Description and Travel
Showing 421–450 of 455 results
The Motor Boys Over the Rockies Or, a Mystery of the Air
Well, we ought to settle this question about our vacations, one way or another, fellows," remarked a tall, good-looking lad, with something of an air of worriment, as he glanced at his two comrades who were stretched out in the shade of a big maple tree one hot afternoon. He plucked some blades of grass from the well-kept lawn, that extended back to a large, white house, with big pillars, put the spears of green into his mouth, and chewed them reflectively. Then he added: "Why can't you and Chunky agree, Ned? What's the use of disputing? It's too hot.
The Motor Maids by Rose, Shamrock and Thistle
"[...]It would take Nancy Brown, she thought, to manage this wild Irishman, who was so quick to reveal his feelings whatever they happened to be. "We are going to Ireland," she said. "A friend who's traveling with us has relatives there. Her name is Butler. Did you ever hear of that name in Ireland?" "Butler? Sure. It's a good name and there's plenty of 'em left in the old country. Butlers are thick in[...]".
The Phantom Town Mystery
A whirl of gleaming sand and dust on a cross desert road in Arizona. The four galloping objects turned off the road, horses rearing, riders laughing; the two Eastern girls flushed, excited; the pale college student exultant; the cowboy guide enjoying their pleasure. A warm, sage-scented wind carried the cloud of dust away from them down into the valley. "That was glorious sport, wasn't it, Mary?" Dora Bellman's olive-tinted face was glowing joyfully. "Wouldn't our equestrian teacher back in Sunnybank Seminary be properly proud of us?" Lovely Mary Moore, delicately fashioned, fair as her friend was dark, nodded beamingly, too out of breath for the moment to speak. Jerry Newcomb in his picturesque cowboy garb, blue handkerchief knotted about his neck, looked admiringly at the smaller girl. "I reckon you two'll want to ride in the rodeo. I never saw Easterners get saddle-broke on cow ponies as quick as you have." Then his gray eyes smiled at the other boy, tall, thin, pale, who was wiping dust from his shell-rimmed glasses. "Dick Farley, I reckon you've ridden before."
The Point of View
Classic Henry James long story. According to Wikipedia: "Henry James, (1843 ? 1916), son of theologian Henry James Sr., brother of the philosopher and psychologist William James and diarist Alice James, was an American-born British author. He is one of the key figures of 19th century literary realism; the fine art of his writing has led many academics to consider him the greatest master of the novel and novella form. He spent much of his life in England and became a British subject shortly before his death. He is primarily known for a series of major novels in which he portrayed the encounter of America with Europe. His plots centered on personal relationships, the proper exercise of power in such relationships, and other moral questions. His method of writing from the point of view of a character within a tale allowed him to explore the phenomena of consciousness and perception, and his style in later works has been compared to impressionist painting."
The White Heart of Mojave: An Adventure With the Outdoors of the Desert
"The White Heart of Mojave: An Adventure with the Outdoors of the Desert" by Edna Brush Perkins. Published by Good Press. Good Press publishes a wide range of titles that encompasses every genre. From well-known classics & literary fiction and non-fiction to forgotten?or yet undiscovered gems?of world literature, we issue the books that need to be read. Each Good Press edition has been meticulously edited and formatted to boost readability for all e-readers and devices. Our goal is to produce eBooks that are user-friendly and accessible to everyone in a high-quality digital format.
The Wilderness Castaways
"Dan Rudd," roared Captain Zachariah Bluntt, "if I has to tell you again to keep that mouth organ below decks, I'll wring your neck! Yes, wring your neck! By the imps of the sea, I will!" "Aye, aye, sir," answered Dan Rudd, a robust, sunny-faced sailor lad of sixteen, quickly slipping the offending harmonica, upon which he had been playing a lively air, into his pocket. Captain Bluntt, impatiently pacing the deck, was plainly in ill humor. His great red beard, standing out like a lion's mane, bristled ominously, and his shaggy eyebrows were drawn down in an unpleasant scowl. It was two o'clock on a mid-July afternoon, the last case of provisions had been lowered into the hold, the last lighter-load of coal stowed into the bunkers, steam was up, and the staunch little Newfoundland steamer North Star, riding at anchor in Sydney harbor, had been ready to sail for three hours, and for three hours Captain Bluntt had been impatiently awaiting orders to get under way. Two clean-cut, smooth-shaven, alert young men of thirty or thereabouts were standing at the port rail aft. Their sun-tanned faces marked them as men accustomed to out-of-door life, and their sinewy, muscular frames and keen but good-humored eyes proclaimed health and genial dispositions. They were intently, and with visible impatience, watching a wharf from which a boat was putting off. As the little craft shot out into the open one of them raised a pair of binoculars to his eyes, studied it for a moment, and announced: "There he is at last! Here, take a look through the glass, Ainsworth," and he passed the binoculars to his friend. "Yes, that's he," said Ainsworth, after a moment's observation, "and, Remington, he's sitting back smoking a cigarette as unconcernedly as if he hadn't kept us waiting half a day for him."
