encrusted summits before charging down the slopes into the open desert to rout the lingering shadows of the night, a coyote came out of his den in the tumbled malpais at the foot of the range, pointed his nose skyward and voiced his matutinal salute... more...

INTRODUCTION. By the courtesy of Forest and Stream and Hunter-Trader-Trapper these articles are republished in book form by the author. I have been induced to bring them out a second time under one cover by the frequent requests of my fellow bushmen who were kind enough to criticise them favorably when they first appeared in the magazine. In this preamble I think it proper and possibly interesting to... more...

CHAPTER I. THE DEPUTY TURN Mr. Arthur Mackwayte slipped noiselessly into the dining-room and took his place at the table. He always moved quietly, a look of gentle deprecation on his face as much as to say: "Really, you know, I can't help being here: if you will just overlook me this time, by and by you won't notice I'm there at all!" That was how he went through life, a shy,... more...

CHAPTER II SEE THE EYES "Good evening, sir. A bit gusty?" "Very much so, sergeant," I replied. "I think I will step into your hut for a moment and light my pipe if I may." "Certainly, sir. Matches are too scarce nowadays to take risks with 'em. But it looks as if the storm had blown over." "I'm not sorry," said I, entering the little hut like a... more...

The early days of the literary career of Robert Louis Stevenson can hardly be said to have been entirely devoid of recognition, though it would appear doubtful if the world at large was willing to recognize his abilities had it not been for his wonderful personality; with a soul and an imagination far above those of his early associates he gradually drew around him the respect and admiration of that... more...

On the banks of the Tweed, and about half a mile above where the Whitadder flows into it on the opposite side, there is a small and singular cave. It is evidently not an excavation formed by nature, but the work of man's hands. To the best of my recollection, it is about ten feet square, and in the midst of it is a pillar or column, hewn out of the old mass, and reaching from the floor to the... more...

CHAPTER I "You are not soldiers! You are men of iron!" Such was the tribute of an idolized general to the men of the Twenty-eighth Division, United States Army, after the division had won its spurs in a glorious, breath-taking fashion at the second battle of the Marne in July and August, 1918. The grizzled officer, his shrewd, keen eyes softened to genuine admiration for the deeds of the... more...

CHAPTER I THE CHANGE It is all my own fault. I was too free with my tongue. I said in a moment of bitterness: "What can a Bishop do with a parish priest? He's independent of him." It was not grammatical, and it was not respectful. But the bad grammar and the impertinence were carried to his Lordship, and he answered: "What can I do? I can send him a curate who will break his heart in... more...

Belinda Act I It is a lovely April afternoon–a foretaste of summer–in Belinda's garden. Betty, a middle-aged servant, is fastening a hammock–its first appearance this year–to a tree down L. In front there is a garden-table, with a deck-chair on the right of it and a straight-backed one to the left. There are books, papers, and magazines on the table. Belinda, of whom we shall know more... more...