ADVENTURE books online

Reading books adventure Nowadays a big variety of genres are exist. In our electronic library you can choose any book that suits your mood, request and purpose. This website is full of free ebooks. Reading online is very popular and become mainstream. This website can provoke you to be smarter than anyone. You can read between work breaks, in public transport, in cafes over a cup of coffee and cheesecake.
No matter where, but itā€™s important to read books in our elibrary , without registration.



Today let's analyze the genre adventure. Genre adventure is a reference book for adults and children. But it serve for adults and children in different purposes. If a boy or girl presents himself as a brave and courageous hero, doing noble deeds, then an adult with pleasure can be a little distracted from their daily worries.


A great interest to the reader is the adventure of a historical nature. For example, question: Ā«Who discovered America?Ā»
Today there are quite interesting descriptions of the adventures of Portuguese sailors, who visited this continent 20 years before Columbus.




It should be noted the different quality of literary works created in the genre of adventure. There is an understandable interest of generations of people in the classic adventure. At the same time, new works, which are created by contemporary authors, make classic works in the adventure genre quite worthy competition.
The close attention of readers to the genre of adventure is explained by the very essence of man, which involves constant movement, striving for something new, struggle and achievement of success. Adventure genre is very excited
Heroes of adventure books are always strong and brave. And we, off course, want to be like them. Unfortunately, book life is very different from real life.But that doesn't stop us from loving books even more.

Read books online Ā» Adventure Ā» Mr. Standfast by John Buchan (best books to read in life TXT) šŸ“–

Book online Ā«Mr. Standfast by John Buchan (best books to read in life TXT) šŸ“–Ā». Author John Buchan



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my turn to do the same wiā€™ him. I had a notion I was gaun to makā€™ a nicht oā€™t. Thereā€™s naebody can hit Geordie Hamilton without Geordie gettinā€™ his ain back some day. Get up, man, for Iā€™m gaun to knock the heid off ye.ā€

I duly got up, and with the best composure I could muster looked him in the face.

ā€œYouā€™re mistaken, my friend. I never clapped eyes on you before, and I never was in Glasgow in my life.ā€

ā€œThatā€™s a damned lee,ā€ said the Fusilier. ā€œYeā€™re the man, and if yeā€™re no, yeā€™re like enough him to need a hidinā€™!ā€

ā€œConfound your nonsense!ā€ I said. ā€œIā€™ve no quarrel with you, and Iā€™ve better things to do than be scrapping with a stranger in a public-house.ā€

ā€œHave ye sae? Well, Iā€™ll learn ye better. Iā€™m gaun to hit ye, and then yeā€™ll hae to fecht whether ye want it or no. Tam, haud my jacket, and see that my drinkā€™s no skailed.ā€

This was an infernal nuisance, for a row here would bring in the police, and my dubious position would be laid bare. I thought of putting up a fight, for I was certain I could lay out the jock a second time, but the worst of that was that I did not know where the thing would end. I might have to fight the lot of them, and that meant a noble public shindy. I did my best to speak my opponent fair. I said we were all good friends and offered to stand drinks for the party. But the Fusilierā€™s blood was up and he was spoiling for a row, ably abetted by his comrades. He had his tunic off now and was stamping in front of me with doubled fists.

I did the best thing I could think of in the circumstances. My seat was close to the steps which led to the other part of the inn. I grabbed my hat, darted up them, and before they realised what I was doing had bolted the door behind me. I could hear pandemonium break loose in the bar.

I slipped down a dark passage to another which ran at right angles to it, and which seemed to connect the street door of the inn itself with the back premises. I could hear voices in the little hall, and that stopped me short.

One of them was Linklaterā€™s, but he was not talking as Linklater had talked. He was speaking educated English. I heard another with a Scots accent, which I took to be the landlordā€™s, and a third which sounded like some superior sort of constableā€™s, very prompt and official. I heard one phrase, too, from Linklaterā€”ā€œHe calls himself McCaskie.ā€ Then they stopped, for the turmoil from the bar had reached the front door. The Fusilier and his friends were looking for me by the other entrance.

The attention of the men in the hall was distracted, and that gave me a chance. There was nothing for it but the back door. I slipped through it into a courtyard and almost tumbled over a tub of water. I planted the thing so that anyone coming that way would fall over it. A door led me into an empty stable, and from that into a lane. It was all absurdly easy, but as I started down the lane I heard a mighty row and the sound of angry voices. Someone had gone into the tub and I hoped it was Linklater. I had taken a liking to the Fusilier jock.

There was the beginning of a moon somewhere, but that lane was very dark. I ran to the left, for on the right it looked like a cul-de-sac. This brought me into a quiet road of two-storied cottages which showed at one end the lights of a street. So I took the other way, for I wasnā€™t going to have the whole population of Muirtown on the hue-and-cry after me. I came into a country lane, and I also came into the van of the pursuit, which must have taken a short cut. They shouted when they saw me, but I had a small start, and legged it down that road in the belief that I was making for open country.

That was where I was wrong. The road took me round to the other side of the town, and just when I was beginning to think I had a fair chance I saw before me the lights of a signal-box and a little to the left of it the lights of the station. In half an hourā€™s time the Edinburgh train would be leaving, but I had made that impossible. Behind me I could hear the pursuers, giving tongue like hound puppies, for they had attracted some pretty drunken gentlemen to their party. I was badly puzzled where to turn, when I noticed outside the station a long line of blurred lights, which could only mean a train with the carriage blinds down. It had an engine attached and seemed to be waiting for the addition of a couple of trucks to start. It was a wild chance, but the only one I saw. I scrambled across a piece of waste ground, climbed an embankment and found myself on the metals. I ducked under the couplings and got on the far side of the train, away from the enemy.

Then simultaneously two things happened. I heard the yells of my pursuers a dozen yards off, and the train jolted into motion. I jumped on the footboard, and looked into an open window. The compartment was packed with troops, six a side and two men sitting on the floor, and the door was locked. I dived headforemost through the window and landed on the neck of a weary warrior who had just dropped off to sleep.

While I was falling I made up my mind on my conduct. I must be intoxicated, for I knew the infinite sympathy of the British soldier towards those thus overtaken. They pulled me to my feet, and the man I had descended on rubbed his skull and blasphemously demanded explanations.

ā€œGenā€™lmen,ā€ I hiccoughed, ā€œI ā€œpologise. I was late for this bl-blighted train and I musā€™ be in Eā€™inburgh ā€œmorrow or Iā€™ll get the sack. I ā€œpologise. If Iā€™ve hurt my friendā€™s head, Iā€™ll kiss it and make it well.ā€

At this there was a great laugh. ā€œYeā€™d better accept, Pete,ā€ said one. ā€œItā€™s the first time anybody ever offered to kiss your ugly heid.ā€

A man asked me who I was, and I appeared to be searching for a card-case.

ā€œLosht,ā€ I groaned. ā€œLosht, and soā€™s my wee bag and Iā€™ve bashed my poā€™ hat. Iā€™m an awful sight, genā€™lmenā€”an awful warning to be in time for trains. Iā€™m John Johnstone, managing clerk to Messrs Watters, Brown & Elphā€™stone, 923 Charlā€™tte Street, Eā€™inburgh. Iā€™ve been up north seeinā€™ my mamma.ā€

ā€œYe should be in France,ā€ said one man.

ā€œWishā€™t I was, but they wouldnā€™t let me. ā€˜Mr Johnstone,ā€™ they said, ā€˜yeā€™re no dam good. Yeā€™ve varicose veins and a bad heart,ā€™ they said. So I says, ā€˜Good morninā€™, genā€™lmen. Donā€™t blame me if the countryā€™s ruā€™nedā€™. Thatā€™s what I said.ā€

I had by this time occupied the only remaining space left on the floor. With the philosophy of their race the men had accepted my presence, and were turning again to their own talk. The train had got up speed, and as I judged it to be a special of some kind I looked for few stoppings. Moreover it was not a corridor carriage, but one of the old-fashioned kind, so I was safe for a time from the unwelcome attention of conductors. I stretched my legs below the seat, rested my head against the knees of a brawny gunner, and settled down to make the best of it.

My reflections were not pleasant. I had got down too far below the surface, and had the naked feeling you get in a dream when you think you have gone to the theatre in your nightgown. I had had three names in two days, and as many characters. I felt as if I had no home or position anywhere, and was only a stray dog with everybodyā€™s hand and foot against me. It was an ugly sensation, and it was not redeemed by any acute fear or any knowledge of being mixed up in some desperate drama. I knew I could easily go on to Edinburgh, and when the police made trouble, as they would, a wire to Scotland Yard would settle matters in a couple of hours. There wasnā€™t a suspicion of bodily danger to restore my dignity. The worst that could happen would be that Ivery would hear of my being befriended by the authorities, and the part I had settled to play would be impossible. He would certainly hear. I had the greatest respect for his intelligence service.

Yet that was bad enough. So far I had done well. I had put Gresson off the scent. I had found out what Bullivant wanted to know, and I had only to return unostentatiously to London to have won out on the game. I told myself all that, but it didnā€™t cheer my spirits. I was feeling mean and hunted and very cold about the feet.

But I have a tough knuckle of obstinacy in me which makes me unwilling to give up a thing till I am fairly choked off it. The chances were badly against me. The Scottish police were actively interested in my movements and would be ready to welcome me at my journeyā€™s end. I had ruined my hat, and my clothes, as Amos had observed, were not respectable. I had got rid of a four-daysā€™ beard the night before, but had cut myself in the process, and what with my weather-beaten face and tangled hair looked liker a tinker than a decent bagman. I thought with longing of my portmanteau in the Pentland Hotel, Edinburgh, and the neat blue serge suit and the clean linen that reposed in it. It was no case for a subtle game, for I held no cards. Still I was determined not to chuck in my hand till I was forced to. If the train stopped anywhere I would get out, and trust to my own wits and the standing luck of the British Army for the rest.

The chance came just after dawn, when we halted at a little junction. I got up yawning and tried to open the door, till I remembered it was locked. Thereupon I stuck my legs out of the window on the side away from the platform, and was immediately seized upon by a sleepy Seaforth who thought I contemplated suicide.

ā€œLet me go,ā€ I said. ā€œIā€™ll be back in a jiffy.ā€

ā€œLet him gang, jock,ā€ said another voice. ā€œYe ken what a manā€™s like when heā€™s been on the bash. The cauld airā€™ll sober him.ā€

I was released, and after some gymnastics dropped on the metals and made my way round the rear of the train. As I clambered on the platform it began to move, and a face looked out of one of the back carriages. It was Linklater and he recognised me. He tried to get out, but the door was promptly slammed by an indignant porter. I heard him protest, and he kept his head out till the train went round the curve. That cooked my goose all right. He would wire to the police from the next station.

Meantime in that clean, bare, chilly place there was only one traveller. He was a slim young man, with a kit-bag and a gun-case. His clothes were beautiful, a green Homburg hat, a smart green tweed overcoat, and boots as brightly polished as a horse chestnut. I caught his profile as he gave up his ticket and to my amazement I recognised it.

The station-master looked askance at me as I presented myself, dilapidated and dishevelled, to the official gaze. I tried to speak in a tone of authority.

ā€œWho is the man who has just gone out?ā€

ā€œWhaurā€™s your ticket?ā€

ā€œI had no time to get one at Muirtown, and as you see I have left my luggage behind me. Take it out of that pound and Iā€™ll come back for the change. I want to know if that was Sir Archibald Roylance.ā€

He looked suspiciously at the note. ā€œI think thatā€™s the name. Heā€™s a captain up at the Fleeinā€™ School. What was ye wantinā€™ with him?ā€

I charged through the booking-office and found my man about to enter a big grey motor-car.

ā€œArchie,ā€ I cried and beat him on the shoulders.

He turned round sharply. ā€œWhat the devilā€”! Who are you?ā€ And then recognition crept into his face and he gave a joyous shout. ā€œMy holy aunt! The General disguised as Charlie Chaplin! Can I drive you anywhere, sir?ā€

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