Fiction Books

SAHARA LIMITED Sir Robert Aylward, Bart., M.P., sat in his office in the City of London. It was a very magnificent office, quite one of the finest that could be found within half a mile of the Mansion House. Its exterior was built of Aberdeen granite, a material calculated to impress the prospective investor with a comfortable sense of security. Other stucco, or even brick-built, offices might crumble... more...

CHAPTER I THE MELON HARVEST Once upon a time I owned a watermelon. I say once because I never did it again. When I got through owning that melon I never wanted another. The time was 1831; I was a boy of seven and the melon was the first of all my harvests. Every night and morning I watered and felt and surveyed my watermelon. My pride grew with the melon and, by and by, my uncle tried to express the... more...

CHAPTER I. A BYWAY OF THE ARDSLEY. The white burro had a will of her own. So, distinctly, had her mistress. As had often happened, these two wills conflicted. For the pair had come to a point where three ways met. Pepita wanted to ascend the hill, by a path she knew, to stable and supper. Amy wished to follow a descending road, which she did not know, into the depths of the forest. Neither inclined... more...

he faxgram read: REPORT MA IS INSTANTER GRAVIS. The news obelisk just off the express strip outside Mega Angeles' Galactic Survey Building was flashing: ONE OF OUR STAR SHIPS IS MISSING! Going up in the lift, I recalled what I had seen once scrawled upon the bulkhead of a GS trainer: Space is kind to those who respect her. And underneath, in different handwriting: Fear is the word, my boy. The... more...

"COSY MOMENTS" The man in the street would not have known it, but a great crisis was imminent in New York journalism. Everything seemed much as usual in the city. The cars ran blithely on Broadway. Newsboys shouted "Wux-try!" into the ears of nervous pedestrians with their usual Caruso-like vim. Society passed up and down Fifth Avenue in its automobiles, and was there a furrow of... more...

CHAPTER1 ABOARD THE GOODTIME A blanket of fog, thick and damp, swirled about the decks of the excursion steamer, Goodtime, cautiously plying its course down the river. At intervals, above the steady throb of the ship’s engines, a fog horn sounded its mournful warning to small craft. “I hope we don’t collide with another boat before we make the dock,” remarked Louise Sidell who stood at the... more...

The manner in which a man has lived is often the key to the way he will die. Take old man Donegal, for example. Most of his adult life was spent in digging a hole through space to learn what was on the other side. Would he go out the same way? Old Donegal was dying. They had all known it was coming, and they watched it come—his haggard wife, his daughter, and now his grandson, home on emergency leave... more...

Preface It had no instrument panel with push-button controls. It was not operated electronically or jet-propelled. But to many 19th-century people the sewing machine was probably as awe-inspiring as a space capsule is to their 20th-century descendants. It was expensive, but, considering the work it could do and the time it could save, the cost was more than justified. The sewing machine became the... more...

CHAPTER I."Filled with the face of heaven, which from afarComes down upon the waters; all its hues,From the rich sunset to the rising star,Their magical variety diffuse:And now they change: a paler shadow strewsIts mantle o'er the mountains; parting dayDies like the dolphin, whom each pang imbuesWith a new color as it gasps away,The last still loveliest, till--'tis gone--and all is... more...

PROLOGUE The three of us in that winter camp in the Selkirks were talking the slow aimless talk of wearied men. The Soldier, who had seen many campaigns, was riding his hobby of the Civil War and descanting on Lee's tactics in the last Wilderness struggle. I said something about the stark romance of it—of Jeb Stuart flitting like a wraith through the forests; of Sheridan's attack at... more...