Omar Ben Sufi was a cat. This unadorned statement would have wounded Omar Ben to the marrow of his pride, for he chanced to be a splendid tiger-marked feline of purest Persian breed, with glorious yellow eyes and a Solomon-in-all-his-glory tail. His pedigree could be traced directly back to Padisha Zim Yuki Yowsi Zind—a dignity, in itself, sufficient to cause an aristocratic languor; but, to the... more...

LOVE OF LIFE “This out of all will remain—   They have lived and have tossed:So much of the game will be gain,   Though the gold of the dice has been lost.” They limped painfully down the bank, and once the foremost of the two men staggered among the rough-strewn rocks.  They were tired and weak, and their faces had the drawn expression of patience which comes of hardship long endured. ... more...

CHAPTER I Night had fallen and a warm rain drifting down from the mountains hung in a mist over the railroad yards and obscured the lights of Medicine Bend. Two men dismounting from their drooping horses at the foot of Front Street threw the reins to a man in waiting and made their way on foot across the muddy square to the building which served the new railroad as a station and as division... more...

Part One Home Our life was an accident, the flames were conjured by an indifferent couple. So much time has passed, their union dissipated with the dumb carcass of our home. This house has been all of our housesÐ our parents colluded with emptiness to conceal this fact. We live from cairn to cairn, burning refugee hearts, each mistake receding in the rear-view mirror, each incipient disaster breaking... more...

MISTAKEN CHARITY. Slip was riding a big chestnut mare down the street and humming an accompaniment to the tune she was playing with her bit. He pulled up when he saw me and, still humming, sat looking down at me. "Stables in ten minutes," I said. "You're heading the wrong way." "A dispensation, my lad," he replied. "I'm taking Miss Spangles up on the hill to get... more...

CHAPTER I 1818-1830 I was born at Neuilly-sur-Seine, on the outskirts of Paris, on the 14th of August, 1818. Immediately after my birth, and as soon as the Chancellor of France, M. Dambray, had declared me to be a boy, I was made over to the care of a wet nurse and another attendant. Three years later I passed out of female hands, earlier, somewhat, than is generally the case, for a little accident... more...

PREFACE. I WISH to anticipate any adverse criticism that may be made upon the following pages, by being as frank with the public as I trust the critics will be fair with me. Therefore I must say at the beginning that I expect many well-meaning people to differ with me as to the propriety of giving this book to the public; but I am exceedingly hopeful that that difference will not amount to a serious... more...

Some say scientists should keep their noses out of politics. Benson says it’s to prevent damage to their olfactory senses. Benson’s a physicist. I’ve known Allan Benson for a long time. In fact I’ve bodyguarded him for years and think I understand him better than he does himself. And when he shook security at White Sands, my boss didn’t hesitate to tell me that knowing Benson as I do I... more...

A Rule of the Boy Scouts is every day to do some one a good turn. Not because the copy-books tell you it deserves another, but in spite of that pleasing possibility. If you are a true Scout, until you have performed your act of kindness your day is dark. You are as unhappy as is the grown-up who has begun his day without shaving or reading the New York Sun. But as soon as you have proved yourself you... more...

ungrily, the cradled vessel's great steel nose pointed up to the distant stars. She was the Cosmos XII, newest and sleekest of the Space Service's rapidly-expanding wing of interstellar scout ships, and she was now ready for operational work. Major Lance Cooper, a big man with space-tanned features, stood in the shadow of the control bunker and watched the swarm of ground crewmen working at... more...