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TOM AND HUCK’S HOWLING
ADVENTURE
 TOM AND HUCK’S
HOWLING ADVENTURE

THE FURTHER ADVENTURES OF TOM

SAWYER AND HUCKLEBERRY FINN

TIM CHAMPLIN

FIVE STAR
A part of Gale, Cengage Learning
Copyright © 2017 by Tim Champlin

All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are taken from the
King James Bible.
Five Star™ Publishing, a part of Gale, a Cengage Company.

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and
incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if
real, used fictitiously.

No part of this work covered by the copyright herein may be

reproduced or distributed in any form or by any means, except as
permitted by U.S. copyright law, without the prior written permission
of the copyright owner.

The publisher bears no responsibility for the quality of information

provided through author or third-party Web sites and does not have
any control over, nor assume any responsibility for, information
contained in these sites. Providing these sites should not be
construed as an endorsement or approval by the publisher of these
organizations or of the positions they may take on various issues.

LIBRARY OF CONGRESS CATALOGING-IN-PUBLICATION

DATA

Names: Champlin, Tim, 1937– author.

Title: Tom and Huck’s howling adventure : the further
adventures of Tom Sawyer and Huckleberry Finn / by
Tim Champlin.
 Description: First edition. | Waterville, Maine : Five
Star Publishing, a part of Cengage Learning, Inc., 2017.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017013566 (print) | LCCN
2017031828 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432837587 (ebook) |
ISBN 1432837583 (ebook) | ISBN 9781432837549
(ebook) | ISBN 1432837540 (ebook) | ISBN
9781432837624 (hardback) | ISBN 1432837621
(hardcover)

Subjects: | CYAC: Adventure and adventurers—Fiction. |

Characters in literature—Fiction. | Time travel—Fiction. |
Kidnapping—Fiction. | Coma— Fiction. | Missouri—History—
19th century—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Historical. |
FICTION / Action & Adventure.

Classification: LCC PZ7.1.C476 (ebook) | LCC PZ7.1.C476

Tom 2017 (print) | DDC [Fic]—dc23

LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017013566

First Edition. First Printing: September 2017

Find us on Facebook−
https://www.facebook.com/FiveStarCengage
Visit our website− http://www.gale.cengage.com/fivestar/
Contact Five Star Publishing at FiveStar@cengage.com

Printed in the United States of America

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 21 20 19 18 17
For my daughter, Liz,
with all my Love
and Admiration
 FOREWORD

Tim Champlin has succeeded where Mark Twain failed. Mark Twain
tried several times to write successful sequels to Adventures of
Huckleberry Finn, but for various reasons he could not finish them or
they did not succeed when they were published.
In 1884, the year Huckleberry Finn was published, Twain began
wr iting “Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer Among the Indians,” starting
the action where Huckleberry Finn ends, but for some reason he
gave it up after writing more than 200 pages of manuscript. It
centers around a kidnapping, and features some western scenes and
gruesome events, but Twain gave up the idea without figuring out
what would happen next. It remained unpublished until 1968.
In 1892 he wrote Tom Sawyer Abroad, which was published as a
book in 1894, and although it begins shortly after Huckleberry Finn
ends, it’s not really a sequel and was not successful. In this tale,
Tom, Huck, Jim, and a mad professor float across the Atlantic Ocean
toward Africa in a balloon. The mad professor falls overboard along
the way, and the story soon ends in Africa. A lot of other things
happen, but there’s hardly a plot— just a lot of action that leads
nowhere.
The same year Tom Sawyer Abroad was published, Twain wrote
another sequel, Tom Sawyer, Detective, which was published in book
form in 1896. This story centers around a murder mystery and
includes a lot of action that resembles Tom and Huck’s original
adventures. Much of the action takes place along the Mississippi
River in the same places as their original adventures. The tale ends
in a dramatic trial with Tom and Huck splitting a reward like they did
in The Adventures of Tom Sawyer, and although this story was
indeed a sequel to Twain’s original story, it also met with little
success.
 The year after Tom Sawyer, Detective was published, Twain wrote
a sequel to that work called “Tom Sawyer’s Conspiracy,” but it
remained unfinished like his first attempt and was not published until
1969. In this story Tom and Huck decide to pull a hoax on their
village, but are instead swept up into a murder for which their friend
Jim is falsely accused. The story takes place along the Mississippi
River and includes some characters from their original adventures,
and it also ends in a dramatic trial. There are scattered notes for
other stories about Tom and Huck that Twain planned, but he never
figured out exactly what to do with his two most famous characters
after their famous adventures came to a conclusion at the end of
Huckleberry Finn.
But Tim Champlin is not Mark Twain. Tim picks up where Twain
left off, and knows exactly what to do, and the result is a page-
turner that includes kidnappings, chase scenes, steamboats, gold
treasure, a tornado, mystery, guns, knives, close calls, a wagon
train, Indians, time travel, a girl who discovers she is tougher than
she thought, and a boy who learns about modern life from the past
in unexpected ways. Twain himself wrote other stories that include
all of these things. In fact, his own attempts at sequels to
Huckleberry Finn include most of these elements, and his 1889
book, A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, features time
travel. But Twain never managed to fit all of them into one of his
failed sequels to his world-famous masterpiece.
At the end of Tom Sawyer, Tom and Huck split a $12,000 reward,
and at the end of Huckleberr y Finn, Huck decides he must light out
for the territory. At the beginning of Tim’s tale, Tom and Huck are
planning to do just that, and are about to ask Jim to join them in
their scheme when events take an unexpected turn. Before they can
act on their desire for more adventures, they meet somebody from
the future who surprises them as much as they surprise him. Then
someone dear to them goes missing, and the adventures begin.
Tim’s themes are Twain’s themes, and Tim’s locales are Twain’s
locales, and Tom, Huck, Jim, and others speak authentically, just as
they did in Twain’s original tale. Their adventures are a logical
extension of their earlier adventures—a true sequel. Many others
have tried to bring Tom and Huck back to life in the more than one
hundred years since Twain’s last failed attempt, but none have
succeeded until now. More could be said, but why spoil the surprises
and the fun? What are you waiting for? You’ve got a book full of
pages in your hand waiting to be turned.
Kevin Mac Donnell,
Mark Twain Journal Legacy Scholar
Austin, Texas
 “And then Tom he talked along and talked along, and says, le’s all
three slide out of here one of these nights and get an outfit, and go
for howling adventures amongst the Injuns, over in the Territory, for
a couple of
weeks or two; and I says, all right that suits me, but I ain’t got no
money for to buy the outfit, and I reckon
I couldn’t get none from home, because it’s likely pap’s been back
before now and got it all away from Judge Thatcher and drunk it up.

“ ‘No, he hain’t,’ Tom says; ‘it’s all there yet—six thousand dollars
and more; and your pap hain’t ever been back since. Hadn’t when I
come away, anyhow.’ ”
—from the conclusion of Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark
Twain
 CHAPTER 1

Monday, June 4, 1849

St. Petersburg, Missouri

The dusty village on the west bank of the Mississippi was about to
explode, but nobody knew it.
Least of all did Tom Sawyer know it, concerned only with his
personal explosion of joy and relief that long-awaited summer
vacation had arrived.
Wiping the last of the sticky jam from his mouth with a sleeve, he
stepped out the front door of the two-story white frame house
where he lived with his Aunt Polly, older cousin, Mary, and half-
brother, Sid. He paused and surveyed his domain, which consisted of
the broad street and three or four buildings a half block in either
direction. The whole world lay at his feet, and his head was bursting
with possibilities.
How to fill this first wonderful day of summer—swimming, fishing,
kite flying, marbles, hoops? Naw! All that was child’s play, fine when
he was younger, but he’d been through some mighty adventures
these past two summers—enough for most boys to brag about for
years. Yet, at thirteen and a half years old, he wasn’t satisfied—only
poisoned for more.
His pirate gang had fallen apart, due mostly to grown-up
restrictions on robbery and murder. But that was simply make-
believe, anyhow, with wooden swords and secret blood oaths. He
was grown up now. And, as the Good Book said, “When I became a
man, I put away childish things.”
Stepping off the plank sidewalk, he took a deep breath of fresh
air. None of his friends was in sight. Following the path of least
resistance, he gravitated downhill toward the river a block away,
feeling the cool cobblestones under his feet, the callused soles not
yet leather-tough.
It was time to pick up where he’d left off at the end of last
summer’s adventure on the Phelps farm down in Arkansas. He’d
been fired up to continue their adventures by lighting out for the
territory with Huck and Jim.
But the bullet wound in his own leg had prevented it. Instead,
limping with a bandaged calf, he’d returned north on a steamboat to
St. Petersburg with Huck and Jim and Aunt Polly. For two or three
delicious weeks, he and Huck and Jim had been praised and honored
as returning heroes, fawned over, written about in the newspaper,
forced to tell their story over and over to eager ears.
Tom gloried in the other boys’ wide-eyed hero worship, their
secret envy, and the girls’ admiring glances. Continuing a slight limp
long after it was necessary, he wore ragged pants cut off at the knee
to exhibit the scar. And the grandest moment of all was when he
showed off the lead bullet he wore around his neck on an old watch
fob.
Blacks gathered from far and near to hear Jim’s tale. Wild as his
story was, he made his adventures better with each retelling, tossing
in witches to account for being lost in the fog, for turning him into a
blue-faced A-rab to scare strangers, for the sudden explosion of rats
in his prison cabin.
Now a free man, Jim had commenced working for the Widow
Douglas for wages, vowing to buy his wife and children out of
bondage “if it takes a hundert years.”
“Hey, Tom!”
The hail broke his reverie as Huck Finn approached from the foot
of Cardiff Hill.
“Hey, yourself. Where you headed?” It pained him to see Huck
dressed in a clean cotton shirt and pants that were a decent fit. And
his hair had been recently trimmed! Life at the widow’s was taking
its toll on his old friend. But he didn’t feel so bad when Huck, with a
glance over his shoulder, pulled a pipe from his pocket and stuck the
stem between his teeth without filling or lighting it. Huck had also
shucked his shoe leather.
The boys fell into step continuing toward the river landing another
block south.
“The Annabelle is due down from Keokuk, this mornin’,” Huck
said. “Reckon I’ll go see if anybody’s comin’ ashore here.”
“If they is, ’tain’t likely nobody we know,” Tom said. But watching
a steamboat land and discharge freight and passengers was always
an exciting spectacle.
The boys seated themselves on a stack of boxes above the
sloping cobblestone landing, staring out at the mass of green water
sliding past fifty feet away. Huck pulled out a leaf of limp, half-cured
tobacco and began shredding it to pack his pipe.
Tom fingered the lead bullet hanging from his neck. Its charm had
fled, vanishing with their brief glory and fame months ago.
“Huck, ’member when we come home last summer as heroes?”
“Yeah. That was a fine time.”
“But it didn’t last.”
“Nothin’ ever does.”
“Do you miss the old days before we was famous?”
“Maybe a little. But I didn’t scarcely have enough to eat then.
Now there’s plenty, even if I have to say grace over it all the time
and use a knife and fork and napkin and all them things.” He paused
with a faraway look as if recalling events of long ago. “Sleeping in
the woods or a hogshead is fine in warm weather. But come winter,
not even the old tannery or a hayloft can shut out the cold. These
here clothes like to smother me, but I reckon there’s always a price
to pay.”
“So you’re sayin’ you like it at the widow’s better than when you
was free?”
Huck didn’t reply for a few seconds as he struck a lucifer and
puffed his pipe to life.
“Wal, things ain’t all bad. The widow’s old maid sister, Miss
Watson, is dead and gone so she ain’t peckin’ at me no more. And
the widow she lets up on me now and again when she sees things is
scrapin’ too rough. I reckon it’s like drippin’ a tiny dose o’castor oil
on your tongue every day ’til, by ’n’ by, it don’t taste too bad. I can
still cuss and smoke if I go off by myself to do it. Take it all around, I
do miss my freedom, but I reckon I had enough o’ that other life.”
Tom’s stomach felt as if he’d swallowed a lead sinker. What he’d
feared most was coming to pass—Huck Finn was becoming
respectable. There would soon be nobody the boys could look up to
and envy.
“And, o’ course Jim’s there most o’ the time to talk over old times
with,” Huck continued. “And you’re here.” He leaned his elbows on
his knees and puffed, staring out over the vast sweep of water. The
cool breeze whisked the pipe smoke away. “I figure we have ’most
everythin’ we could ever want,” Huck continued, stretching his arms
wide. “Each of us owns a pile o’ gold worth more ’an six thousand
dollars from that treasure, Injun Joe’s dead, Pap’s dead, you was
able to set Muff Potter free from that murder charge, Miss Watson
give Jim his freedom in her will, and we had some mighty fine times
along the way whilst all them things was happenin’.” He paused to
tamp the fire in the corncob bowl with the head of a square nail.
“Even school’s tole’ble, I reckon. Switchin’ don’t mean shucks after
the beatings Pap give me. And I’m learnin’ to write a fair hand, and
cipher and been discoverin’ lots o’ stuff about kings and revolutions
and such I never knowed before.”
Tom sunk further inside himself at this. A few seconds later, he
mustered up strength to say, “Huck, are you sayin’ you’re done with
havin’ adventures for the rest of your life?”
“Wal . . . no, I reckon not. But I can’t think o’ nothin’ right now
we ain’t done already.”
“Don’t you recollect what we talked about last summer down on
the Phelps farm?”
“What’s that?”
“Lighting out for new adventures in the territory amongst the
Injuns and all that. And you said you was agreeable, but didn’t have
no money to buy an outfit because you figured your pap had come
back here and got it all away from Judge Thatcher and drunk it up.”
“Yeah, I do sorta recollect that.”
“Well, are you still ready to go?”
“Hmm . . .”
“What else you fixin’ to do all summer?” Tom insisted. “We’ll grab
Jim and use some of our money to buy horses and gear and we’ll
just haul off and go.”
“Tom, you know I always been up for trying ’most anything you
come up with, ’cepten for that crazy stuff like goin’ on a crusade and
choppin’ off folks’ heads and all that.”
“No, no. I’m talking about a real grown-up adventure this time. If
we like it well enough the first week or two, we can head farther
west. I s’pect nearly half this village has already traipsed off toward
California, chasin’ gold. To keep it from being too dangersome, we
could hook up with a wagon train for safety. They say they’s herds of
buffalo stretchin’ as far as you can see. And those wild Plains Injuns
. . . Well, no telling what else we’d see or what could happen.”
“You know your Aunt Polly ain’t gonna let you do nothin’ o’ the
kind.”
“I ain’t gonna ask her. I’ll leave her a note.”
“Sid would find out and tell her sure.”
“I’d bust his head if he did.”
“And the widow, she ain’t gonna let Jim take off on some wild trip
like that.”
“Jim’s free. He can do what he wants.”
“But he wants to keep workin’ so’s to buy his wife and children
out of slavery.”
“Huck, you and me both know Jim ain’t gonna live long enough to
do that with the wages he’s earnin’.”
“How much money d’ya reckon it’d take to buy Jim’s family?”
Huck wondered, staring off across the river. “We oughta dig into our
pile o’ gold to help him.”
 “Sure enough. I was thinkin’ the same. We can slip around and
find out how much a mother and two little kids is sellin’ for these
days. But we can’t let on we want to buy ’em or their owner’ll boost
up the price.”
“Yeah, and we’d best not tell Jim ’til they’re free, in case sumpin’
goes wrong,” Huck cautioned. “Could be Providence will detour
another direction.”
“That’s it! We could surprise him when we’re all back home from
the territory,” Tom said, warming to his subject. “It’ll be the best
thing that ever happened to Jim—besides gettin’ his own freedom.”
But then Tom had a better idea. “Looky here, if I can’t convince Jim
to go, I’ll use that for the clincher. We’ll promise to buy his family if
he goes with us to the territory.”
“You’re talkin’ like we already decided to go,” Huck said. “Even if
Jim wants to go—which he won’t—the widow, she ain’t gonna turn
me loose. I reckon I’m in her charge now, and obliged to do what
she says.”
Tom ignored this comment and plunged ahead. “Maybe we could
roust up Joe Harper and Ben Rogers to come along, too.”
But Huck shook his head. “Their folks is even tougher than your
Aunt Polly.”
“Huck Finn, I don’t know what to think of such a sap-headed fool.
Ain’t you possessed of no gumption atall? You used to do whatever
took your fancy, and was game for any new enterprise. Now you’re
talkin’ like half the remainders of the folks in this one-horse village
who act like they’re hitched to singletrees and horse collars.”
“And what about Becky Thatcher?”
“What about her?”
“I thought you was sweet on her.”
“Girls come and go.” He squirmed a bit as an early pang of
loneliness stabbed his innards. “Anyways, she ain’t gonna be around.
Her father’s taking her down to visit her cousins in Marsville for three
weeks. She ain’t comin’ back ’til the fourth of July. You think I’m
gonna sit around here wastin’ vacation while she’s off havin’ a
larrupin’ good time? Not by a durn sight. I got better things to do.
She’ll be mighty proud o’ me when I come back the end of summer
brown as an Injun, feathers in my long hair, speakin’ Sioux, wearin’
buckskin britches like a mountain man . . .”
“We been heroes before, you recollect, and it didn’t last no time.”
“That’s what living a life of adventure is all about,” Tom said,
struggling to hold onto his patience. “It don’t stop. New things all
the time. If you quit and sit down, you go to seed and before you
can spit, you die. You want that?”
“Don’t reckon I do.”
“Well, then, let’s snag Jim and bring some fishin’ lines and go over
to Jackson’s Island and talk it over. If he’s agreeable to go, it’d be
good to have him along ’cause he’s a full-grown man, and plenty
strong in case o’ trouble. And a nigger’d be an almighty curiosity
amongst them Injuns who likely ain’t never seen one before.”
Huck drew on his pipe, discovered the fire was dead, and tapped
out the dottle on a paving stone.
“I’m agreeable. We need a boat to row over t’ the island.”
“Go roust out Jim and I’ll borrow one. One of these days I’m
gonna buy one.”
“Reckon it’d be good to have a skiff if we’re gonna do much fishin’
this summer,” Huck said. “The widow says ‘borrowing’ ain’t nothin’
but a soft word for stealin’ anyhow. How’s a body supposed to feel
when he has enough gold to waller in? Somehow I don’t feel no
different, even though I could buy a boat or anything else I want.”
“We don’t have all the money we want,” Tom corrected him. “We
can only lay our hands on whatever interest that money earns—
about a dollar a day last I looked.”
“Well, that’s enough for me,” Huck said. “Don’t reckon I have that
much to buy, nowadays, but maybe some fish hooks or tobacco.”
“We’ll have to talk the judge into dippin’ into our gold if we buy
horses and outfits,” Tom said.
“How you gonna do that if you want t’ keep this all a secret?”
Huck asked.
“I’ll make up some kind o’ story to tell him,” Tom said.
 “Yeah. I learnt about dealin’ with grown-ups when me and Jim
was on the river,” Huck said. “Mostly, I trusted to Providence to put
the right words in my mouth when I needed ’em to keep us outa
trouble. But I warn’t as smart about that the year before when we
found the gold. Now I look back on it, maybe we shoulda kept it all
a dark secret, not told nobody and hid it somers so we could spend
as much as we wanted on anything we had a mind to.”
“Comes o’ living with tethers on us,” Tom said, a little sadly. “I
hope you ain’t discovered that too late.”
As the boys left the levee, the stern-wheeler Annabelle hove into
view from around an upstream bend and swung wide, puffing black
smoke, her paddle wheel slowing, as she swung in toward the
landing.
 CHAPTER 2

“So you catch runaway niggers for a living?” “Chigger” Smealey said,
eyeing his drinking companion in the smoky light of an overhead
Rochester lamp. He was only into his second drink and still cautious
around this stranger who’d bought the bottle they were sharing.
“Shh! Not so loud, Smealey,” Gus Weir hissed, glancing around at
the other men in the riverside tavern. “You want everybody in
Keokuk to know my business?”
“I’d a thought most folks on the river would know you already if
you been at this awhile,” Smealey said.
“Hell, no!”
Smealey felt the obsidian eyes bore into him. He looked down and
toyed with his glass. This guy is fearsome; I’d best be careful. Weir
was a lean, muscular man, of about thirty-five—younger than
Smealey. His collar-length black hair and black eyebrows made his
sun-bronzed skin even darker. The face was cloven by a straight
nose that overhung a drooping black mustache, tinged with gray.
Smealey had the uneasy feeling that looking dead-on into this man’s
face was like staring down a water moccasin.
“I operate in disguise, generally,” Weir continued. “Sometimes I
wear a wig, sometimes a beard, sometimes a fake scar or a putty
nose. Use a bunch of aliases. That way if word slips out in some of
these little burgs that a stranger’s in the area, ain’t nobody knows
it’s the same person who snagged a nigger offen a farm hereabouts
only two weeks ago.”
“Is Augustus Weir your real name?”
“Yeah. But it ain’t Augustus. Gus is short for ‘Gussage.’ ”
“What kinda name is that?” Smealey said before he thought.
But the hunter seemed to take no offense. “It means ‘water
gushing out of the ground.’ Name of some place in the old country
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+ − Springf’d Republican p9a Jl 4 ’20 1100w

“No man can seriously pretend that he is able to write with equal
authority on the Prince of Wales, Marshal Foch, President Wilson,
M. Clemenceau, the Bishop of London, Mr Hilaire Belloc, Sir Thomas
Beecham, and Mr Frank Brangwyn—to take only a few names at
random. Another unfortunate thing for Mr Raymond is that in his
‘Uncensored celebrities’ he had picked out the largest plums.
However, even here Mr Raymond has his effective flashes, for he is a
clever draughtsman with the pen, especially upon political subjects.
There is real humour, as well as observation.”

+ − The Times [London] Lit Sup p729 D 11

’19 950w
 RAYMOND, E. T. Life of Arthur James Balfour.
il *$3 Little

20–20922

“Most distinct as an individual, Mr Arthur James Balfour belongs

to an easily recognisable type, represented both in England and
France by a number of statesmen who owe their fame less to any
specific performance than to the impression created by their
intellectual brilliance.... He has always been credited with an
indefinable superiority over his performances. They have been
notable; but it is vaguely felt that the man is more notable still; in the
midst of his greatest failures he was more interesting than other men
in their most triumphant success. With others the “might-have-been”
is a reproach: with men like Mr Balfour it is a tribute: they please in
disappointing.” (Chapter I) The book is indexed.

“Wit, irony, detachment—these a writer must have if he is to ‘do’

Mr Balfour, and Mr Raymond has them. Why then does he leave us
unsatisfied? At bottom, we think, because he does not bring the
philosopher and the politician into any real relation.” S. W.

+ − Ath p808 D 10 ’20 1050w

+ Booklist 17:153 Ja ’21

“His book is not ‘A life’ in any vital sense; it being a mere

enlargement of a ‘Who’s who’ entry, with a few comments and
quotations thrown in. There are, to be sure, some bright and witty
things in the book.” F. P. H.

− + N Y Call p8 Ja 9 ’21 520w

 “Concise and serviceable biography.”

+ R of Rs 63:110 Ja ’21 110w

“Mr ‘Raymond’s’ biography of Mr Balfour is an entertaining book.

He states the facts fairly, and his comments are lively and on the
whole sympathetic. But the author is obviously conscious of
difficulties.”

+ Spec 125:856 D 25 ’20 780w

“He has not, in spite of the claim put forward in the title, produced
what is commonly understood by a biography. The study is, in the
first place, limited to a single aspect of Mr Balfour’s many-sided
personality, and, in the second place, objective; but to say that is, by
no means, to deny that it is worth reading. Within its limitations, it is
brilliantly clever.”

+ − The Times [London] Lit Sup p727 N 11

’20 900w

[2]
RAYMOND, GEORGE LANSING. Ethics and
natural law. *$2 Putnam 171

20–11578

“Intuitionalism is restated and made to account for all our ethical

judgments. Conscience is asserted to be the basis of obligation, and
the whole ethical problem is treated on psychological basis, as a
conflict of the desires of the mind and of the body. All the particular
problems treated, among them courtship and marriage, social
pleasures, commercial and business relations, government, are
solved by the exhortation to keep the mind’s desires uppermost.”—
Springf’d Republican

Springf’d Republican p9a O 24 ’20 140w

“The student of ethics will considerably fortify his knowledge of

the history of ethical thought by reading the book, especially the first
twelve chapters.”

+ The Times [London] Lit Sup p862 D 16

’20 440w

READE, WILLIAM HENRY VINCENT. Revolt

of labour against civilization. *$1 (*3s) Longmans 331

(Eng ed 20–9138)

“The author’s main thesis we shall best summarize in his own

words:—‘Progress in civilization does always and everywhere
manifest the working of a single and fundamental law—the greater
the necessity of things, the smaller their importance.’ To pass on to
the application of his thesis to the present situation, we find him in
whole-hearted opposition to the ideal, as he conceives it, of
Bolshevism, and the labour movement in general. In this he detects
the main and imminent danger to civilization. The conflict between
the Allies and the Germans was, he holds, of comparatively minor
importance, not because he defends or justifies our enemies, but
because he discovers no plain or clear-cut conflict of principle. The
real danger he descries in the attempt, on the part of the so-called
working-class, to evade or reverse his fundamental law of
civilization, to make the satisfaction of the most primitive needs the
only social activity of any value or deserving of any reward.”—The
Times [London] Lit Sup

Ath p1410 D 26 ’19 100w

Reviewed by H. J. Laski

Nation 110:594 My 1 ’20 200w

“Mr Reade has no specific remedy to propose: that indeed is a

merit of his essay, which is intended to make the reader think
furiously, and which achieves its purpose.”

+ Spec 123:735 N 29 ’19 200w

Survey 43:782 Mr 20 ’20 180w
The Times [London] Lit Sup p679 N 20
’19 300w

“Mr Reade’s book is one that provokes to disagreement; but for all
that, perhaps even because of it, it demands to be read. After all,
mere assent or dissent matters little compared with the pleasure to
be derived from contact with so vigorous and sincere an intellect, and
though we may traverse every one of his conclusions, it is with the
sense that Mr Reade is, at least in spirit, on the side of the angels.”

+ − The Times [London] Lit Sup p728 D 11

’19 1350w

READE, WINWOOD. Martyrdom of man; with

an introd. by F. Legge. *$2.50 Dutton 909

“This book was published in 1872. Its author’s first intention was
to write on the part which Africa had played in the world’s story. But
the conception grew under his hands until it became a full-fledged
philosophy of history. His guiding principle of explanation is given in
the last pages of the book. ‘I give to universal history a strange but
true title—“The martyrdom of man.” In each generation the human
race has been tortured that their children might profit by their woes.’
The successive stages in this painful upward struggle he designates
as war, religion, liberty, and intellect, and to each of them he devotes
a section of his book. But another stage is yet to be traversed: we
must in the interests of right thinking rid ourselves forever of
anthropomorphic religion. It was mainly owing to Reade’s attack on
Christianity that his book was passed over in disdainful silence by so
many. ‘The martyrdom of man’ has now reached its twenty-first
edition.”—Review

“Everything is made simple and clear with a few bold strokes, and
the multiplicity of the trees never obscures the woods. The lively style
is an added stimulus to the reader, for the author possessed an
undeniable talent for direct and forcible statement. When he
becomes enthusiastic in his narrative he can revivify the past as
tellingly as Macaulay, whom he resembles also in the crispness of his
sentences.” W. K. Stewart
 + Review 2:629 Je 16 ’20 1000w 550w
Springf’d Republican p10 Mr 19 ’20

RECOULY, RAYMOND. Foch: the winner of the

war. *$3 (4½c) Scribner

20–3252

This volume has been translated from the French by Mary

Cadwalader Jones. The author has been closely associated with
Marshal Foch as a brother-in-arms and in his estimation the co-
ordinated military talent in the Allied leaders found its highest
expression “in the keen intelligence and strategic genius of their
generalissimo—Foch.” The account of Foch’s career in the great war
is preceded by a short description of his family and earlier life.
Contents: Some glimpses of Foch; His family and his career; His
lectures at the Ecole de guerre; In command of the twentieth army
corps; At the head of the ninth army; The pursuit and the check; The
battle of Flanders; The French offensive of 1915; Verdun; The
Somme; A visit to Foch; The change of command; Foch,
generalissimo; The widening battle; Illustrations, maps, index.

“While Captain Recouly’s is not a very inspiring study of one of the

few men of undoubted military genius in the late war, it does help the
reader to some understanding of the man and to make clearer to him
the battles fought by Foch.”

+ − Ath p273 Ag 27 ’20 230w

Booklist 16:241 Ap ’20
 + Springf’d Republican p8 Je 4 ’20 450w

[2]
REED, EARL H. Tales of a vanishing river. il
*$3 (5c) Lane

20–22228

The river was the Kankakee, near the southern end of Lake
Michigan, and once the main confluent of the Illinois. Once it lapped
its leisurely course with many ramifications through low marsh
lands, teeming with natural beauty and bird life, the home of the
Miami and Pottowattomie Indians. Now the Indians and the beauty
and the birds are gone and a mighty ditch of straight-channelled
course has drained away the marshes. The book is an attempt at the
interpretation of the life along the river that has vanished and is
illustrated with sketches by the author. The contents are: The
vanishing river; The silver arrow; The brass bound box; The “Wether
book” of Buck Granger’s grandfather; Tipton Posey’s store; Muskrat
Hyatt’s redemption; The turkey club; The predicaments of Colonel
Peets; His unlucky star.

“All have a rich flavor of newness, of freshness, of originality.” E. J.

C.

+ Boston Transcript p4 Ja 15 ’21 620w

“When you establish yourself in front of a wood fire in an easy

chair with an hour or two of leisure to look forward to, an excellent
book to have at hand is ‘Tales of a vanishing river.’”
 + Ind 103:442 D 25 ’20 100w

“Mr Reed writes with a queer, mellow philosophy and humor and
in a gently meandering style which seems to recapture something of
the slow, placid course of the river whose loss he mourns.”

+ − N Y Evening Post p10 Ja 8 ’21 230w

“They are invariably quaint and whimsical. Perhaps the most

diverting is ‘The “wether book” of Buck Granger’s grandfather.’ Like
the companion volume on the dunes of Lake Michigan, this work is
rather unusual in character and invariably entertaining.”

+ Springf’d Republican p6 D 27 ’20 420w

REES, ARTHUR JOHN. Hand in the dark. *$2

(1½c) Lane

20–13345

A house party at an English country home is going on. The guests

are at dinner when they are startled by a woman’s shriek of horror,
followed by the report of a pistol. They flock upstairs, to find Mrs
Heredith, a bride of three months, the victim of murder. The police
start investigations which result in the arrest of Hazel Rath, the
daughter of the housekeeper. Altho she pleads innocence there are
many suspicious things in her conduct which she refuses to explain.
Philip Heredith, husband of the murdered girl, does not believe her
guilty, and hires a private detective, who suspects Captain Nepcote, a
house guest at the time of the murder. Then, from an unexpected
quarter, comes a clue to the actual criminal, who had planned his
crime with such diabolical skill and cunning, aided by chance, that it
was only by as strange a chance that he was ever discovered.

“A detective story above the average, though to some readers it will

seem too long drawn out and to others too tragic.”

+ Booklist 17:160 Ja ’21

“The details are rather gruesome, but the plot is one of the best of
the year.”

+ Cleveland p107 D ’20 40w

“Mr Rees has set before the reader a mystery whose blind and
baffling qualities are likely to puzzle and lead astray the most astute
and skillful of lovers of detective fiction. For the author writes well,
with a good, forceful, interesting style, makes graphic and pleasing
pictures of his background, and puts vitality and individuality into
the delineation of his characters.”

+ N Y Times 25:26 Jl 25 ’20 620w

“The book is better written than the average crime tale.”

+ Outlook 125:647 Ag 11 ’20 50w

“In this detective story the murderer is really ingenious, and will
not easily be discovered. Mr Rees has spent too much time at the
beginning in picturing old-world details, and elsewhere by being
‘literary’ he delays the action of the story which is everything in a tale
of this sort.”

+ − Sat R 130:525 D 25 ’20 130w

“Mr Rees spins us with deft entanglements another of his first-

class mystery yarns.”

+ The Times [London] Lit Sup p781 N 25

’20 80w

REES, BYRON JOHNSON, ed. Modern

American prose selections. $1 (1c) Harcourt 810.8

20–10539

A selection of some twenty examples of modern American prose.

The compiler’s aim has been to bring together examples of “typical
contemporary prose, in which writers who know whereof they write
discuss certain present-day themes in readable fashion.” Among the
selections are: Abraham Lincoln, by Theodore Roosevelt; American
tradition, by Franklin K. Lane; Our future immigration policy, by
Frederic C. Howe; A new relationship between capital and labor, by
John D. Rockefeller, jr.; My uncle, by Alvin Johnson; When a man
comes to himself, by Woodrow Wilson; The education of Henry
Adams, by Carl Becker; The struggle for an education, by Booker T.
Washington; Traveling afoot, by John Finley; Old boats, by Walter
Prichard Eaton.
 Booklist 17:147 Ja ’21

REID, FORREST. Pirates of the spring. *$1.90

(2c) Houghton

20–26325

The story is of a boy, Beach Traill, not clever at books, but of

unusual integrity of character, and of his friends. They are all at the
same school, three of them, and a fourth has recently been added as a
sort of disturbing element. This fourth is Evans, a handsome,
intellectual, timid lad, a bit off-caste socially, and somewhat lacking
in manly spirit and upstanding courage. Troubles come, partly
through bad influence, partly through irrepressible animal spirits,
but the boys’ uprightness finds a way out. Beach wins out with his
widowed mother and against a suitor of hers whom he detests. Beach
and Miles fight it out in fierce battle which rivets their friendship.
Palmer, the most clever, subtle and daring of the three, holds his own
through his strong sense of justice, and it is in him that Beach
eventually discovers, with an exuberant sense of happiness, his real
friend.

Ath p338 Mr 12 ’20 500w

“There is no climax in the story, but only the flow of everyday

happenings, no progress but the development of the boys’ characters;
and the whole is told in a narrative of quiet beauty.”
 + Booklist 16:246 Ap ’20

“Lovers of boys will appreciate the sympathetic understanding of

Mr Reid’s portraying. The story gives added pleasure in its
descriptions of the countryside and is altogether an artistic delight.”

+ Boston Transcript p4 Ap 7 ’20 360w

“The narrative is of a singular though very quiet beauty—a beauty

gained partly by the writer’s marvellous closeness to his subject,
partly by his cool tenderness, partly by his sense of the almost pagan
interpenetration of nature and the lives of his characters.”

+ Nation 110:305 Mr 6 ’20 260w

“‘Pirates of the spring’ is less a story than a study of character

development during the troubled and turbulent years of adolescence,
a study handled delicately and sympathetically; with much subtlety
and many deft touches of humor. It is of course admirably written.”

+ N Y Times 25:148 Mr 28 ’20 400w

Review 2:310 Mr 27 ’20 500w
+ Sat R 130:40 Jl 10 ’20 100w

“One thinks of this book with Richard Pryce’s ‘Christopher,’ Hugh

Walpole’s ‘Jeremy’ and E. F. Benson’s ‘David Blaize.’ But
discriminating taste will accord a higher degree of artistry to Mr
Reid’s work than to the efforts of these able delineators of adolescent
boyhood. The mentality and philosophy of boyhood are an open book
to Mr Reid.”

+ Springf’d Republican p11a Mr 21 ’20

600w

“The boys are boys, and not merely the mouthpieces of ideas.”

+ − The Times [London] Lit Sup p173 Mr 11

’20 220w

[2]
REIK, HENRY OTTRIDGE. Tour of America’s
national parks. il *$4 Dutton 711

20–18059

“Colonel Reik’s book brings out the distinctive features of the

greatest of these western parks. He shows that no two of them are
alike, that each is worth seeing on its own account. While he has not
attempted to write a guide book in the ordinary sense of the term, his
chapters contain much of the kind of information that is sought in
guide books and that will be found indispensable to anyone
attempting a tour of the parks for the first time.”—R of Rs

+ N Y Evening Post p30 O 23 ’20 270w

Reviewed by B. R. Redman
 + N Y Times p9 Ja 9 ’21 100w
+ R of Rs 62:672 D ’20 160w

REPINGTON, CHARLES À COURT. First

world war, 1914–1918. 2v *$12 Houghton 940.48

20–22246

“Colonel Repington in two stout volumes has recorded his

‘personal experience’ of the great war, and in so doing has given to
the public the first of the great books of the war that is not simply
military, political or diplomatic, but a combination of each that is
focused on the personal activity and relationship of a single
individual who was behind the scenes and in touch with almost every
phase of the war. These pages of personal experiences during the war
are a ‘contribution towards the elucidation of the truth so far as I was
able to ascertain it at the time, and will, I hope, enable many to
understand better the events of these memorable years,’ Colonel
Repington declares. They are given from his diaries as he
scrupulously kept them, recording the most trivial incidents
innocently tucked away in some social engagement of chance
meeting of soldiers, statesmen, journalists, or comments of the larger
events which followed each other with such amazing rapidity.”—
Boston Transcript

“Colonel Repington is, in fact, so simple that we cannot take any

interest in him. His views on the war, in any important sense, are
negligible. The only portions of his diary of any interest are his items
of political and military information and the light he throws on
prominent personages connected with the war. For the rest, and
except when his professional interests are awakened and he gives
lists of troops and ‘wastage’ figures, the whole diary is at the gossip
level.”

− + Ath p436 O 1 ’20 1250w

Booklist 17:149 Ja ’21
+ Boston Transcript p4 O 20 ’20 1150w

“Colonel Repington moves between a bloodbath and a stale

spittoon, and is apparently prouder of dipping his pen in the latter
than in the former.” Shane Leslie

− Dial 59:64 D ’20 1050w

“The book is a curiosity. We have not been able to find in it the

slightest evidence that Col. Repington, viewing the supreme tragedy
of secular history, was even remotely aware of its human
implications. He could observe a world convulsed, and report upon it
without compassion, without gravity, without understanding.”
Lawrence Gilman

− Freeman 2:499 F 2 ’21 1800w

“As a diarist he is intimate and unaffected and racy and explicit

like Pepys, and he is almost as disconcertingly complete.”

+ Nation 111:786 D 29 ’20 320w

“The self-assurance of Colonel Repington is to be noted. It is to

that self-assurance, plus his vanity, that we owe this monumental
book. But if we do not get too weary of his ‘practically no English
articles are read and discussed except mine,’ we may find
illumination—most of it unintentional—in his accounts of his work
running to and fro between the generals, the politicians and the
press.” F. H.

+ − New Repub 24:274 N 10 ’20 3500w

“He has produced an extraordinarily interesting gossip-book

which will doubtless be widely read and extensively commented
upon. It is apparent from the briefest characterization of this
amazing book that it is on the delineation of society in the war that
the readers will linger longest. It is one long indiscretion.” W. C.
Abbott

− + N Y Evening Post p2 N 27 ’20 1350w

“To an American reader the chief criticism to be made of all these

accounts of luncheons, dinners and concerts in the company of the
rich and fashionable is that they are intolerably wearisome. Colonel
Repington continually speaks of the play of wit in these high circles,
but gives very few examples of it.”

+ − N Y Times p1 O 24 ’20 2400w

Reviewed by E. L. Pearson

Review 3:376 O 27 ’20 340w

“In short, his tendency to take his hostesses overseriously, apart

from some waste of space, does little to impair the value of an
enlightening book. His taste may be a bit at fault but rarely his
judgment.”

+ Review 3:559 D 8 ’20 800w

“This is the best book on the war that has appeared, and we hope it
is the last. Everybody is sick of the war, its horrors and its squabbles,
and wants to forget it. The excellence of the book consists in its
twofold claim on our attention. There is the exhaustive criticism of
the conduct of the war by a military expert of European reputation:
and there is the picture of manners in that section of society ruled by
American women, drawn by one who lived in its favour.”

+ Sat R 130:260 S 25 ’20 1450w

“Go into a shady part of the garden, or better still, into a damp
shrubbery and lift up some big flat stone. Underneath you will find a
quantity of crawling creatures, disturbed by the light so suddenly let
in upon them.... Such a garden adventure recurs irresistibly to the
mind as one reads Colonel Repington’s diary of the war years.... As to
the enlightenment which his book should bring in regard to the way
in which public affairs are too often handled, as to the advantages of
the lessons to be learnt, and finally as to the value of this first step in
the reform which comes with knowledge, we have no doubt
whatever.”

+ Spec 125:434 O 2 ’20 2900w

REPPLIER, AGNES. Points of friction. *$1.75

(4c) Houghton 814