I was born the thirteenth child of a family of fourteen, on the thirteenth day of the month, and I have for many years resided at No. 13 in a certain street in Westminster. In spite of the popular prejudice attached to this numeral, I am not conscious of having derived any particular ill-fortune from my accidental association with it. Owing to my sequence in the family procession, I found myself on my... more...

his thing really started before the time I had Willy Maloon under observation when he gunned the small runabout well past cruising speed in order to reach the little asteroid as soon as he could. At times like that he showed undue impatience. I was following at a discreet distance behind him, homing in on the rock, too. I had to find out what he was up to. Archie Crosby, the obliging scoundrel, had... more...

STEPPING BACKWARDS "Wonderful improvement," said Mr. Jack Mills. "Show 'em to me again." Mr. Simpson took his pipe from his mouth and, parting his lips, revealed his new teeth. "And you talk better," said Mr. Mills, taking his glass from the counter and emptying it; "you ain't got that silly lisp you used to have. What does your missis think of 'em?"... more...

CHAPTER I. A BABY had come, but he was not welcome. Could anything be sadder? The young mother lay with her white face to the wall, still as death. A woman opened the chamber door noiselessly and came in, the faint rustle of her garments disturbing the quiet air. A quick, eager turning of the head, a look half anxious, half fearful, and then the almost breathless question, "Where is my baby?"... more...

THE VIGIL "I'm the happiest man in the world," said Mr. Farrer, in accents of dreamy tenderness. Miss Ward sighed. "Wait till father comes in," she said. Mr. Farrer peered through the plants which formed a welcome screen to the window and listened with some uneasiness. He was waiting for the firm, springy step that should herald the approach of ex-Sergeant-Major Ward. A squeeze of... more...

ON THE TOP OF THE TOWER Hortense Daniel pushed her window ajar and whispered: "Are you there, Rossigny?" "I am here," replied a voice from the shrubbery at the front of the house. Leaning forward, she saw a rather fat man looking up at her out of a gross red face with its cheeks and chin set in unpleasantly fair whiskers. "Well?" he asked. "Well, I had a great argument with... more...

Take a fellow, reasonably young, personable enough, health perfect. Suppose he has all the money he can reasonably, or even unreasonably, use. He is successful in a number of different fields of work in which he is interested. Certainly he has security. Women? Well, maybe not any woman in the world he might want. But still, a very nice, choice selection of a number of the very finest physical... more...

THE VOYAGE WEDNESDAY, June 26, 1754.—On this day the most melancholy sun I had ever beheld arose, and found me awake at my house at Fordhook. By the light of this sun I was, in my own opinion, last to behold and take leave of some of those creatures on whom I doted with a mother-like fondness, guided by nature and passion, and uncured and unhardened by all the doctrine of that philosophical school... more...

The Head-hunter It was hot in the cabin of the freighter Asiatic Dream. The heaviness of the tropical heat outside the ship penetrated through the steel and flaking paint of the deck to turn the cabin into an oven. Rick Brant and Don Scott, stripped to their shorts, were oblivious of the heat. They sat hunched over a three-dimensional chessboard, studying the complex moves of their newest hobby. Now... more...

GEORGE WASH-ING-TON. Way down in Vir-gin-i-a, near a small creek, called Bridg-es Creek, there is a shaft of white stone;—on it is the name of George Wash-ing-ton and the date of his birth: Feb-ru-ar-y 22d, 1732. On this spot once stood the big brick house in which George Wash-ing-ton was born; it was built in 1657 by John Wash-ing-ton; his grand-son, Au-gus-tine, was the fa-ther of the lit-tle boy... more...