Genre Fiction. Page - 237

undated with rains, in their progress across a rainless desert, seeking the sea.

If the surplus of water upon the Abyssinian mountains had been constant and uniform, the stream, in its passage across the desert, would have communicated very little fertility to the barren sands which it traversed. The immediate banks of the river would have, perhaps, been fringed with verdure, but the influence of the irrigation would have extended no farther than the water itself could have reached, by percolation through the sand. But the flow of the water is not thus uniform and steady. In a certain season of the year the rains are incessant, and they descend with such abundance and profusion as almost to inundate the districts where they fall. Immense torrents stream down the mountain sides; the valleys are deluged; plains turn into morasses, and morasses into lakes. In a word, the country becomes half submerged, and the accumulated mass of waters would rush with great force and violence down the central valley of t

stro, turning red with embarrassment, "we're going to Venus."

"What's so unusual about going to Venus?" asked Strong.

"We're going hunting," replied Astro.

"Hunting?"

"Yes, sir," gulped the big Venusian. "For tyrannosaurus."

Strong's jaw dropped and he sat down suddenly on the nearest acceleration cushion. "I expected something a little strange from you three whiz kids." He laughed. "It would be impossible for you to go home and relax for a month. But this blasts me! Hunting for a tyrannosaurus! What are you going to do with it after you catch it?" He paused and then added, "If you do."

"Eat it," said Astro simply. "Tyrannosaurus steak is delicious!"

Strong doubled with laughter at the seriousness of Astro's expression. The giant Venusian continued doggedly, "And besides, there's a bounty on them. A thousand credits for every tyranno head brought in. They're dangerous and destroy a lot of crops."

Strong straightened up. "All right, all right! Go ahead! H

e eyes are the distinctive feature of his face. They are of the very darkest hazel, bright and eager, with a singular mixture of recklessness in their expression, and of something else which I have sometimes thought was more allied with horror than any other emotion. Generally the former predominated, but on occasions, and more particularly when he was thoughtfully inclined, the look of fear would spread and deepen until it imparted a new character to his whole countenance. It is at these times that he is most subject to tempestuous fits of anger, and he seems to be aware of it, for I have known him lock himself up so that no one might approach him until his dark hour was passed. He sleeps badly, and I have heard him shouting during the night, but his cabin is some little distance from mine, and I could never distinguish the words which he said.

This is one phase of his character, and the most disagreeable one. It is only through my close association with him, thrown together as we are day after day, t

, applied science, organized manufacture, and the century--until you come to Wolverhampton. They are unique and indispensable because you cannot drink tea out of a teacup without the aid of the Five Towns; because you cannot eat a meal in decency without the aid of the Five Towns. For this the architecture of the Five Towns is an architecture of ovens and chimneys; for this its atmosphere is as black as its mud; for this it burns and smokes all night, so that Longshaw has been compared to hell; for this it is unlearned in the ways of agriculture, never having seen corn except as packing straw and in quartern loaves; for this, on the other hand, it comprehends the mysterious habits of fire and pure, sterile earth; for this it lives crammed together in slippery streets where the housewife must change white window-curtains at least once a fortnight if she wishes to remain respectable; for this it gets up in the mass at six a.m., winter and summer, and goes to bed when the public-houses close; for this it exists-

rmagnac or red Anjou? This was a Burgundy of whichMonsieur le Marquis thought highly, and this a delicate Lombardywine that His Majesty had oft commended. Or perhaps Monsieur deChatellerault would prefer to taste the last vintage of Bardelys?

And so they plagued him and bewildered him until his choice wasmade; and even then a couple of them held themselves in readinessbehind his chair to forestall his slightest want. Indeed, had hebeen the very King himself, no greater honour could we have shownhim at the Hotel de Bardelys.

But the restraint that his coming had brought with it hung stillupon the company, for Chatellerault was little loved, and hispresence there was much as that of the skull at an Egyptian banquet.

For of all these fair-weather friends that sat about my table -amongst whom there were few that had not felt his power - I fearedthere might be scarcely one would have the grace to dissemble hiscontempt of the fallen favourite. That he was fallen, as much hiswords as what

sh greycalled grisaille, formed the further side of the tiny apartment.

Madame Poulain, turning a key, revealed a large roomy space now fitted upas a cupboard. "It's a way through into our bedroom, monsieur," she saidsmiling. "We could not of course allow our daughter to be far fromourselves."

And Dampier nodded. He knew the ways of French people and sympathised withthose ways.

He stepped up into the cupboard, curious to see if this too had been apowdering closet, and if that were so if the old panelling andornamentation had remained in their original condition.

Thus for a moment was Dampier concealed from those in the room. And duringthat moment there came the sound of footsteps on the staircase, followed bythe sudden appearance on the landing outside the open door of the curiouslittle apartment of two tall figures--a girl in a lace opera cloak, and ayoung man in evening dress.

Nancy Dampier, gazing at them, a little surprised at the abrupt apparition,told herself that they must be

da,would know what he was doing and that he desiredto communicate with Dorothy. For Glinda has a bigbook in which is recorded every event that takesplace anywhere in the world, just the moment thatit happens, and so of course the book would tellher about the wireless message.

And that was the way Dorothy heard that theHistorian wanted to speak with her, and there wasa Shaggy Man in the Land of Oz who knew how totelegraph a wireless reply. The result was thatthe Historian begged so hard to be told the latestnews of Oz, so that he could write it down for thechildren to read, that Dorothy asked permission ofOzma and Ozma graciously consented.

That is why, after two long years of waiting,another Oz story is now presented to the childrenof America. This would not have been possible hadnot some clever man invented the "wireless" and anequally clever child suggested the idea ofreaching the mysterious Land of Oz by its means.

L. Frank Baum.

"OZCOT"at Hollywoodin California

LIST

start, he noted it and halted his pony after reaching the level to look about him.

There was no sign of any cattle. But he reflected that perhaps a new range had been opened. Thirteen years is a long time, and many changes could have come during his absence.

He was about to urge his pony on again, when some impulse moved him to turn in the saddle and glance at the hill he had just vacated. At about the spot where he had sat--perhaps two hundred yards distant--he saw a man on a horse, sitting motionless in the saddle, looking at him.

Calumet wheeled his own pony and faced the man. The vari-colored glow from the distant mountains fell full upon the horseman, and with the instinct for attention to detail which had become habitual with Calumet, he noted that the rider was a big man; that he wore a cream-colored Stetson and a scarlet neckerchief. Even at that distance, so clear was the light, Calumet caught a vague impression of his features--his nose, especially, which was big, hawk-like.

d has been living there these fourteen years past.'

'A Polish nobleman?' I asked.

'Nay, we breed no such men in Poland,' he answered.

'A Frenchman, then?' cried Duroc.

'They say that he came from France.'

'And with red hair?'

'As red as a fox.'

'Yes, yes, it is my man,' cried my companion, quivering all over in his excitement. 'It is the hand of Providence which has led me here. Who can say that there is not justice in this world? Come, Monsieur Gerard, for I must see the men safely quartered before I can attend to this private matter.'

He spurred on his horse, and ten minutes later we were at the door of the inn of Arensdorf, where his men were to find their quarters for the night.

Well, all this was no affair of mine, and I could not imagine what the meaning of it might be. Rossel was still far off, but I determined to ride on for a few hours and take my chance of some wayside barn in which I could find shelter for Rataplan and myself. I had mou

ught over the body of Arthur Tims, Malcolm Sage's chauffeur. Sir John Dene had insisted that a car and a chauffeur were indispensable to a man who was to rival Pinkerton's. Malcolm Sage, on the other hand, had protested that it was an unnecessary expense in the early days of a concern that had yet to justify itself. To this Sir John Dene had replied, "Shucks!" at the same time notifying Tims that he was engaged for a year, and authorising him to select a car, find a garage, and wait instructions.

Tims did not do a barn-dance. He contented himself for the time being with ruffling William Johnson's dark, knut-like hair, a thing to which he was much addicted. Returning home on the evening of his engagement he had bewildered Mrs. Tims by seizing her as she stood in front of the kitchen-stove, a frying-pan full of sausages in her hand, and waltzing her round the kitchen, frying-pan and all.

Subsequently five of the six sausages had been recovered; but the sixth was not retrieved until the next mornin