Fiction Books

I Late one fall afternoon, in the year 1898, a train paused for a moment before crossing a bridge over a river. From it descended a heavy-set, elderly man. The train immediately proceeded on its way. The heavy-set man looked about him. The river and the bottom-land growths of willow and hardwood were hemmed in, as far as he could see, by low-wooded hills. Only the railroad bridge, the steep embankment... more...

CHAPTER IT I crave the indulgence of the reader whilst I explain as briefly as possible the plan upon which I have written this short life of the great sovereign who firmly established the Mughal dynasty in India. The original conception of such an empire was not Akbar's own. His grandfather, Bábar, had conquered a great portion of India, but during the five years which elapsed between the... more...

THE COMING STORM “Say, boys, it looks like a storm and a heavy one, too.” The jest and laughter ceased at once, and three pairs of eyes looked in the direction pointed out by the speaker. “See that big bank of cloud climbing up the sky?” continued Fred Rushton. “There’s more than a capful of wind in that, if I know anything about weather.” “You’re right, Fred,” said Lester Lee, who... more...

A RASH IMPULSE “Get back, Jim. It’s over your head.” The ball had left the bat with a ringing crack that made it soar high into the air toward left field. Jim Dabney, who was playing left, made a hard run for it, but stumbled over a clump of grass, and the ball just touched the end of his fingers. “Wow!” he yelled, wringing his hand, “there’s another nail gone.” “Never mind your hand,... 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 The Starman Team dedicated its first book, Assault On Mars, to Joseph Greene, the late author of the Dig Allen series which was the inspiration for the Starman series. A complimentary copy was sent to his son Paul, who was moved by the tribute. We then asked Paul to write an introduction to The Runaway Asteroid. The following is his response-surely one of the most unusual introductions in... more...

Fog that you might cut with a knife all the way from London to Newbury. This fog does not wet things. It is rather a smoke than a fog. There are no two things in this world; and, were it not for fear of Six-Acts (the “wholesome restraint” of which I continually feel) I might be tempted to carry my comparison further; but, certainly, there are no two things in this world so dissimilar as an English... more...

OUT IN THE STORM "Jack, it looks as if we were in for another storm." "Yes, and it's starting right now," declared Captain Jack Rover, as he glanced through the trees to the overcast sky. "Don't you hear it on the leaves?" "It does beat everything!" declared Andy Rover, his usually bright face clouding a bit. "It has rained enough in the past two weeks to... more...

CHAPTER ONE At 6:30 in our Paris apartment I had finished the Honourable George, performing those final touches that make the difference between a man well turned out and a man merely dressed. In the main I was not dissatisfied. His dress waistcoats, it is true, no longer permit the inhalation of anything like a full breath, and his collars clasp too closely. (I have always held that a collar may... more...

TOMY HUSBANDWILLIAM HILL-BRERETONTHIS LITTLE BOOK IS AFFECTIONATELYDEDICATED AKE! For the Spring has scattered into flight The Vows of Lent, and bids the heart be light. Bring on the Roast, and take the Fish away! The Season calls—and Woman's eyes are bright! EFORE the phantom of Pale Winter died, Methought the Voice of Spring within me cried, "When Hymen's rose-decked altars glow... more...