CHAPTER I A MEMORABLE DATE A blurring rain fell upon Paris that day; a rain so fine and cold that it penetrated the soles of men's shoes and their hearts alike, a dispiriting drizzle through which the pale, acrid smoke of innumerable wood fires faltered upward from the clustering chimney-pots, only to be rent into fragments and beaten down upon the glistening tiles of the mansard roofs. The wide... more...

A PROLOGUE The grey roadster purred up the driveway, and Alice Endicott thrust the "home edition" aside and hurried out onto the porch to greet her husband as he stepped around from the garage. "Did the deal go through?" she asked, as her eyes eagerly sought the eyes of the man who ascended the steps. "Yes, dear," laughed Endicott, "the deal went through. You see before you... more...

DEDICATORY EPISTLE. I dedicate to you, my indulgent Critic and long-tried Friend, the work which owes its origin to your suggestion. Long since, you urged me to attempt a fiction which might borrow its characters from our own Records, and serve to illustrate some of those truths which History is too often compelled to leave to the Tale-teller, the Dramatist, and the Poet. Unquestionably, Fiction, when... more...

THE NATURE OF A MORATORIUM. "It's a big ship" (I could overhear Ethel's voice through the open nursery window). "I know perfectly well it is. It's one of the Cunarders." "Well, you're quite wrong then," (this from Jack). "It was passed through Parliament. You can't pass a ship through Parliament." "It's the sister ship to the... more...

-1- "Jeeves," I said, "may I speak frankly?" "Certainly, sir." "What I have to say may wound you." "Not at all, sir." "Well, then——" No—wait. Hold the line a minute. I've gone off the rails. I don't know if you have had the same experience, but the snag I always come up against when I'm telling a story is this dashed difficult problem... more...

INTRODUCTION. The memory of no English sovereign has been so execrated as that of Mary Tudor. For generations after her death her name, with its horrid epithet clinging round it like the shirt of Nessus, was a bugbear in thousands of Protestant homes. It is true that nearly 300 persons were burnt at the stake in her short reign. But she herself was more inclined to mercy than almost any of her... more...

He liked the flat cracking sound of the gun. He liked the way it slapped back against his shoulder when he fired. Somehow it did not seem a part of the dank, steaming Venusian jungle. Probably, he realized with a smile, it was the only old-fashioned recoil rifle on the entire planet. As if anyone else would want to use one of those old bone-cracking relics today! But they all failed to realize it made... more...

CHAPTER I Little Dot had lost her way in the bush. She knew it, and was very frightened. She was too frightened in fact to cry, but stood in the middle of a little dry, bare space, looking around her at the scraggy growths of prickly shrubs that had torn her little dress to rags, scratched her bare legs and feet till they bled, and pricked her hands and arms as she had pushed madly through the bushes,... more...

CHAPTER I. SEX THE FOUNDATION OF THE GOD-IDEA. In the study of primitive religion, the analogy existing between the growth of the god-idea and the development of the human race, and especially of the two sex-principles, is everywhere clearly apparent. "Religion is to be found alone with its justification and explanation in the relations of the sexes. There and therein only."(3) 3) Hargrave... more...

THE VANISHER "Hello, Jameson, is Kennedy in?" I glanced up from the evening papers to encounter the square- jawed, alert face of District Attorney Carton in the doorway of our apartment. "How do you do, Judge?" I exclaimed. "No, but I expect him any second now. Won't you sit down?" The District Attorney dropped, rather wearily I thought, into a chair and looked at his... more...