Boys / Men Books

CHAPTER I BREWSTER'S CENTRE Maybe you think just because scouts go camping in the summer time, and take hikes and all that, that there's nothing to do in the winter. But I'm always going to stick up for winter, that's one sure thing. Anyway, this story isn't exactly a winter story, it's a kind of a fall story—lightweight. Maybe after this I'll write a heavyweight... more...

CHAPTER I THE FROG HUNTERS "How many greenback saddles does that last bullfrog Max shot make, Toby!" "T-t-thirteen, all t-t-told, Steve." "Ginger! that's going some for so early in the spring season, isn't it? I'd like to get about twenty before we quit, which would make just five for each of us, Max, Bandy-legs, you and myself. And seems like we ought to knock over... more...

CHAPTER I A PACKAGE VANISHES “Good night!” exclaimed a lad of about eighteen peering from the window in a railway coach. “This train’s running on a regular lake!” “What’s that, Jimmie?” asked a companion approaching the first speaker. “Are we on a ferry? I still feel the wheels hit the rail joints.” “Oh, yes, now and again we crawl along a rail’s length or two,” admitted the... more...

CALLED TO ACTIVE SERVICE "What's this call for a special meeting of the Boy Scouts, Jack?" asked Pete Stubbs, a First Class Boy Scout, of his chum Jack Danby, who had just been appointed Assistant Patrol Leader of the Crow Patrol of the Thirty-ninth Troop. "Well, I guess it isn't a secret any more," said Jack. He and Pete Stubbs worked in the same place, and they were great... more...

CHAPTER I. "Can you make out any sign of the mesa yet, Pete?" The speaker, a sun-bronzed lad of about seventeen, mounted on a bright bay pony with a white-starred forehead, drew rein as he spoke. Shoving back his sombrero, he shielded his eyes from the shimmering desert glare with one hand and gazed intently off into the southwest. "Nope; nary a speck, so fur. Queer, too; we ought to be... more...

PLANNING A VACATION. "After all, it is what's in a fellow's head, and not what's in his pocket, that counts in the long run." "That's true enough! At least it proved so in our case. That time in the South we had nothing worth mentioning in our pockets, and yet we had the time of our lives." "I don't think you ever told us about that." "That was the... more...

Toadstools! “Oh, I say, here’s a game! What’s he up to now?” “Hi! Vane! Old weathercock! Hold hard!” “Do you hear? Which way does the wind blow?” Three salutations shouted at a lad of about sixteen, who had just shown himself at the edge of a wood on the sunny slope of the Southwolds, one glorious September morning, when the spider-webs were still glittering with iridescent colours, as... more...

CHAPTER I. THE HIKE THROUGH THE SMOKY RANGE. "Did anybody happen to see my knapsack around?" "Why, you had it just a few minutes ago, Step Hen!" "I know that, Bumpus; and I'd take my affidavy I laid it down on this rock." "Well, don't whine so about a little thing like that, Step Hen; it ain't there now, and that's a fact." "Somebody's gone... more...

CHAPTER I A COLLISION IN THE FOG "Wow! Look at that one! That's a monster!" "That must be the ninth wave." "What do you mean by the ninth wave, Jack?" "Why, Arnold, don't you know that every third wave is bigger than the two preceding it and that every ninth wave is bigger than the preceding eight?" queried Jack Stanley. "No, can't say that I ever knew... more...

CHAPTER I. THE “INSIDE PASSAGE.” “Ar-r-rouse ye—r-r-rouse ye, me merry, merry men,” boomed the voice of Gerald Moore, with a slightly Celtic roll of the “r’s,” as he drummed impatiently on the shutter of the cabin window, while his companion, Jack Blake, performed a similar tattoo on the adjoining window. “Faith, and it was daylight hours ago, and ye don’t know what ye’re... more...