Harrie Irving Hancock (1866/8-1922) was an American chemist and writer, mainly remembered as an author of children’s literature and juveniles in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. A prolific author who liked to work at night, Hancock wrote for the New York Journal, the New York World, and Leslie’s Weekly. He was a journalist for the Boston Globe, served as a war correspondent in Cuba and the Philippines during the Spanish-American War, and produced more than 50 serials for Norman Munro’s juvenile magazine Golden Hours between 1889 and 1901. His output included westerns, detective stories, historical adventures and several series of books for boys. He also published books on physical fitness and an Encyclopedia of Knowledge and Manners, and served as the editor of a History of West Point. He is perhaps best known for his four-book series The Invasion of the United States (1916), which depicted a fictional invasion of the USA by Germany in 1920-21 - reflecting, and to some degree helping to intensify, the shift of American public opinion towards getting involved in The First World War.

Clang! "Attention, please." The barely audible droning of study ceased promptly in the big assembly room of the Gridley High School. The new principal, who had just stepped into the room, and who now stood waiting behind his flat-top desk on the platform, was a tall, thin, severe-looking man of thirty-two or three. For this year Dr. Carl Thornton, beloved principal for a half-score of years, was not in command at the school. Ill health had forced the good old doctor to take at least a year's rest, and this stranger now sat in the Thornton chair. "Mr. Harper," almost rasped out Mr. Cantwell's voice, "stop rustling that paper."

I'm going to play quarter-back, declared Drayne stolidly. "You?" demanded Captain Dick Prescott, looking at the aspirant in stolid wonder. "Of course," retorted Drayne. "It's the one position I'm best fitted for of all on the team." "Do you mean that you're better fitted for that post than anyone else on the team?" inquired Prescott. "Or that it's the position that best fits your talents?" "Both," replied Drayne. Dick Prescott glanced out over Gridley High School's broad athletic field. A group of the middle men of the line, and their substitutes, had gathered around Coach Morton.

I say you did! cried Fred Ripley, hotly. Dick Prescott's cheeks turned a dull red as he replied, quietly, after swallowing a choky feeling in his throat: "I have already told you that I did not do it." "Then who did do the contemptible thing?" insisted Ripley, sneeringly. Fully forty boys, representing all the different classes at the Gridley High School, stood looking on at this altercation in the school grounds. Half a dozen of the girls, too, hovered in the background, interested, or curious, though not venturing too close to what might turn out to be a fight in hot blood. "If I knew," rejoined Dick, in that same quiet voice, in which one older in the world's ways might have detected the danger-signal, "I wouldn't tell you."

“Ho, ho, ho—hum!” grumbled Hank Butts, vainly trying to stifle a prodigious yawn. “This may be what Mr. Seaton calls a vacation on full pay, but I’d rather work.” “It is fearfully dull, loafing around, in this fashion, on a lonely island, yet in plain sight of the sea that we long to rove over,” nodded Captain Tom Halstead of the motor yacht “Restless.” “Yet Hank just put us in mind of the fact that we’re getting paid for our time,” laughed Joe Dawson, the least restless of the trio of young Motor Boat Club boys. “Oh it’s all right on the pay end,” agreed Hank, readily. “But just think of a young fellow, full of life and hope, with a dozen ambitions and a hustling nature, taking up with a job of this kind!” “What kind of job?” inquired Captain Tom. “The job of being bored,” answered Butts, solemnly. “I could have had that kind of job back on Long Island.” “Without the pay,” amended Joe Dawson, with another quiet smile. “But ten days of being bored does grow rather wearisome, even with the pay for a solace,” agreed Tom Halstead.

Product Description: This collection of literature attempts to compile many of the classic works that have stood the test of time and offer them at a reduced, affordable price, in an attractive volume so that everyone can enjoy them.

General Books publication date: 2009 Original publication date: 1911 Original Publisher: Henry Altemus Company Subjects: Fiction / Action

Product Description: This collection of literature attempts to compile many of the classic works that have stood the test of time and offer them at a reduced, affordable price, in an attractive volume so that everyone can enjoy them.

Product Description: This collection of literature attempts to compile many of the classic works that have stood the test of time and offer them at a reduced, affordable price, in an attractive volume so that everyone can enjoy them.

LIEUTENANT POPE, battalion adjutant of the first battalion of the Thirty-fourth United States Infantry, looked up from his office desk as the door swung open and a smart, trim-looking young corporal strode in. Pausing before the desk, the young corporal came to a precise, formal salute. Then, dropping his right hand to his side, the soldier stood at attention. "Good morning, Corporal Overton." "Good morning, sir." "What do you wish?" "I have been making inquiries, sir," continued Corporal Hal Overton, "and I am informed that you have some signaling flags among the quartermaster's stores." "I believe I have," nodded Lieutenant Pope. "I have come to ask, sir, if I may borrow a couple of the flags." "Borrow? Then, Corporal, I take it that you do not want the flags for duty purposes?"

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"Hello, Timmy!" "'Lo, Reade." "Warm night," observed Tom Reade, as he paused not far from the street corner to wipe his perspiring face and neck with his handkerchief. "Middling warm," admitted Timmy Finbrink. Yet the heat couldn't have made him extremely uncomfortable, for Tom Reade, amiable and budding senior in the Gridley High School, smiled good naturedly as he stood surveying as much as he could make out of the face of Timmy Finbrink in that dark stretch of the street.

It's the wreck of one of the grandest enterprises ever conceived by the human mind! complained Colonel W.P. Grundy, in a voice broken with emotion. A group of small boys grinned, though they offered no audible comment. "Such defeats often usually, in fact - come to those who try to educate the masses and bring popular intelligence to a higher level," was the colonel's declaration, as he wiped away a real or imaginary tear. On a nearby lot stood a large show tent, so grayed and frayed, so altogether dingy as to suggest that it had seen some summers of service ere it became briefly the property of Colonel Grundy.