Fiction Books

CHAPTER I: THE CAMP IN THE DESERT It is afternoon, but the sun's rays still pour down with great power upon rock and sand. How great the heat has been at midday may be seen by the quivering of the air as it rises from the ground and blurs all distant objects. It is seen, too, in the attitudes and appearance of a large body of soldiers encamped in a grove. Their arms are thrown aside, the greater... more...

What sort of world was it, he puzzled, that wouldn't help victims find out whether they had been murdered or had committed suicide? he police counselor leaned forward and tapped the small nameplate on his desk, which said: Val Borgenese. "That's my name," he said. "Who are you?" The man across the desk shook his head. "I don't know," he said indistinctly.... more...

WILSON'S TALES OF THE BORDERS, AND OF SCOTLAND. Notwithstanding the shortness of their days, the bitterness of their frosts, and the fury of their storms, December and January are merry months. First comes old Christmas, shaking his hoary locks, belike, in the shape of snow-drift, and laughing, well-pleased, beneath his crown of mistletoe, over the smoking sirloin and the savoury goose. There is... more...

Why Not? At three o’clock this afternoon Evelyn Wastneys died. I am Evelyn Wastneys, and I died, standing at the door of an old country home in Ireland, with my hands full of ridiculous little silver shoes and horseshoes, and a Paris hat on my head, and a trembling treble voice whispering in my ear:— “Good-bye, Evelyn darling—darling! Thank you—thank you for all you have been to me! Oh,... more...

RATAPLAN, ROGUE In one of the thick, shady and tangled forests of Ceylon a fine, fully-grown elephant was one day standing moodily by himself. His huge form showed high above the tangled brushwood, but his wide, flat feet and large, pillar-like legs were hidden in the thick undergrowth. He was not standing still, however—for no elephant has ever been known to do that yet—his massive, elongated... more...

CHAPTER I. THE BEACHING OF THE BOAT.   "Thou old gray sea,   Thou broad briny water,   With thy ripple and thy plash,   And thy waves as they lash   The old gray rocks on the shore.   With thy tempests as they roar,   And thy crested billows hoar,   And thy tide evermore                    Fresh and free." —Dr. Blackie. On the shore of a little... more...

CHAPTER I. GLASS-BLOWER’S APPARATUS. Introductory.—I shall endeavour to give such an account of the operations required in constructing glass apparatus as will be useful to chemical and other students; and as this book probably will come into the hands of beginners who are not in a position to secure any further assistance, I shall include descriptions even of the simple operations which are... more...

All my life I had dreamed of owning a brook ust below the brow of the hill one of the traces broke (it was in the horse-and-wagon days of a dozen years or so ago), and, if our driver had not been a prompt man our adventure might have come to grief when it was scarcely begun. As it was, we climbed on foot to the top, and waited while he went into a poor old wreck of a house to borrow a string for... more...

I [Sidenote: Life and Personality] "The gray hairs on my head are becoming more and more numerous, and I sometimes grow impatient of getting old amidst a press of occupations and labor for which, after all, I was not born. But we are not here to have facilities found us for doing the work we like, but to make them." This sentence, written in a letter to his mother in his fortieth year,... more...

Benjamin Marlowe and his young assistant, Larry Powell, opened the door of the Marlowe laboratory, then stopped aghast at the sight which greeted their startled eyes. There on the central floor-plate directly in the focus of the big atomic projector stood the slender figure of Joan Marlowe, old Benjamin Marlowe’s niece and Larry Powell’s fiancee. The girl had apparently only been awaiting their... more...