It was on a sultry August evening in the memorable year 1887 that a stranger, whose anxious gaze, now and again fixed on the entrance, denoted the fact that he was awaiting the arrival of one of the Members, crossed and re-crossed the pavement of the Hall of the Reform Club with a step that indicated a high condition of nervous trepidation. To the casual observer he might have passed for a solicitor in... more...

CHAPTER I SHOT INTO THE AIR "Hurrah!" shouted Jack Darrow, flicking the final drops of lacquer from the paintbrush he had been using. "That's the last stroke. She's finished!" "I guess we've done all we can to her before her trial trip," admitted his chum, Mark Sampson, but in a less confident tone. "You don't see anything wrong with her, old croaker; do... more...

Just two weeks before the S. S. Herringbone of the Interstellar Exploration, Examination (and Exploitation) Service was due to start her return journey to Earth, one of her scouts disconcertingly reported the discovery of intelligent life in the Virago System. "Thirteen planets," Captain Iversen snarled, wishing there were someone on whom he could place the blame for this mischance, "and we... more...

CHAPTER I The most remarkable thing about the boy was his eyes––that is, if any man with his spread of shoulder and masculine grace of flat muscled hips could be spoken of any longer as a boy, merely because his years happened to number twenty-four. They, however––the eyes––were gray; not a too light, off-color, gleaming gray, but more the tone of slate, deep when one chanced to find... more...

AUGUST 6, 1887. Dear Mr. Punch, Now that your own particular theatrical adviser and follower, Mr. Nibbs, has left London for a trip abroad, I venture to address you on matters dramatic. I am the more desirous of so doing because, although the Season is nearly over, two very important additions have been made to the London playhouse programme—two additions that have hitherto escaped your eagle glance.... more...

Of the school of earnest young writers at whom the word muckraker had been thrown in opprobrium, and by whom it had been caught up as a title of honor, Everett was among the younger and less conspicuous. But, if in his skirmishes with graft and corruption he had failed to correct the evils he attacked, from the contests he himself had always emerged with credit. His sincerity and his methods were above... more...

The story which I have to tell is more than strange. It is so terrible, so incredible, so entirely contrary to all that any ordinary reader of the London Journal or the "penny dreadfuls" has ever heard of, that even now I have some doubt in telling it. I happen, however, to know it is true, and so does my husband. My husband will come in presently with his narrative. There! that ought to make... more...

Once upon a planet there was a mighty warlord. The warlord's name was Miotis. Some might think it an odd name, but then it is entirely probable that the people of this planet would think the name of Smith or Jenkovitz odd. Be that as it may, however, the important thing is that Miotis was the name of this warlord, whatever one may feel about his name. Now, Miotis was not just a mighty warrior, he... more...

CHAPTER I The Prince tore the missive fiercely from its envelope, and scowled at the mocking glint of the royal crown so heavily embossed at the top of the paper. What a toy it was, he thought, to cost so much, and eventually to mean so little! Roughly translated, the letter ran as follows: "Your Royal Highness will be gratified to learn that at last a satisfactory alliance has been arranged... more...

PART I LATE SPRINGThe mottled moth at eventideBeats glimmering wings against the pane;The slow, sweet lily opens wide,White in the dusk like some dim stain;The garden dreams on every sideAnd breathes faint scents of rain.Among the flowering stocks they stand:A crimson rose is in his hand. 1 Outside her garden. He waits musing.Herein the dearness of her is;The thirty perfect days of JuneMade one, in... more...