Fiction Books

The story which is narrated in the following pages came to me from the lips of my old friend Allan Quatermain, or Hunter Quatermain, as we used to call him in South Africa. He told it to me one evening when I was stopping with him at the place he bought in Yorkshire. Shortly after that, the death of his only son so unsettled him that he immediately left England, accompanied by two companions, his old... more...

A morality tale—1960 style. Legend had it, that many thousands of years ago, right after the Great Horror, the whole continent of the west had slowly sunk beneath the West Water, and that once every century it arose during a full moon. Still, Captain Hinrik clung to the hope that the legend would not be borne out by truth. Perhaps the west continent still existed; perhaps, dare he hope, with... more...

I I have gone to the forest. Not because I am offended about anything, or very unhappy about men's evil ways; but since the forest will not come to me, I must go to it. That is all. I have not gone this time as a slave and a vagabond. I have money enough and am overfed, stupefied with success and good fortune, if you understand that. I have left the world as a sultan leaves rich food and harems... more...

INTRODUCTION BY HEYWOOD BROUN A good many of my radical friends express a certain kindly condescension when they speak of Edward Bellamy's "Looking Backward." "Of course you know," they say, "that it really isn't first-rate economics." And yet in further conversation I have known a very large number of these same somewhat scornful Socialists to admit, "You know,... more...

Chapter 1 I first saw the light in the city of Boston in the year 1857. "What!" you say, "eighteen fifty-seven? That is an odd slip. He means nineteen fifty-seven, of course." I beg pardon, but there is no mistake. It was about four in the afternoon of December the 26th, one day after Christmas, in the year 1857, not 1957, that I first breathed the east wind of Boston, which, I assure... more...

Dick Penrun glanced up incredulously. "Why, that's impossible; you would have to be two hundred years old!" he exclaimed. Lozzo nervously ran a hand through his white mop of hair. "But it is true, Sirro," he assured his companion. "We Martians sometimes live three centuries. You should know that I am only a hundred and seventy-five, and I do not lie when I say I was a cabin boy... more...

CHAPTER I.LORD DOLPHIN INTRODUCES HIMSELFNow who ever heard of a fish's sitting up and telling his own story! Oh, you needn't laugh, you young Folks, perhaps you will find that I can make out very well, considering. Of course I have been among "Folks," else I could never use your language or know anything about you and your ways. A message is not received direct from the depths of the... more...

CHAPTER 1 He was an inch, perhaps two, under six feet, powerfully built, and he advanced straight at you with a slight stoop of the shoulders, head forward, and a fixed from-under stare which made you think of a charging bull. His voice was deep, loud, and his manner displayed a kind of dogged self-assertion which had nothing aggressive in it. It seemed a necessity, and it was directed apparently as... more...

CHAPTER I I Oliver Brand, the new member for Croydon (4), sat in his study, looking out of the window over the top of his typewriter. His house stood facing northwards at the extreme end of a spur of the Surrey Hills, now cut and tunnelled out of all recognition; only to a Communist the view was an inspiriting one. Immediately below the wide windows the embanked ground fell away rapidly for perhaps a... more...

I.—LORD STRANLEIGH ALL AT SEA. A few minutes before noon on a hot summer day, Edmund Trevelyan walked up the gang-plank of the steamship, at that moment the largest Atlantic liner afloat. Exactly at the stroke of twelve she would leave Southampton for Cherbourg, then proceed across to Queenstown, and finally would make a bee-line west for New York. Trevelyan was costumed in rough tweed of subdued... more...