Fiction Books

CHAPTER I READY FOR A RACE One by one the lights went out. One by one the shoppers left the toy department of the store. One by one the clerks rode down in the elevators. At last all was still and quiet and dark—that is, all dark except for a small light, so the night-watchman could see his way around. "Now we can have some fun!" cried a voice, and it seemed to come from a Calico Clown, lying... more...

CHAPTER I. It was extremely tiresome! It was vexatious; it was altogether annoying! Most people under similar circumstances would have used stronger expressions, would have bemoaned themselves loudly, or at least inwardly, with all the pathos of self-pity. To be nearly at the end of one’s journey, almost within sight and sound of home fires and home welcomes, and then to be snowed up, walled,... more...

  pair of words I heartily detest are noble and redman, particularly when they occur together. Some of my egghead friends from the Hub tell me that I shouldn't, since they're merely an ancient colloquialism used to describe a race of aborigines on the American land mass. The American land mass? Where? Why—on Earth, of course—where would ancestors come from? Yes—I know it's not... more...

CHAPTER I. SHELLS AND THEIR INMATES. Before the study of shellfish, or molluscs, was conducted on the scientific principles of the present day, shells were classified as univalves, bivalves, and multivalves. The univalves were shells in one piece, such as the whelk; the bivalves those in two pieces, such as the mussel or oyster; and the multivalves those in more than two pieces, such as barnacles or... more...

I. We first met Glendenning on the Canadian boat which carries you down the rapids of the St. Lawrence from Kingston and leaves you at Montreal. When we saw a handsome young clergyman across the promenade-deck looking up from his guide-book toward us, now and again, as if in default of knowing any one else he would be very willing to know us, we decided that I must make his acquaintance. He was... more...

PROLOGUE. On the wall over the mantel-piece, here in my quiet study at Eagle's-Nest, are two crossed swords. One is a battered old sabre worn at Gettysburg, and Appomattox; the other, a Federal officer's dress sword captured in 1863. It was a mere fancy to place them there, as it was a whim to hang upon that nail yonder, the uniform coat with its stars and braid, which Stuart wore on his... more...

The old sawmill on Headlong Creek at the water-gap of Chilhowee Mountain was silent and still one day, its habit of industry suggested only in the ample expanse of sawdust spread thickly over a level open space in the woods hard by, to serve as footing for the "bran dance" that had been so long heralded and that was destined to end so strangely. A barbecue had added its attractions, unrivalled... more...

THE ROSE IN THE MIRE The first time I was blessed with a sight of the señorita was on the day of my arrival in the Federal City,—in fact, it was upon my arrival. An inquiry in the neighborhood of the President's House for my sole acquaintance in the city, Senator Adair of Kentucky, had resulted in my being directed to Conrad's boarding house on the Capitol Hill. In the Fall of 1805 Indian... more...

CHAPTER I. —If there ever was a woman thoroughly like her name, it was Agatha Bowen. She was good, in the first place—right good at heart, though with a slight external roughness (like the sound of the g in her name), which took away all sentimentalism. Then the vowels—the three broad rich a's—which no one can pronounce with nimini-pimini closed lips—how thoroughly they answered to her... more...

GUY DE MAUPASSANT Of the French writers of romance of the latter part of the nineteenth century no one made a reputation as quickly as did Guy de Maupassant. Not one has preserved that reputation with more ease, not only during life, but in death. None so completely hides his personality in his glory. In an epoch of the utmost publicity, in which the most insignificant deeds of a celebrated man are... more...