September 1, 1907

View Full Issue Table of Contents

The Aerial Encounter of Judge Reardon and Monsieur Rambaud

JUST then the automobile stopped. There was no doubt about it. The machine stopped ; the whirling landscape stopped and Judge Reardon stopped in the middle of his sentence. The sentence had begun like this : “And what pleases me most is that we have made our trip of three hundred miles without a single accident or involuntary—” and he would have said “stop,” but to his great chagrin he did it instead of saying it. By McCready Sykes in Appleton’s31 min

ENTERTAINING SHORT STORIES

Bread Eaten In Secret

IT is difficult for even the most subtly agile of moralists to append the quod erat demonstrandum to this record of the final solution of Susan Apthorpe’s emotional complexities. Twist the tale as one will, there is no point at which he can say: By Anne O’Hagan in Harper’s30 min

102

ENTERTAINING SHORT STORIES

“Who Laughs Last”

EARLIER in the day, when the accidental overturning of an inkwell in King’s office had resulted in a liberal bespattering of Oakley’s trousers, King had insisted that his own tailor should repair the damage. “Fiddlesticks!” he had replied to his friend’s arguments in favor of the hotel valet. By Margaret Cameron in Harper’s Monthly27 min

ENTERTAINING SHORT STORIES

The World And The Door

WHEN H. Ferguson Hedges, millionaire promoter, investor and man-about-New York, turned his thoughts upon matters convivial, and word of it went “down the line,” bouncers took a precautionary turn at the Indian clubs, waiters put ironstone china on his - favorite tables, cabdrivers crowded close to the curbstone in front of all-night cafes, and careful cashiers in his regular haunts charged up a few bottles to his account by way of preface and introduction. By O. Henry in American19 min

POLITICAL AND COMMERCIAL AFFAIRS

Our Men Of The Midi

OUR Southern whites present the only instance in the history of the world of a people mainly English by blood and tradition, who have dwelt continuously for six or eight generations below the 39th parallel. They are essentially a people of what the French call the Midi, and these interrelated facts of race and residence have been too little considered in the examination of their history and the prognostication of their future. By E. N. Vallandigham in Atlantic Monthly17 min

ENTERTAINING SHORT STORIES

The Summer Beau Company, Ltd.

MISS HENRIETTA RENSHAW was a plump little woman, well groomed, well gowned and frankly forty-five. She belonged to that third sex—the business woman—now in process of evolution under our very eyes, and to subtle and intricate feminine intuitions she added a decision of character and a breadth and clearness of judgment typically masculine. By Elizabeth M. Gilmer in Cosmopolitan17 min

MISCELLANEOUS

The Man With One Pocket

NED FARRELL was a gambler by instinct and a business man by conviction. Because his convictions tempered and guided the manifestations of his instinct, he was acting Pacific Coast manager for the old and conservative house of Kendrick & Company, Incorporated, instead of being a stock operator or a follower of the races. By Margaret Cameron in Sunset17 min

BUSINESS AND INDUSTRY

The Art of Handling Men

IN a Ouida or Corelli novel there is usually a point at which the tall, blond hero, erect as a Greek god, appears in the wild mountain pass, breasting the raging thunderstoom, and raps at the monastery gate for shelter. The hero wants more than shelter. By James H. Collins in Saturday Evening Post16 min

ENTERTAINING SHORT STORIES

Red-Head and Whistle-Breeches

WHEN Tim Murphy let his enthusiasm get the better of his judgment, and in the excitement of that disastrous night, joined the front rank of the strikers in a general mix-up and cracked the head of a deputy sheriff, the result was what he might have expected—two years in the penitentiary. By Ellis Parker Butler in The Scrap Book16 min

ENTERTAINING SHORT STORIES

Hicks Of Hackensack

YOU doubtless never knew Hicks of Hackensack; which is your loss rather than his, for, while there are probably very many people who are much like you, there is but one Hicks. When he was still of a tender age, his parents had been called to greener fields and, realizing that he would be about as capable of earning a livelihood as a canary would of playing Mendelssohn’s “Spring Song’’ on a comb, they had left him amply provided with this world’s goods and in such a way that he couldn’t unprovide himself, as he assuredly would have done if he had a chance. By Porter Emerson Browne in Appleton’s Magazine16 min

August 11907