FLOOD waited tautly. It came again—and a third time—the warning signal that a prisoner had escaped. One of two things had happened: either the Shark had been missed from her moorings, or word of his escape had reached the citadel from Melville Island.By BENGE ATLEE
MESSIEURS et mesdames, faites vos jeux!" The ivory ball dexterously spun, buzzed about its whirling circuit, buzzed like a frantic bluebottle fly. "Rien ne va plus." Military, definite, final. A colonel barking out his orders. Armide Poncelet—in correct evening clothes, if a little shiny, shirt front stiffly starched, if the cuffs were reversed, hair cut en brosse, rigid and graven as a visiting prefect laying a comer stone—relaxed and glanced about the table.By OWEN JOHNSON
THOMAS SMITH-BLAKEMORE the3rd, sat deep in a chair on the porch of the Smith-Blakemore’s North Mountain lodge morosely contemplating the countless. inevitable trees. After three long days of this unrelieved occupation, Tommy could say nothing for trees, nothing whatever.By LEW DIETZ
IF I WERE to search for some simile to describe the antics of the world during the next two years as I saw them close at hand or studied them through the journalistic telescope which brings distance to one’s own doorstep, 1 would liken them to a Ballet of the Insane.By Beverley Baxter's
I COULD RE kicked out of the Provincial Police for even giving you this tip, honey, but take it for what it’s worth. Tell your father not to go to Catarelli’s place tonight.” “Persecution!” snapped Madeline, Sergeant Steve Denison, standing there in the kitchen of the McCabe home and facing the girl he loved was miserably conscious that he had come on a thankless errand.By LESLIE McF ARLANE
LAST DECEMBER, Ottawa had a visitor. He arrived very softly and modestly in the guise of a tourist wandering in the British Dominions. The GovernorGeneral put him up over Christmas, and then he moved on, gently and almost imperceptibly, toward a ship for home.By G. R. STEVENS
WHEN Nancy Dunn, public health nurse in the Peace River block, drove into a little settlement called Progress, one day shortly before Christmas 1933, the temperature had dropped to sixty degrees below zero and her painfully laboring horses were bleeding from the lungs.By FREDERICK B. WATT
WHEN a foremost authority on badminton and captain of the touring British team which invaded Canada late in 1930, Sir George A. Thomas, was quoted in the press reports on his departure as saying that Canada would produce the first non-resident winner of the much-coveted All-England badminton title, my mental comment at the moment was, “A very sporting and decent gesture.” Nor did I realize when I walked down the gangplank of the White Star liner, Majestic, some months later, bearing the titles from two of the three leading British tournaments, that Canada was clambering to the top of the badminton world.By JACK PURCELL, KFN W. MACTAGGART
WHILE the men of the tribe went to the fishing, and the women were busy with their domestic duties, Gora sat in the sun, idle and contemplative. He stared lackadaisically at the capers and tumblings of his small son, who, naked and happy, played in the dust before the cave with the knucklebones of a longdead antelope.By C. T. STONEHAM
LENT is a good time to go fishing—with a market basket. You are sure of a good catch in that way, and you have all the waters of the country to choose from. Look about you. There are all kinds of fish—fresh, salted, smoked, pickled, frozen, canned and in the shell—willing and anxious to appear on your table, so there is no sense in sticking to one form or one flavor.By HELEN G. CAMPBELL
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