BLACK JOE and Little Joe sat at the worn kitchen table, elbows resting, on the scrubbed pine boards, their faces shining in the uncertain light of the flickering kerosene lamp. “Read more, son,” the man commanded in his soft rich voice. “Read me that part again about the soil bein’ washed away.”By HAL MASSON
THERE are five flights of shallow, cellarlike steps before you reach the top balcony in Carnegie Hall. Sara climbed them breathlessly, and yet slowly. The others hurried past her. Perhaps they didn’t mind the bleak ascent or the stony, discolored walls.By ANNE HOMER WARNER
AS THE time approached for what we prisoners in Stalag Luft III planned as the greatest escape of the war, I had to make a vital decision. Someone from my section in X (for escape) Organization had to stay behind to make sure each escaper had proper papers when he stepped into our tunnel for the first few hundred feet of his long journey.
IT WAS cold and wet and eternally midnight. Our helmet lamps were bleared with rock dust as they flickered along the cavern walls, tracing bright patterns of ore stain against the black velvet of the perpetual darkness. The icy breath of ventilating air reminded us that this was no ordinary hard-rock mine but a cave under the floor of Great Bear Lake, within 26 miles of the Arctic Circle.By RONALD A. KEITH
UNCLE ALFRED listened to the Sinclair brothers’ dispute with close, if uncomprehending, attention. Neither boy was aware of his presence. He had approached with stealth, for he had a guilty conscience. He looked from Lewis to Stephen. Though he moved on four splayed paws; though his flexible body and sinuous tail were covered with a close pelt of reddish hair, and saddlebag ears dangled almost to his crooked knees, Uncle Alfred’s seamed and sagging face bore the expression of bewilderment an elderly uncle might have worn in the company of quarrelling 14-and 15-year-olds.By FREDERIC F. VAN DE WATER
LIFE in wartime was no bed of roses for Ivan Ivanovich—Mr. Average Citizen of Russia. It remains no bed of roses even today, when the last guns of the war have been fired. But, then, in this Ivan is no different from Jack Canuck. But how does Ivan Ivanovich live?By RAYMOND ARTHUR DAVIES
R. LAURITZ MELCHIOR sings. He is the only heldentenor—heroic tenor—functioning in the world today. He also hunts, cooks, makes movies, writes poetry, is a man of fashion, designs and redecorates the houses in which he lives, and—for want of a better word—gambols.By KATE HOLLIDAY
MORE than 50,000 Canadians are the victims of epilepsy, a disease as prevalent as diabetes or tuberculosis. Another two out of every 100 have a predisposition to it. Nevertheless, knowledge of the cause and cure of this major malady has advanced farther in the past 20 years than in the preceding 20 centuries.By ROBERT H. FELDT, M.D.
PEOPLE in the liquor business are used to political interference. A permit to sell liquor is a political favor; recipients of political favors are seldom allowed to forget Israel Tarte’s famous remark: “Elections are not won with prayers.”By BLAIR FRASER
THE woman was young. She should have been pretty, but despair had left sagging lines on her young face; bitter lines that dragged down the corners of her mouth. “Jim’s gone,” she told the judge with the greying hair and kindly eyes. “He’s gone, I tell you...And —and you won’t do a thing about it!By GEOFFREY HEWELCKE
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