Fiction Books

CHAPTER I Happy Home in Sunrise Alley "Aw KID, come on! Be square!" "You look out what you say to me." "But ain't you going to keep your word?" "Mickey, do you want your head busted?" "Naw! But I did your work so you could loaf; now I want the pay you promised me." "Let's see you get it! Better take it from me, hadn't you?" "You're... more...

Michael McGrath, Postmaster. Some men and some scenes so fasten themselves into one's memory that the years, with their crowding scenes and men, have no power to displace them. I can never forget "Ould Michael" and the scene of my first knowing him. All day long I rode, driving in front my pack-pony laden with my photograph kit, tent and outfit, following the trail that would end somewhere... more...

CHAPTER I Though there was nothing visibly graceful about Michael Comber, he apparently had the art of giving gracefully. He had already told his cousin Francis, who sat on the arm of the sofa by his table, that there was no earthly excuse for his having run into debt; but now when the moment came for giving, he wrote the cheque quickly and eagerly, as if thoroughly enjoying it, and passed it over to... more...

MiceI seethe broken bodies of women and men,Temples of God ruined; I see the clawsOf sinister Fate, from the reach of whose feline pawsNever are safe the bodies of women and men.Almighty Cat, it sits on the Throne of the World,With paw outstretched, grinning at us, the mice,Who play our trivial games of virtue and vice,And pray—to That which sits on the Throne of the World!From our beginning till all... more...

Chapter I. Of Cornet Joseph Clarke of the Ironsides It may be, my dear grandchildren, that at one time or another I have told you nearly all the incidents which have occurred during my adventurous life. To your father and to your mother, at least, I know that none of them are unfamiliar. Yet when I consider that time wears on, and that a grey head is apt to contain a failing memory, I am prompted to... more...

The official took their passports, scanning the immense variety of stamps he had to choose from. He selected one with multicolored ink that suited his fancy and smeared it against the small square of plastic. "Marcus Mezzerow?" he asked, glancing at the older man and back at the passport. His lips quivered with amusement at what was printed there. "There seems to be a mistake in the name of... more...

What they called me, that was what started it. I'm as good an American as the next fellow, and maybe a little bit better than men like that, big men drinking in a bar who can't find anything better to do than to spit on a man and call him Mex. As if a Mexican is something to hide or to be ashamed of. We have our own heroes and our own strength and we don't have to bend down to men like... more...

THE FIELD OF LABOUR British Columbia, now forming part of "The Dominion of Canada," includes within its limits several islands, of which Vancouver's is the principal, and that part of the continent of North America, west of the Rocky Mountains and east of Alaska, which is included between the 49 deg. and the 60 deg. parallels of north latitude. English connection with this part of the... more...

The brown or Norway rat (Mus norvegicus) is the worst mammal pest in the United States, the losses from its depredations amounting to many millions of dollars yearly—to more, indeed, than the losses from all other injurious mammals combined. In addition to its destructive habits, this rat is now known to be an active agent in disseminating infectious diseases, a fact which renders measures for its... more...

The public—that is, the reading world made up of those who love the products of authorship—always takes an interest in the methods of work adopted by literary men, and is fond of gaining information about authorship in the act, and of getting a glimpse of its favorite, the author, at work in that "sanctum sanctorum"—the study. The modes in which men write are so various that it would take... more...