A LITTLE thrill went through his numbed body. Maybe it was Poleon out yonder in that dark drogue. Some time later—he had dozed off without knowing it—he stirred out of a feverish sleep. He was clammy with sweat, his throat felt parched, his broken nose pained him intolerably.By William Byron Mowery32 min
A HORSE coughed; shook himself, rattling stirrup leathers. Breath came in white steam. Racing plates clicked on the bricks of the yard. Hooded and blanketed, the shapes of the horses were indistinct against the luminous silver of the dawn sky.By A. W. SMITH24 min
I’M BACK in the plumbing business now. And if you don’t think that extolling the wearing quality of valves and the beauty of bathroom fixtures brings tranquillity of mind, you’ve never been a statistician and so-called market expert in a high pressure “boiler shop.” I have and I know.By V. F. M. BLACKWOOD23 min
ONE phone SUNDAY rang. Editors, morning like in August, doctors, 1931, sleep with my tele the telephone by the side of their beds and accept the vagaries of calls as part of their burden. Sunday morning was usually undisturbed, however, and I felt a definite resentment at being awakened at 8.30. It was Lord Beaverbrook.By Beverley Baxter's19 min
EVERYONE who knew him well called him John. Others said, “You know that little man who repairs bags at Tilden and Lathrope’s.” His hands had been scarred by the work he did, and his back bent by it. He had a way of looking over his glasses at those who carried luggage up the rear stairs of the smart shop to the repair department, and some customers did this instead of sending ailing bags up by a clerk, “Good morning, John, can you do anything with this old wreck?”By Katharine Haviland-Taylor16 min
CANADA’S proud tradition in the air began twentysix years ago when J. A. D. McCurdy made the first airplane flight in the British Empire with the Canadian-built Silver Dart over the frozen surface of Baddeck Bay, Cape Breton Island, Nova Scotia.By Lieut.-Col. George A. Drew16 min
I HAVE just been fired from a Government job, after nearly fifteen years in the civil service—the only job I ever had. Without an opportunity to make any explanation, I was summarily told to hand over my keys. I, like every other civil servant in the Ontario Government, had been under the strain of months of uncertainty, incredibly nerve-trying.By ONE WHO WAS14 min
YES, LIFE’S a funny thing, sir, I often say. No two men could be more unlike than Mr. Frankie Karisch, the bookie, and the Reverend Septimus Metcalf, vicar of Little Norle-in-Iredale. They only met for less than a minute, and I’m pretty sure they never saw each other even then, yet they formed what my favorite poet has called “twin halves of one august event.”By PHYLLIS BENTLEY13 min
TO BE BORN in a mine. . . grow up in a mining camp. . . get most of your schooling in the back country, the woods, the lakes, the streams, and then, after an eventful life as an engineer explorer, suddenly to find yourself proclaimed one of the greatest living motion-picture producers in the world—that is a distinction that comes to very few men of any race or country.By RORY O’MORE12 min
MARY CARVER was the most beautiful girl in Avonwood—which might have been a village if it had not been the smartest, most exclusive suburb of Corinth. At any rate, since the day she made her début at the Corinth Country Club, Mary was known to her set as “the village belle.”By DANA BURNET11 min
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