Georges Ohnet - "Serge Panine, v1"

William Gardner - "The Life of Stephen A. Douglas"

Oscar Wilde - "Lady Windermere's Fan"

Saki - "The Unbearable Bassington"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Hira Singh

T >> Talbot Mundy >> Hira Singh




"It might serve perhaps between one village and the next, while the
batteries persisted," they said, reporting to the amir presently.
The amir laughed, but I thought he looked puzzled-perplexed, rather
than displeased. He turned to Ranjoor Singh:

"And you are a liar, too?" he asked.

"Nay, Your Royal Highness, I speak truth," said Ranjoor Singh,
saluting him in military manner.

"Then what do you wish?" asked the amir. "Do you wish to be
interned, seeing this is neutral soil on which you trespass?"

"Nay, Your Royal Highness," answered Ranjoor Singh, with a curt
laugh, "we have had enough of prison camps."

"Then what shall be done with you?" the amir asked. "Here are men
from both sides, and how shall I be neutral?"

The German chief stepped forward and saluted.

"Your Royal Highness, we desire to be interned," he said. But the
amir glowered savagely.

"Peace!" said he. "I asked you nothing, one string of lies was
enough! I asked thee a question," he said, turning again to Ranjoor
Singh.

"Since Your Royal Highness asks," said Ranjoor Singh, "it would be a
neutral act to let us each leave your dominions by whichever road we
will!"

The amir laughed and turned to his attendants, who laughed with him.

"That is good," said he. "So let it be. It is an order!"

So it came about, sahib, that the Germans and ourselves were ordered
hotfoot out of the amir's country. But whereas there was only one
way the Germans could go, viz, back into Persia, there to help
themselves as best they could, the road Ranjoor Singh chose was
forward to the Khyber Pass, and so down into India.

Aye, sahib, down into India! It was a long road, but the Afghans
were very kind to us, providing us with food and blankets and giving
some of us new horses for our weary ones, and so we came at last to
Landi Kotal at the head of the Khyber, where a long-legged English
sahib heard our story and said "Shabash!" to Ranjoor Singh--that
means "Well done!" And so we marched down the Khyber, they signaling
ahead that we were coming. We slept at Ali Mas jib because neither
horses nor men could move another yard, but at dawn next day we were
off again. And because they had notice of our coming, they turned
out the troops, a division strong, to greet us, and we took the
salute of a whole division as we had once taken the salute of two in
Flanders, Ranjoor Singh sitting his charger like a graven image, and
we--one hundred three-and-thirty men and the prisoner Tugendheim,
who had left India eight hundred strong-reeling in the saddle from
sickness and fatigue while a roar went up in Khyber throat such as I
scarcely hope to hear again before I die. Once in a lifetime, sahib,
once is enough. They had their bands with them. The same tune burst
on our ears that had greeted us that first night of our charge in
Flanders, and we--great bearded men--we wept like little ones. They
played IT IS A LONG, LONG WAY TO TIPPERARY.

Then because we were cavalry and entitled to the same, they gave us
BONNIE DUNDEE and the horses cantered to it; but some of us rolled
from the saddle in sheer weakness. Then we halted in something like
a line, and a general rode up to shake hands with Ranjoor Singh and
to say things in our tongue that may not be repeated, for they were
words from heart to heart. And I remember little more, for I, too,
swooned and fell from the saddle.

The shadows darkened and grew one into another. Hira Singh sat
drawing silently in the dust, with his injured feet stretched out in
front of him. A monkey in the giant tree above us shook down a
little shower of twigs and dirt. A trumpet blared. There began much
business of closing tents and reducing the camp to superhuman
tidiness.

"So, sahib," he said at last, "they come to carry me in. It is time
my tale is ended. Ranjoor Singh they have made bahadur. God grant
him his desire! May my son be such a man as he, when his day comes.

"Me! They say I shall be made commissioned officer--the law is
changed since this great war began. Yet what did I do compared to
what Ranjoor Singh did? Each is his own witness and God alone is
judge. Does the sahib know what this war is all about?

"I believe no two men fight for the same thing. It is a war in each
man's heart, each man fighting as the spirit moves him. So, they
come for me. Salaam, sahib. Bohut salaam. May God grant the sahib
peace. Peace to the sahib's grandsons and great-grandsons. With each
arm thus around a trooper's neck will the sahib graciously excuse me
from saluting?"

THE END