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Fiction Books
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Arthur Porges
Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned,but the fury of a biochemist scorned is just as great—and much more fiendish.If the Syndicate is half as powerful as some people have claimed, they'll murder me any day now. I object on principle to being killed by evil men for a good deed, so maybe lynching by stupid ones is preferable. I mean you, and you—the suetheads who profited by my work, but...
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CHAPTER ONE: OMAS, ALICE, AND LINNA I don't suppose there is any use in trying to find out when the game of "Jack Stones" was first played. No one can tell. It certainly is a good many hundred years old. All boys and girls know how to play it. There is the little rubber ball, which you toss in the air, catch up one of the odd iron prongs, without touching another, and while the ball is...
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I PLAN A VOYAGE By the bequest of an elder brother, I was left enough money to see me through a small college in Ohio, and to secure me four years in a medical school in the East. Why I chose medicine I hardly know. Possibly the career of a surgeon attracted the adventurous element in me. Perhaps, coming of a family of doctors, I merely followed the line of least resistance. It may be, indirectly but...
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Samuel Rid
TheArt of Iugling orLegerdemaine. Heretofore we haue runne ouer the two pestiferous carbuncles in the commonwealth, the Egyptians and common Canters: the poore Canters we haue canuased meetely well, it now remaines to proceede where I left, ond to goe forward with that before I promised: St. Quintane be my good speede, I know I haue runne thorow the hands of many, censured of diuers, & girded...
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Upton Sinclair
CHAPTER I "Return at ten-thirty," the General said to his chauffeur, and then they entered the corridor of the hotel. Montague gazed about him, and found himself trembling just a little with anticipation. It was not the magnificence of the place. The quiet uptown hotel would have seemed magnificent to him, fresh as he was from the country; but, he did not see the marble columns and the gilded...
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THE PERSECUTION OF BOB PRETTY The old man sat on his accustomed bench outside the Cauliflower. A generous measure of beer stood in a blue and white jug by his elbow, and little wisps of smoke curled slowly upward from the bowl of his churchwarden pipe. The knapsacks of two young men lay where they were flung on the table, and the owners, taking a noon-tide rest, turned a polite, if bored, ear to the...
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Chapter I IN THE LISTENING TIME HAS there ever been a time when no stories were told? Has there ever been a people who did not care to listen? I think not. When we were little, before we could read for ourselves, did we not gather eagerly round father or mother, friend or nurse, at the promise of a story? When we grew older, what happy hours did we not spend with our books. How the printed words made...
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by:
Anonymous
I.OF THE SOWER.Behold a sower going forthTo scatter o'er his field,The seed that in the harvest timeA rich return will yield.And as he sow'd some precious seeds,Were by the way-side thrown;The fowls of heaven descried them there,And soon the seed were gone.And other seeds fell from his handOn stony places round,And forthwith they sprung up, becauseThey had no depth of ground.But when the sun...
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EARLY DAYS It may be remembered that in the last pages of his diary, written just before his death, Allan Quatermain makes allusion to his long dead wife, stating that he has written of her fully elsewhere. When his death was known, his papers were handed to myself as his literary executor. Among them I found two manuscripts, of which the following is one. The other is simply a record of events wherein...
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CHAPTER I. WAR CLOUDS. Now lower the dreadful clouds of war; Its threatening thunder rolls afar; Near and more near the rude alarms Of conflict and the clash of arms Advance and grow, till all the air Rings with the brazen trumpet blare. Towards the close of a sultry day in July, in the year 1812, might have been seen a young man riding along the beautiful west bank of the Niagara...
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