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41 Works of Francis Hopkinson Smith

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A Coat Of Red Lead

Story type: Literature

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I My offices are on the top floor of a high building overlooking the East River and the harbor beyond–not one of those skyscrapers punctured with windows all of the same size, looking from a distance like huge waffles set up on end–note the water-line of New York the next time you cross the ferry […]

I For centuries the painters of Venice have seized and made their own the objects they loved most in this wondrous City by the Sea. Canaletto, ignoring every other beautiful thing, laid hold of quays backed by lines of palaces bordering the Grand Canal, dotted with queer gondolas rowed by gondoliers, in queerer hoods of […]

Joe Hornstog told me this story–the first part of it; the last part of it came to me in a way which proves how small the world is. Joe belongs to that conglomerate mass of heterogeneous nationalities found around the Golden Horn, whose ancestry is as difficult to trace as a gypsy’s. He says he […]

I He was seated near the top end of Miss Buffum’s table when I first saw his good-natured face with its twinkling eyes, high cheekbones and broad, white forehead in strong contrast to the wizened, almost sour, visage of our landlady. Up to the time of his coming every one had avoided that end, or […]

I “You eat too much, Marny.” It was Joplin, of Boston, who was speaking–Samuel Epigastric Joplin, his brother painters called him. “You treat your stomach as if it were a scrap-basket and you dump into it everything you–“ “I do? You caricature of a codfish ball!” “Yes, you do. You open your mouth, pin back […]

The big Liner slowed down and dropped anchor inside the Breakwater. Sweeping toward her, pushing the white foam in long lines from her bow, her flag of black smoke trailing behind, came the company’s tender–out from Cherbourg with passengers. Under the big Liner’s upper deck, along its top rail, was strung a row of heads […]

Peter was in his room when I knocked–up two flights of stairs off Washington Square–Eighth Street really–in one of those houses with a past–of mahogany, open wood fires, old Madeira in silver coasters pushed across hand-polished tables,–that kind of a past. None of all this could be seen in its present. The marble steps outside […]

A row of gas jets hooded by green paper shades lighting a long table at which sit half a dozen men in their shirt sleeves writing like mad; against the wall other men,–one drawing Easter lilies, another blocking in the background around a photograph, a third pasting clippings on sheets of brown paper. Every few […]

I A most estimable young man was Muggles: a clean-shaven, spick-and-span, well-mannered young man–particular as to the brushing of his hat, the tying of his scarf and the cut of his clothes; more than particular as to their puttings-on and puttings-off–sack-coat and derby for mornings; top hat and frock for afternoons; bobtail and black tie […]

"Against Orders"

Story type: Literature

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“Here comes Captain Bogart–we’ll ask him,” said the talkative man. His listeners were grouped about one of the small tables in the smoking-room of the Moldavia, five days out. The question was when the master of a vessel should leave his ship. In the incident discussed every man had gone ashore–even the life-saving crew had […]

Wide of beam, stout of mast, short-bowspritted, her boom clewed up to clear her deck load of rough stone; drawing ten feet aft and nine feet for’ard; a twelve-horse hoisting engine and boiler in her forecastle; at the tiller a wabbly-jointed, halibut-shaped, moon-faced (partially eclipsed, owing to a fringe of dark whiskers), sleepy-eyed skipper named […]

I “What am I gwine to do wid dese yere barkers, Colonel?” asked Chad, picking up his master’s case of duelling pistols from the mantel. “I ain’t tetched der moufs since I iled ’em up for dat Klutchem man.” “Take them upstairs, Chad, and put them away,” answered the Colonel with an indignant wave of […]

A List To Starboard

Story type: Literature

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I A short, square chunk of a man walked into a shipping office on the East Side, and inquired for the Manager of the Line. He had kindly blue eyes, a stub nose, and a mouth that shut to like a rat-trap, and stayed shut. Under his chin hung a pair of half-moon whiskers which […]

Homo

Story type: Literature

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Dinner was over, and Mme. Constantin and her guests were seated under the lighted candles in her cosey salon. With the serving of the coffee and cigarettes, pillows had been adjusted to bare shoulders, stools moved under slippered feet, and easy lounges pushed nearer the fire. Greenough, his long body aslant, his head on the […]

I I had left Sandy MacWhirter crooning over his smouldering wood fire the day Boggs blew in with news of the sale of Mac’s two pictures at the Academy, and his reply to my inquiry regarding his future plans (vaguely connected with a certain girl in a steamer chair), “By the next steamer, my boy,” […]

Abijah’s Bubble

Story type: Literature

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1909 Ezekiel Todd, her dry, tight-fisted, lean father, had named her, bawling it out so loud that the more suitable, certainly the more euphonious, “Evangeline,” proffered in a timid whisper by her faded and somewhat romantic mother, was completely smothered. “I baptize thee, Evang–” began the minister, when Ezekiel’s voice rose clear: “Abijah, I tell […]

The Little Gray Lady

Story type: Literature

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I Once in a while there come to me out of the long ago the fragments of a story I have not thought of for years–one that has been hidden in the dim lumber-room of my brain where I store my by-gone memories. These fragments thrust themselves out of the past as do the cuffs […]

Fiddles

Story type: Literature

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This is Marny’s story, not mine. He had a hammer in his hand at the time and a tack between his teeth. “Going to hang Fiddles right under the old fellow’s head,” he burst out. “That’s where he belongs. I’d have given a ten-acre if he could have drawn a bead on that elk himself. […]

Forty Minutes Late

Story type: Literature

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It began to snow half an hour after the train started–a fine-grained, slanting, determined snow that forced its way between the bellows of the vestibules, and deposited itself in mounds of powdered salt all over the platforms and steps. Even the porter had caught some puffs on his depot coat with the red cape, and […]

“WILYUM!….._Wilyum!…..WILYUM!” It was mine host of the Ferry Inn at Cook-ham who was calling, and at the top of his voice–and a big-chested voice it was–the sound leaping into crescendo as the object of his search remained hidden. Then he turned to me: “He’s somewheres ’round the boat house–you can’t miss him–there’s too much of […]

Now and then in my various prowlings I have met a man with a personality; one with mental equipment, heart endowment, self-forgetfulness, and charm–the kind of charm that makes you glad when he comes and sorry when he goes. One was a big-chested, straight-backed, clear-eyed, clean-souled sea-dog, with arms of hickory, fingers of steel, and […]

He was looking through a hole–a square hole, framed about with mahogany and ground glass. His face was red, his eyes were black, his mustache–waxed to two needle-points–was a yellowish brown; his necktie blue and his uniform dark chocolate seamed with little threads of vermilion and incrusted with silver poker-chip buttons emblazoned with the initials […]

Sammy

Story type: Literature

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It was on the Limited: 10.30 Night Express out of Louisville, bound south to Nashville and beyond. I had lower Four. When I entered the sleeper the porter was making up the berths, the passengers sitting about in each other’s way until their beds were ready. I laid my bag on an empty seat, threw […]

Marny’s Shadow

Story type: Literature

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If you know the St. Nicholas–and if you don’t you should make its acquaintance at once–you won’t breakfast upstairs in that gorgeous room overlooking the street where immaculate, smilelees waiters move noiselessly about, limp palms droop in the corners, and the tables are lighted with imitation wax candles burning electric wicks hooded by ruby-colored shades, […]

Muffles–The Bar-Keep

Story type: Literature

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My friend Muffles has had a varied career. Muffles is not his baptismal name–if he were ever baptized, which I doubt. The butcher, the baker, the candlestick maker, and the brewer–especially the brewer–knew him as Mr. Richard Mulford, proprietor of the Shady Side on the Bronx–and his associates as Dick. Only his intimates knew him […]

His Last Cent

Story type: Literature

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Jack Waldo stood in his studio gazing up at the ceiling, or, to be more exact, at a Venetian church-lamp–which he had just hung and to which he had just attached a red silk tassel bought that morning of a bric-a-brac dealer whose shop was in the next street. There was a bare spot in […]

Captain Bob Brandt dropped in to-day, looking brown and ruddy, and filling my office with, a breeze and freshness that seemed to have followed him all the way in from the sea. “Just in, Captain?” I cried, springing to my feet, my fingers closing round his–no more welcome visitor than Captain Bob ever pushes open […]

I This all happened on the banks of the Seine, above St. Cloud–above Suresne, in fact, or rather its bridge–the new one that has pieced out the old one with the quaint stone arches that we love. A silver-gray haze, a pure French gray, hung over the river, softening the sky-line of the near-by hills, […]

"Doc" Shipman’s Fee

Story type: Literature

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It was in the Doctor’s own office that he told me this story. He has told me a dozen more, all pulled from the rag-bag of his experience, like strands of worsted from an old-fashioned reticule. Some were bright-colored, some were gray and dull–some black; most of them, in fact, sombre in tone, for the […]

I The man was a little sawed-off, red-headed Irishman, with twinkling, gimlet eyes, two up-curved lips always in a broad smile, and a pair of thin, caliper-shaped legs. His name was as brief as his stature. “Fin, your honor, by the grace of God. F-i-n, Fin. There was a ‘Mac’ in front of it once, […]

Long Jim

Story type: Literature

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Jim met me at the station. I knew it was Jim when I caught sight of him loping along the platform, craning his neck, his head on one side as if in search of someone. He had the same stoop in his shoulders; the same long, disjointed, shambling body–six feet and more of it–that had […]

No Respecter Of Persons

Story type: Literature

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I THE CRIME OF SAMANTHY NORTH I have been requested to tell this story, and exactly as it happened. The moral any man may draw for himself. I only want to ask my readers the question I have been asking myself ever since I saw the girl: Why should such things be among us? * […]

Jonathan

Story type: Literature

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He was so ugly,–outside, I mean: long and lank, flat-chested, shrunken, round-shouldered, stooping when he walked; body like a plank, arms and legs like split rails, feet immense, hands like paddles, head set on a neck scrawny as a picked chicken’s, hair badly put on and in patches, some about his head, some around his […]

Along The Bronx

Story type: Literature

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Hidden in our memories there are quaint, quiet nooks tucked away at the end of leafy lanes; still streams overhung with feathery foliage; gray rocks lichen-covered; low-ground meadows, knee-deep in lush grass; restful, lazy lakes dotted with pond-lilies; great, wide-spreading trees, their arms uplifted in song, their leaves quivering with the melody. I say there […]

Another Dog

Story type: Literature

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Do not tell me dogs cannot talk. I know better. I saw it all myself. It was at Sterzing, that most picturesque of all the Tyrolean villages on the Italian slope of the Brenner, with its long, single street, zigzagged like a straggling path in the snow,–perhaps it was laid out in that way,–and its […]

Brockway’s Hulk

Story type: Literature

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I first saw Brockway’s towards the close of a cold October day. Since early morning I had been tramping and sketching about the northern suburbs of New York, and it was late in the afternoon when I reached the edge of that high ground overlooking the two rivers. I could see through an opening in […]

A Gentleman Vagabond

Story type: Literature

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I I found the major standing in front of Delmonico’s, interviewing a large, bare-headed personage in brown cloth spotted with brass buttons. The major was in search of his very particular friend, Mr. John Hardy of Madison Square, and the personage in brown and brass was rather languidly indicating, by a limp and indecisive forefinger, […]

It was in the smoking-room of a Cunarder two days out. The evening had been spent in telling stories, the fresh-air passengers crowding the doorways to listen, the habitual loungers and card-players abandoning their books and games. When my turn came,–mine was a story of Venice, a story of the old palace of the Barbarozzi,–I […]

John Sanders, Laborer

Story type: Literature

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[The outlines of this story were given me by my friend Augustus Thomas, whose plays are but an index to the tenderness of his own nature.] He came from up the railroad near the State line. Sanders was the name on the pay-roll,–John Sanders, laborer. There was nothing remarkable about him. He was like a […]

Baeader

Story type: Literature

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I was sitting in the shadow of Mme. Poulard’s delightful inn at St. Michel when I first saw Baeader. Dinner had been served, and I had helped to pay for my portion by tacking a sketch on the wall behind the chair of the hostess. This high valuation was not intended as a special compliment […]

The Lady Of Lucerne

Story type: Literature

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I Above the Schweizerhof Hotel, and at the end of the long walk fronting the lake at Lucerne,–the walk studded with the round, dumpy, Noah’s-ark trees,–stands a great building surrounded by flowers and palms, and at night ablaze with hundreds of lamps hung in festoons of blue, yellow, and red. This is the Casino. On […]