Fiction Books

I guess I'm just a stickler, a perfectionist, but if you do a thing, I always say, you might as well do it right. Everything satisfied me about the security measures on our assignment except one—the official Army designation. Project Hush. I don't know who thought it up, and I certainly would never ask, but whoever it was, he should have known better. Damn it, when you want a project kept... more...

INTRODUCTION This is a "Journal of Impressions," and it is nothing more. It will not satisfy people who want accurate and substantial information about Belgium, or about the War, or about Field Ambulances and Hospital Work, and do not want to see any of these things "across a temperament." For the Solid Facts and the Great Events they must go to such books as Mr. E. A. Powell's... more...

CHAPTER I SHOWS MRS. THESIGER IN HER HOME The Geneva express jerked itself out of the Gare de Lyons. For a few minutes the lights of outer Paris twinkled past its windows and then with a spring it reached the open night. The jolts and lurches merged into one regular purposeful throb, the shrieks of the wheels, the clatter of the coaches, into one continuous hum. And already in the upper berth of her... more...

INTRODUCTION Cada puta hile (Let every jade go spin).—SANCHO PANZA. Almost alone in Europe stands Spain, the country of things as they are. The Spaniard weaves no glamour about facts, apologises for nothing, extenuates nothing. Lo que ha de ser no puede faltar! If you must have an explanation, here it is. Chew it, Englishman, and be content; you will get no other. One result of this is that... more...

CHAPTER I DARKNESS There was a house in this town where always by night lights burned. In one of its rooms many lights burned; in each of the other rooms at least one light. It stood on Clay Street, on a treeless plot among flower beds, a small dull-looking house; and when late on dark nights all the other houses on Clay Street were solid blockings lifting from the lesser blackness of their background,... more...

POEMS. 'My bosom is chill'd with the cold, My limbs their lost vigour deplore! Alas! to the lonely and old, Hope warbles her promise no more! 'Worn out with the length of my way, I must rest me awhile on the beach, To feel the salt dash of the spray, If haply so far it may reach. 'As the white-foaming billows arise, I reflect on the days that are past, When the pride of my strength... more...

Out to Sea I had this story from one who had no business to tell it to me, or to any other. I may credit the seductive influence of an old vintage upon the narrator for the beginning of it, and my own skeptical incredulity during the days that followed for the balance of the strange tale. When my convivial host discovered that he had told me so much, and that I was prone to doubtfulness, his foolish... more...

CHAPTER I. One pleasant October evening, Arthur Hamilton was at play in front of the small, brown cottage in which he lived. He and his brother James, were having a great frolic with a large spotted dog, who was performing a great variety of antics, such as only well-educated dogs understand. But Rover had been carefully initiated into the mysteries of making a bow while standing on his hind legs,... more...

THE CYNIC'SRULES OF CONDUCT o to the Aunt, thou sluggard, and offer her ten off on your legacy for spot cash. he difference between a bad break and a faux pas indicates the kind of society you are in. hen alone in Paris behave as if all the world were your mother-in-law. emember, too, that perhaps you are not the sort of husband that Father used to make. ou may refer to her cheeks as roses, but... more...

CHAPTER I. THE BEACHING OF THE BOAT.   "Thou old gray sea,   Thou broad briny water,   With thy ripple and thy plash,   And thy waves as they lash   The old gray rocks on the shore.   With thy tempests as they roar,   And thy crested billows hoar,   And thy tide evermore                    Fresh and free." —Dr. Blackie. On the shore of a little... more...