Fiction Books

"Now where the very mischief is Doppersdorp?" He who thus uttered his thoughts aloud looked up from the sheet of paper in his hand, and gazed forth over the blue waters of Algoa Bay. Over the vessels riding at their anchorage his gaze wandered, over the stately hulls of two or three large mail steamships similar to that upon whose deck he then stood; over the tall, tapering masts and web-like... more...

Tony Bronson was the son of a man who had made a great deal of money in a doubtful line of business by rather shady proceedings. In other words, he was not strictly honest, and had amassed a large fortune in a manner that would not bear investigation. Of this Tony, of course, was ignorant; but he inherited from his father a mean spirit and a determination to turn every circumstance to his own account.... more...

EARLY DISCOVERIES AND SETTLEMENTS. [Illustration: BALBOA.] GEOGRAPHICAL KNOWLEDGE IN THE FIFTEENTH CENTURY.—The people of Europe had then never heard of America. About that time, a great desire for geographical knowledge was awakened. The compass and the astrolabe—an instrument for reckoning latitude—had been already invented. Voyagers were no longer compelled to creep along the shore, but began... more...

You know a murderer preys on your household—lives with you—depends on you—and you have no defence! Death wore the seeming of a battered Chevrolet. The child's scream and the screech of rubber on concrete knifed through two seconds of time before snapping, like a celery stalk of sound, into aching silence. The silence of limbo, called into being for the space of a slow heartbeat. Then the... more...

THE AMATEUR. "I ain't sayin' as how I could run a whole fire, same as some of the chiefs do; but when it comes to drivin' an engine, Dan Roberts, an' doin' it in time to get the first water, or layin' hose, I wouldn't knuckle down to the biggest man in the Department." "Now see here, Seth Bartlett, what's the sense of talkin' that way? It would... more...

FRANCOIS COPPEE FRANCOIS EDOUARD JOACHIM COPPEE was born in Paris, January 12, 1842. His father was a minor 'employe' in the French War Office; and, as the family consisted of six the parents, three daughters, and a son (the subject of this essay)—the early years of the poet were not spent in great luxury. After the father's death, the young man himself entered the governmental office... more...

The sun was sinking low beyond the ford of the foaming Platte. The distant bluffs commanding the broad valley of the Sweetwater stood sharp and clear against the westward skies. The smoke from the camp-fires along the stream rose in misty columns straight aloft, for not so much as a breath of breeze had wafted down from the far snow fields of Cloud Peak, or the sun-sheltered rifts of the Big Horn. The... more...

Mister Henderson called me into his office my third day back in Tangiers. That was a day and a half later than I'd expected. Roving claims investigators for Tangiers Mutual Insurance Corporation don't usually get to spend more than thirty-six consecutive hours at home base. Henderson was jovial but stern. That meant he was happy with the job I'd just completed, and that he was pretty... more...

PIERRE AND MARIE ON the mild March morning when Pierre left his little house at Neuilly to accompany Guillaume to Montmartre, he was oppressed by the thought that on returning home he would once more find himself alone with nothing to prevent him from relapsing into negation and despair. The idea of this had kept him from sleeping, and he still found it difficult to hide his distress and force a smile.... more...

THE SOUL OF NICHOLAS SNYDERS,OR THE MISER OF ZANDAM Once upon a time in Zandam, which is by the Zuider Zee, there lived a wicked man named Nicholas Snyders. He was mean and hard and cruel, and loved but one thing in the world, and that was gold. And even that not for its own sake. He loved the power gold gave him—the power to tyrannize and to oppress, the power to cause suffering at his will. They... more...