Fiction Books

ason dinAlt sprawled in soft luxury on the couch, a large frosty stein held limply in one hand. His other hand rested casually on a pillow. The gun behind the pillow was within easy reach of his fingers. In his line of work he never took chances. It was all highly suspicious. Jason didn't know a soul on this planet. Yet the card sent by service tube from the hotel desk had read: Kerk Pyrrus would... more...

PRELUDE Though black the night, I know upon the sky,A little paler now, if clouds were none,The stars would be. Husht now the thickets lie,And now the birds are moving one by one,—A note—and now from bush to bush it goes—A prelude—now victorious light alongThe west will come till every bramble glowsWith wash of sunlit dew shaken in song.Shaken in song; O heart, be ready now,Cold in your night,... 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...

DOUBLE NEWS "Here they come back, Tom!" "Yes, I see them coming. Can you count them yet? Don't tell me any of our boys are missing!" and the speaker, one of two young men, wearing the uniform of the Lafayette Escadrille, who were standing near the hangars of the aviation field "somewhere in France," gazed earnestly up toward the blue sky that was dotted with fleecy, white... more...

CHAPTER I. PUTTING ON THE SCREW. The cold on the 8th of February, 186-, was more intense than the Parisians had experienced during the whole of the severe winter which had preceded it, for at twelve o'clock on that day Chevalier's thermometer, so well known by the denizens of Paris, registered three degrees below zero. The sky was overcast and full of threatening signs of snow, while the... more...

Volume One--Chapter One. And what is this new book the whole world makes such a rout about?—Oh! ’tis out of all plumb, my lord,—quite an irregular thing; not one of the angles at the four corners was a right angle. I had my rule and compasses, my lord, in my pocket.—Excellent critic! Grant me patience, just Heaven! Of all the cants which are canted in this canting world—though the cant of... more...

PROLOGUE Before the narrative which follows was placed in my hands, I had never seen Dr. Walter T. Goodwin, its author. When the manuscript revealing his adventures among the pre-historic ruins of the Nan-Matal in the Carolines (The Moon Pool) had been given me by the International Association of Science for editing and revision to meet the requirements of a popular presentation, Dr. Goodwin had left... more...

The Clicking of Cuthbert The young man came into the smoking-room of the clubhouse, and flung his bag with a clatter on the floor. He sank moodily into an arm-chair and pressed the bell. "Waiter!" "Sir?" The young man pointed at the bag with every evidence of distaste. "You may have these clubs," he said. "Take them away. If you don't want them yourself, give them to... more...

CHAPTER I IT was a gala night at the National Opera House, and the theatre was crammed from floor to roof, for Melba was sustaining a new part, and all London had gathered to listen. It was rarely indeed that so fashionable an audience assembled in February. The boxes were ablaze with diamonds. On the grand tier, however, there was one box which was not filled with gaily garbed women and which... more...

CHAPTER I - YOUTH MARCHES "Look at 'em come, Jesse! More and more! Must be forty or fifty families." Molly Wingate, middle-aged, portly, dark browed and strong, stood at the door of the rude tent which for the time made her home. She was pointing down the road which lay like an écru ribbon thrown down across the prairie grass, bordered beyond by the timber-grown bluffs of the Missouri.... more...