Fiction Books

PART I WRITING A POEM The book! The book! This day, Saturday, the sixth day of April, 1901, I begin the book! I have never kept a journal—I have been too busy living; but to-day I begin a journal. I am so built that I can do but one thing at a time. Now that I have begun The Captive, I must be haunted with it all day; when I am not writing it I must be dreaming it, or restless because I am not.... more...

George stood by the fireplace, his features twisted into a grimace. "It's hell, I tell you. A living hell." I sipped my drink and tried to think of a subtle way to change the subject. I didn't like to hear a person's personal problems and every time I visited George, he invariably complained about Helen. If it had been anyone else, I might have thought it wasn't entirely... more...

APOLOGIA PRO SCRIPTIS MEIS [The APOLOGIA which follows needs, perhaps, a word of explanation, not to clear up Mr. Moore's text—that is as delightful, as irrelevantly definite, as paradoxically clear as anything this present wearer of the Ermine of English Literature has ever written—but to explain why it was written and why it is published. When the present publisher, who is hereinafter, in... more...

WHAT DICK HAD TO TELL "Here we are, Sam!" "And I'm glad of it, Tom. I don't care much about riding in the cars after it is too dark to look out of the windows," returned the youngest Rover. The train was nearing the Grand Central Terminal, in New York City. The passengers were gathering their belongings, and the porter was moving from one to another, brushing them and... more...

CHAPTER I THE PROPOSITION With the hum of New York above, below, and all about him, stirring his pulses and prodding his mental activities, Jerold Garrison, expert criminologist, stood at the window of his recently opened office, looking out upon the roofs and streets of the city with a new sense of pride and power in his being. New York at last! He was here—unknown and alone, it was true—but... more...

The conversion of light into electricity by spectrum is an interesting possibility. The idea of using foreign proteins on the human system to repel enemies, is also interesting. Do you get it? We didn't either until we read the story. Read the yarn and you'll get it too. Although Divine intervention in human affairs passed into the realm of the mythical toward the end of the twentieth or at... more...

CHAPTER I. 1813-1831. His Birth—The Father’s Death—His Mother Remarries—Removal to Dresden—Theatre and Music—At School—Translation of Homer—Through Poetry to Music—Returning to Leipzig—Beethoven’s Symphonies—Resolution to be a Musician—Conceals this Resolution—Composes Music and Poetry—His Family Distrusts his Talent—“Romantic” Influences—Studies of... more...

THE STAR-EYED DEIRDRE In olden days, when many Kings reigned throughout the Green Island of Erin, none was greater than the great Concobar. So fair was his realm that poets sang its beauty, and such the wonder of his palace that the sweetest songs of Erin were of its loveliness. In a castle of this fair realm dwelt Felim, a warrior and harper dear unto the King. And it was told him that Concobar with... more...

THE SWIM AT INDIAN HEAD At Indian Head, Maryland, are the government proving-grounds, where the racket of great guns and splintering of targets are a deterrent to the miscellaneous visitations of picnics. Trouble has been frequently associated with this neighborhood, as it is now suggested in the noisy symbolry of war. In prehistoric days it was the site of an aboriginal town, whose denizens were like... more...

THE YOUNG AVIATOR "Telegram, sir." "Who for?" "Dave Dashaway." "I'll take it." The messenger boy who had just entered the hangar of the great prize monoplane of the aero meet at Columbus, stared wonderingly about him while the man in charge of the place receipted for the telegram. The lad had never been in so queer a place before. He was a lively, active city boy,... more...