/0/4338/coverbig.jpg?v=3aa3c7742e1d75e0d7d2c862f3db5fe3)
Roy Blakely, Pathfinder by Percy Keese Fitzhugh
Roy Blakely, Pathfinder by Percy Keese Fitzhugh
This story is all about a hike. It starts on Bridge Street and ends on Bridge Street. Maybe you'll think it's just a street story. But that's where you'll get left. It starts at the soda fountain in Warner's Drug Store on Bridge Street in Catskill, New York, and it ends at the soda fountain in Bennett's Candy Store on Bridge Street in Bridgeboro, New Jersey. That's where I live; not in Bennett's, but in Bridgeboro. But I'm in Bennett's a lot.
Believe me, that hike was over a hundred miles long. If you rolled it up in a circle it would go around Black Lake twenty times. Black Lake would be just a spool-good night! In one place it was tied in a bowline knot, but we didn't count that. It was a good thing Westy Martin knew all about bowline knots or we'd have been lost..
Harry Donnelle said it would be all right for, me to say that we hiked all the way, except in one place where we were carried away by the scenery. Gee, that fellow had us laughing all the time. I told him that if the story wasn't about anything except just a hike, maybe it would be slow, but he said it couldn't be slow if we went a hundred miles in one book. He said more likely the book would be arrested for speeding. I should worry. "Forty miles are as many as it's safe to go in one book," he said, "and here we are rolling up a hundred. We'll bunk right into the back cover of the book, that's what we'll do." Oh boy, you would laugh if you heard that fellow talk. He's a big fellow; he's about twenty-five years old, I guess.
"Believe me, I hope the book will have a good strong cover," I told him.
Then Will Dawson (he's the only one of us that has any sense), he said, "If there are two hundred pages in the book, that means you've got to go two miles on every page."
"Suppose a fellow should skip," I told him.
"Then that wouldn't be hiking, would it?" he said.
I said, "Maybe I'll write it scout pace."
"I often skip when I read a book, but I never go scout pace," Charlie Seabury said.
"Well," I told him, "this is a different kind of a book."
"I often heard about how a story runs," Harry Donnelle said, "but I never heard of one going scout pace."
"You leave it to me," I said, "this story is going to have action."
Then Will Dawson had to start shouting again. Cracky, that fellow's a fiend on arithmetic. He said, "If there are two hundred pages and thirty lines on a page, that means we've got to go more than one-sixteenth of a mile for every line."
"Righto," I told him, "action in every word. The only place a fellow can get a chance to rest, is at the illustrations."
Dorry Benton said, "I wish you luck."
"The pleasure is mine," I told him.
"Anyway, who ever told you, you could write a book?" he asked me.
"Nobody had to tell me; I admit I can," I said.
"How about a plot?" he began shouting.
"There's going to be a plot forty-eight by a hundred feet," I came back at him, "with a twenty foot frontage. I should worry about plots."
Harry Donnelle said he guessed maybe it would be better not to have any plot at all, because a plot would be kind of heavy to carry on a hundred mile hike.
"Couldn't we carry it in a wheelbarrow?" Will wanted to know.
"We'd look nice," I told him, "hiking through a book with the plot in a wheelbarrow."
"Yes, and it would get heavier too," Westy Martin said, "because plots grow thicker all the time."
"Let's not bother with a plot," I said; "there's lots of books without plots."
"Sure, look at the dictionary," Harry Donnelle said.
"And the telephone book," I told him, "It's popular too; everybody reads it."
"We should worry about a plot," I said.
By now I guess you can see that we're all crazy in our patrol. Even Harry Donnelle, he's crazy, and he isn't in our patrol at all. I guess its catching, hey? And, oh boy, the worst is yet to come.
So now I guess I'd better begin and tell you how it all happened. The story will unfold itself or unwrap itself or untie itself or whatever you call it. This is going to be the worst story I ever wrote and it's going to be the best, too. This chapter isn't a part of the hike, so really the story doesn't begin till you get to Warner's Drug Store. You'll know it by the red sign. This chapter is just about our past lives. When I say, "go" then you'll know the story has started. And when I finish the pineapple soda in Bennett's, you'll know that's the end. So don't stop reading till I get to the end of the soda. The story ends way down in the bottom of the glass.
Maybe you don't know who Harry Donnelle is, so I'll tell you. He was a lieutenant, but he's mustered out now. He got a wound on his arm. His hair is kind of red, too. That's how he got the wound-having red hair. The Germans shot at the fellow with red hair, but one good thing, they didn't hit him in the head.
He came up to Temple Camp where our troop was staying and paid us a visit and if you want to know why he came, it's in another story. But, anyway, I'll tell you this much. Our three patrols went up to camp in his father's house-boat. His father told us we could use the house-boat for the summer. Those patrols are the Ravens and the Elks and the Solid Silver Foxes. I'm head of the Silver Foxes.
The reason he came to camp was to get something belonging to him that was in one of the lockers of the house-boat. I wrote to him and told him about it being there and so he came up. He liked me and he called me Skeezeks. Most everybody that's grown up calls me by a nickname. As long as he was there he decided to stay a few days, because he was stuck on Temple Camp. All the fellows were crazy about him. At camp-fire he told us about his adventures in France. He said you can't get gum drops in France.
Gee, I wouldn't want to live there.
At Temple Camp you may hear the story told of how Llewellyn, scout of the first class, and Orestes, winner of the merit badges for architecture and for music, were by their scouting skill and lore instrumental in solving a mystery and performing a great good turn. Yet if you should ask old Uncle Jeb Rushmore, beloved manager of the big scout camp, about these two scout heroes, a shrewd twinkle would appear in his eye and he would refer you to the boys, who would probably only laugh at you, for they are a bantering set at Temple Camp and would jolly the life out of Daniel Boone himself if that redoubtable woodsman were there. Listen then while I tell you of how Tom Slade, friend and brother of these two scouts, as he is of all scouts, assisted them, and of how they assisted him; and of how, out of these reciprocal good turns, there came true peace and happiness, which is the aim and end of all scouting.
Unlike some other reproductions of classic texts (1) We have not used OCR(Optical Character Recognition), as this leads to bad quality books with introduced typos. (2) In books where there are images such as portraits, maps, sketches etc We have endeavoured to keep the quality of these images, so they represent accurately the original artefact. Although occasionally there may be certain imperfections with these old texts, we feel they deserve to be made available for future generations to enjoy.
Being second best is practically in my DNA. My sister got the love, the attention, the spotlight. And now, even her damn fiancé. Technically, Rhys Granger was my fiancé now-billionaire, devastatingly hot, and a walking Wall Street wet dream. My parents shoved me into the engagement after Catherine disappeared, and honestly? I didn't mind. I'd crushed on Rhys for years. This was my chance, right? My turn to be the chosen one? Wrong. One night, he slapped me. Over a mug. A stupid, chipped, ugly mug my sister gave him years ago. That's when it hit me-he didn't love me. He didn't even see me. I was just a warm-bodied placeholder for the woman he actually wanted. And apparently, I wasn't even worth as much as a glorified coffee cup. So I slapped him right back, dumped his ass, and prepared for disaster-my parents losing their minds, Rhys throwing a billionaire tantrum, his terrifying family plotting my untimely demise. Obviously, I needed alcohol. A lot of alcohol. Enter him. Tall, dangerous, unfairly hot. The kind of man who makes you want to sin just by existing. I'd met him only once before, and that night, he just happened to be at the same bar as my drunk, self-pitying self. So I did the only logical thing: I dragged him into a hotel room and ripped off his clothes. It was reckless. It was stupid. It was completely ill-advised. But it was also: Best. Sex. Of. My. Life. And, as it turned out, the best decision I'd ever made. Because my one-night stand isn't just some random guy. He's richer than Rhys, more powerful than my entire family, and definitely more dangerous than I should be playing with. And now, he's not letting me go.
For financial gain, Isla's father married her to Theodore, a comatose heir. Unconscious, he duped her; awake, he claimed she'd groped him and flirted nonstop. When she discovered she was pregnant, his "lost love" appeared, and he slid divorce papers across the bed. Isla slapped his hush money back and left. They crossed paths again, with Isla lauded as a hacker, race champ, composer, and screenwriter-and the elusive doctor Theodore coveted. He begged, "One more chance." She said, "Prove it with your life." He did, but what he didn't know was that she always knew the "lost love" was only a decoy.
My husband was in the shower, the sound of water a familiar rhythm to our mornings. I was just placing a cup of coffee on his desk, a small ritual in our five years of what I thought was a perfect marriage. Then, an email notification flashed on his laptop: "You're invited to the Christening of Leo Thomas." Our last name. The sender: Hayden Cleveland, a social media influencer. An icy dread settled in. It was an invitation for his son, a son I didn't know existed. I went to the church, hidden in the shadows, and saw him holding a baby, a little boy with his dark hair and eyes. Hayden Cleveland, the mother, leaned on his shoulder, a picture of domestic bliss. They looked like a family. A perfect, happy family. My world crumbled. I remembered him refusing to have a baby with me, citing work pressure. All his business trips, the late nights-were they spent with them? The lie was so easy for him. How could I have been so blind? I called the Zurich Architectural Fellowship, a prestigious program I had deferred for him. "I' d like to accept the fellowship," I said, my voice eerily calm. "I can leave immediately."
Yelena discovered that she wasn't her parents' biological child. After seeing through their ploy to trade her as a pawn in a business deal, she was sent away to her barren birthplace. There, she stumbled upon her true origins-a lineage of historic opulence. Her real family showered her with love and adoration. In the face of her so-called sister's envy, Yelena conquered every adversity and took her revenge, all while showcasing her talents. She soon caught the attention of the city's most eligible bachelor. He cornered Yelena and pinned her against the wall. "It's time to reveal your true identity, darling."
For ten years, I secretly loved my guardian, Ethan Hayes. After my family fell apart, he took me in and raised me. He was my entire world. On my eighteenth birthday, I gathered all my courage to confess my love to him. But his reaction was a fury I had never seen before. He swept my birthday cake to the floor and roared, "Are you insane? I am your GUARDIAN!" He then mercilessly tore the painting I had spent a year on-my confession-to shreds. Just days later, he brought home his fiancée, Chloe. The man who had promised to wait for me to grow up, who called me his brightest star, had vanished. My decade of desperate, burning love had only managed to burn myself. The person who was supposed to protect me had become the one who hurt me the most. I looked down at the NYU acceptance letter in my hand. I had to leave. I had to pull him out of my heart, no matter how much it hurt. I picked up the phone and dialed my father's number. "Dad," I said, my voice hoarse, "I've decided. I want to come be with you in New York."
After three secretive years of marriage, Eliana never met her enigmatic husband until she was served with divorce papers and learned of his extravagant pursuit of another. She snapped back to reality and secured a divorce. Thereafter, Eliana unveiled her various personas: an esteemed doctor, legendary secret agent, master hacker, celebrated designer, adept race car driver, and distinguished scientist. As her diverse talents became known, her ex-husband was consumed by remorse. Desperately, he pleaded, "Eliana, give me another chance! All my properties, even my life, are yours."
© 2018-now CHANGDU (HK) TECHNOLOGY LIMITED
6/F MANULIFE PLACE 348 KWUN TONG ROAD KL
TOP