The Best American Short Stories and the Yearbook of the American Short Story

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Edward Joseph Harrington O'Brien, Martha Foley
Houghton Mifflin Company, 1916 - Short stories
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Page 68 - And when Ivan would make that reply Anna would pat his hand and the questioner would wonder if it was a charm or a holy relic that the bright-eyed couple possessed. They ran through Vilna, on through flat stretches of Courland to Libau, where they saw the sea. They sat and stared at it for a whole day, talking little but watching it with wide, wondering eyes. And they stared at the great ships that came rocking in from distant ports, their sides gray with the salt from the big combers which they...
Page 7 - ... how vitally compelling the writer makes his selected facts or incidents. This test may be conveniently called the test of substance. But a second test is necessary if the story is to take rank above other stories. The true artist will seek to shape this living substance into the most beautiful and satisfying form, by skilful selection and arrangement of his material, and by the most direct and appealing presentation of it in portrayal and characterization.
Page 75 - We grow great by dreams. All big men are dreamers. They see things in the soft haze of a spring day or in the red fire of a long winter's evening. Some of us let these...
Page 240 - Was there anything hanging from this — er — say a parrot — or something, McCord?" The match burned my fingers and went out. "What do you mean?" McCord demanded from the doorway. I got myself back into the comfortable yellow glow of the cabin before I answered, and then it was a question. "Do you happen to know anything about this craft's personal history?" "No. What are you talking about ! Why?" "Well, I do,
Page 249 - I tried not to sleep, in case something should come up — a squall or the like. But I think I must have dropped off once or twice. I remember I heard something fiddling around in the galley, and I hollered 'Scat!' and everything was quiet again. I rolled over and lay on my left side, staring at that square of moonlight outside my door for a long time. You'll think it was a dream — what I saw there.
Page 256 - ... and below and sat down at the table as we had been. McCord broke a prolonged silence. "I'm sort of glad he got away — poor cuss! He's probably climbing up a wharf this minute, shivering and scared to death. Over toward the gas-tanks, by the way he was swimming. By gracious! now that the world's turned over straight again, I feel I could sleep a solid week. Poor cuss! can you imagine him, Ridgeway — " "Yes," I broke in. "I think I can. He must have lost his nerve when he made out your smoke...
Page 57 - Government, that you were drawn across the ocean by some beckoning finger of hope, by some belief, by some vision of a new kind of justice, by some expectation of a better kind of life. No doubt you have been disappointed in some of us. Some of us are very disappointing. No doubt you have found that justice in the United States goes only with a pure heart and a right purpose as it does everywhere else in the world. No doubt what you found here...
Page 244 - You see he can't quite understand this 'barbarian/ who has him beaten by about thirty centuries of civilization — and his imagination has to have something to chew on, something to hit — a 'tap on the ear,' you know." "By gracious! that's the ticket!" McCord pounded his knee. "And now we've got another chap going to pieces — Peters, he calls him. Refuses to eat dinner on August the third, claiming he caught the Chink making passes over the chowder-pot with his thumb. Can you believe it, Ridgeway...
Page 235 - I can imagine a vessel, stricken like that, moving over the empty spaces of the sea, carrying it off quite well were it not for that indefinable suggestion of a stagger; and I can think of all those ocean gods, in whom no landsman will ever believe, looking at one another and tapping their foreheads with just the shadow of a smile. I wonder if they all scream — these ships that have lost their souls? Mine screamed. We heard her voice, like nothing I have ever heard before, when we rowed under her...
Page 72 - I'll give every one of ye a rosy red apple an' me blessing with it." The steward aimed the muzzle of the hose, and Big Ivan of the Bridge let go of the rope and sprang at him. The fist of the great Russian went out like a battering ram; it struck the steward between the eyes, and he dropped upon the deck. He lay like one dead, the muzzle of the hose wriggling from his limp hands. The third officer and the interpreter rushed at Big Ivan, who stood erect, his hands clenched. "Ask the big swine why...

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