The Open Boat and Other Stories (Dover Thrift Editions)

The Open Boat and Other Stories (Dover Thrift Editions)

Stephen Crane

Language: English

Pages: 112

ISBN: 0486275477

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub

Four prized selections by one of America's greatest writers: "The Open Boat," based on a harrowing incident in the author's life: the 1897 sinking of a ship on which he was a passenger; "The Blue Hotel" and "The Bride Comes to Yellow Sky," reflecting Crane's early travels in Mexico and the American Southwest; and the novella Maggie: A Girl of the Streets, a galvanizing portrait of life in the slums of New York City.

Catherine Carmier

The Witch of Bourbon Street

Maybe This Time

Driving on the Rim











teh my ol’ man, I says, ‘ Dat Johnson girl ain’t straight,’ I says. ‘ Oh, hell,’ he says. ‘ Oh, hell.’ ‘ Dat’s all right,’ I says, ‘ but I know what I knows,’ I says, ‘ an’ it’ ill come out later. You wait an’ see,’ I says, ‘you see.’ ” “Anybody what had eyes could see dat dere was somethin ’ wrong wid dat girl. I didn’t like her actions.” On the street Jimmie met a friend. “What deh hell?” asked the latter. Jimmie explained. “An’ I’ll tump’ im till he can’t stand.” “Oh, what deh hell,” said

wind-riven. It was probably splendid, it was probably glorious, this play of the free sea, wild with lights of emerald and white and amber. “Bully good thing it’s an onshore wind,” said the cook. “If not, where would we be? Wouldn’t have a show.” “That’s right,” said the correspondent. The busy oiler nodded his assent. Then the captain, in the bow, chuckled in a way that expressed humor, contempt, tragedy, all in one. “Do you think we’ve got much of a show now, boys?” said he. Whereupon the

they were made of tin. At last, Scully, elaborately, with boisterous hospitality, conducted them through the portals of the blue hotel. The room which they entered was small. It seemed to be merely a proper temple for an enormous stove, which, in the center, was humming with godlike violence. At various points on its surface the iron had become luminous and glowed yellow from the heat. Beside the stove Scully’s son Johnnie was playing High-Five with an old farmer who had whiskers both gray and

pose you’ll tell me now how much I owe you?” The old man remained stolid. “You don’t owe me nothin ’ .” “Huh!” said the Swede, “huh! Don’t owe ‘im nothin’.” The cowboy addressed the Swede. “Stranger, I don’t see how you come to be so gay around here.” Old Scully was instantly alert. “Stop!” he shouted, holding his hand forth, fingers upward. “Bill, you shut up!” The cowboy spat carelessly into the sawdust box. “I didn’t say a word, did I?” he asked. “Mr. Scully,” called the Swede, “how much

believe he was crazy.” “I feel sorry for that gambler,” said the Easterner. “Oh, so do I,” said the cowboy. “He don’t deserve none of it for killin ’ who he did.” “The Swede might not have been killed if everything had been square.” “Might not have been killed?” exclaimed the cowboy. “Everythin’ square? Why, when he said that Johnnie was cheatin’ and acted like such a jackass? And then in the saloon he fairly walked up to git hurt?” With these arguments the cowboy browbeat the Easterner and

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