Fiction Books

CHAPTER I SHOT INTO THE AIR "Hurrah!" shouted Jack Darrow, flicking the final drops of lacquer from the paintbrush he had been using. "That's the last stroke. She's finished!" "I guess we've done all we can to her before her trial trip," admitted his chum, Mark Sampson, but in a less confident tone. "You don't see anything wrong with her, old croaker; do... more...

CHAPTER I. IT WAS the middle of a bright tropical afternoon that we made good our escape from the bay. The vessel we sought lay with her main-topsail aback about a league from the land, and was the only object that broke the broad expanse of the ocean. On approaching, she turned out to be a small, slatternly-looking craft, her hull and spars a dingy black, rigging all slack and bleached nearly white,... more...

Martha Dane paused, looking up at the purple-tinged copper sky. The wind had shifted since noon, while she had been inside, and the dust storm that was sweeping the high deserts to the east was now blowing out over Syrtis. The sun, magnified by the haze, was a gorgeous magenta ball, as large as the sun of Terra, at which she could look directly. Tonight, some of that dust would come sifting down from... more...

The silver airship cut swiftly through the hot thin air. The noonday sun blazed down upon it and the desert world below. All about was the solemn silence of death. No living thing appeared either in the air or on the drab, gray earth. Only the aircraft itself displayed any signs of life. The sky, blue as indigo, held not the shadow of a cloud, and on the horizon the mountains notched into it like the... more...

INTRODUCTION. In writing this little book, it has been our constant aim to make it, as nearly as possible, an autobiography, giving Miss Krarer's own thoughts and words, avoiding some of the little errors, caused by her imperfect knowledge of English, which are thought by some to add a certain charm to her conversation. If, near the conclusion, I may seem to have departed from this plan, it is... more...

THROUGH THE GATES OF THE EAST S.S. Scotia, Oct. 19, 19—. … This is a line to send off with the pilot. There is nothing to say except "Good-bye" again. We have had luncheon, and I have been poking things out of my cabin trunk, and furtively surveying one—there are two, but the other seems to be lost at present—of my cabin companions. She has fair hair and a blue motor-veil, and looks... more...

CHAPTER I "THE BEST BELOVED OF ENGLISH WRITERS" The Goldsmith family sprang originally from Crayford, a nestling village in Kent. This southern county, in all its loveliness, can thus add this high honour to its other though not greater glories. "To be the best beloved of English writers," said Thackeray, "what a title that is for a man!" This he gave to Goldsmith. It is a title... more...

PREFACE I. Birth and Parentage—Characteristics of the Goldsmith Race—PoeticalBirthplace—Goblin House—Scenes of Boyhood—Lissoy—Picture of a CountryParson—Goldsmith's Schoolmistress—Byrne, the Village Schoolmaster—Goldsmith's Hornpipe and Epigram—Uncle Contarine—School Studies andSchool Sports—Mistakes of a Night II. Improvident Marriages in the Goldsmith... more...

CHAPTER I “I believe that Olive Agar is going to tell you that she can’t pay her bill,” said the landlady’s daughter as she set the breakfast tray down on the kitchen table. “Good gracious, Gwen, how you do startle one! Why?” “She began again about the toast, and I told her straight that you always set yourself against any unnecessary cooking. Meat and vegetables must be done, I said, but... more...

CHAPTER I. "Puir wee lassie, ye hae a waesome welcome to a waesome warld!" Such was the first greeting ever received by my heroine, Olive Rothesay. However, she would be then entitled neither a heroine nor even "Olive Rothesay," being a small nameless concretion of humanity, in colour and consistency strongly resembling the "red earth," whence was taken the father of all... more...