Bøger af Ralph Henry Barbour

When Gordon Merrick neared the corner of Troutman Street he slowed down his bicycle and finally drew in at the curb, putting out a foot to hold himself in the saddle while he deliberated. So deep in thought was he that when the yellow watering cart trundled up, the driver half asleep under the blue and white umbrella, he never knew of it until the sprinkler had drenched him from foot to knee. The driver awoke at that moment and, looking back, saw Gordon

This Is A New Release Of The Original 1918 Edition.

Finkler's Field is a classic novel by Ralph Henry Barbour, first published in 1911. The story follows the adventures of a group of boys at a New England boarding school who form a baseball team and strive to become champions. The main character is Finkler, a talented pitcher who is determined to lead his team to victory. Along the way, the boys face challenges and obstacles, both on and off the field, but they learn important lessons about teamwork, sportsmanship, and the value of hard work. The novel captures the excitement and spirit of early 20th century baseball, as well as the joys and struggles of adolescence. Finkler's Field is a timeless tale of friendship, determination, and the power of sports to bring people together.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work.As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

A boy in a blue serge suit sat on the second tier of seats of an otherwise empty grand-stand and, with his straw hat pulled well over his eyes, watched the progress of a horse-drawn mower about a field. The horse was a big, well-fed chestnut, and as he walked slowly along he bobbed his head rhythmically. In the seat of the mower perched a thin little man in a pair of blue overalls and a shirt which had also been blue at one time, but which was now faded almost white. A broad-brimmed straw hat of the sort affected by farmers, protected his head from the noonday sun.

"How's craps, Country?" "Shut up, Bart! he may hear you." "What if he does, ninny? I want him to. Say, Spinach!" "Do you suppose he's going to try and play football, Bart?" "Not he. He's looking for a rake. Thinks this is a hayfield, Wall." The speakers were lying on the turf back of the north goal on the campus at Hillton Academy. The elder and larger of the two was a rather coarse-looking youth of seventeen. His name was Bartlett Cloud, shortened by his acquaintances to "Bart" for the sake of that brevity beloved of the schoolboy. His companion, Wallace Clausen, was a handsome though rather frail-looking boy, a year his junior. The two were roommates and friends. "He'd better rake his hair," responded the latter youth jeeringly. "I'll bet there's lots of hayseed in it!"

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At a few minutes past three o'clock on a particularly warm afternoon in late September of last year three boys removed themselves and their luggage from the top of a Fifth Avenue stage in New York City and set forth eastward along Forty-second Street. Although decidedly dissimilar in looks and slightly dissimilar in build, they showed, nevertheless, a certain uniformity of carriage and action and, to a lesser degree, of attire. There was nothing strange in that, however, since, for the last two years, at least, they had spent nine months of the twelve in the same place, at the same pursuits and under the same discipline. The likeness of attire was less in material and color than in a certain tasteful avoidance of the extremes. Joe Myers and Martin Proctor wore blue serge and Bob Newhall a brownish-gray tweed, and in no case was the coat snugged in to the figure or adorned with a belt in conformity to the dictums of the Rochester school of sartorial art. Joe and Bob wore gray-and-gold ribbons about their straw hats, Martin a plain black.

"Hold up!" Coach Robey, coatless, vestless, hatless, his old flannel trousers held up as by a miracle with the aid of a leather strap scarcely deserving the name of belt, pushed his way through the first squad players. The Brimfield Head Coach was a wiry, medium-sized man of about thirty, with a deeply-tanned face from which sharp blue eyes looked out under whitish lashes that were a shade lighter than his eyebrows and two shades lighter than his sandy hair. As the afternoon was excessively hot, even for the twenty-first day of September and in proximity to Long Island Sound, Mr. George Robey's countenance was bathed in perspiration and the faded blue silk shirt was plastered to his body.

"Dad, what does 'Mens sana in corpore sano' mean?" Mr. Edwards slightly lowered his Sunday paper and over the top of it frowned abstractedly at the boy on the window-seat. "Eh?" he asked. "What was that?" "'Mens sana in corpore sano, ' sir." "Oh!" Mr. Edwards blinked through his reading glasses and rustled the paper. Finally, "For a boy who has studied as much Latin as you have," he said disapprovingly, "the question is extraordinary, to say the least. I'd advise you to-hm-find your dictionary, Steve." And Mr. Edwards again retired from sight

This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions that are true to the original work.

His name was Myron Warrenton Foster, and he came from Port Foster, Delaware. In age he was seventeen, but he looked more. He was large for his years, but, since he was well proportioned, the fact was not immediately apparent. What did strike you at once were good looks, good health and an air of well-being. The pleasing impression made by the boy's features was, however, somewhat marred by an expression of self-satisfaction, and it may be that the straight, well-knit figure carried itself with an air of surety that was almost complacent. So, at least, thought one who witnessed Myron's descent from the New York train that September afternoon.

THE CRIMSON SWEATER'S FIRST APPEARANCE "Hello, Lobster!" The boy in the crimson sweater raised a pair of blue eyes to the speaker's face and a little frown crept into the sun-burned forehead; but there was no answer. "Where'd you get that sweater?" The older boy, a tall, broad-shouldered, deep-chested youth of nineteen, with a dark, not altogether pleasant face, paused on his way down the gymnasium steps and put the question sneeringly. Below, on the gravelled path leading to the athletic field, a little group of fellows had turned and were watching expectantly; Horace Burlen had a way of taking conceit out of new boys that was always interesting. To be sure, in the present case the new boy didn't look especially conceited-unless it is conceit to appear for football practice in a dandy crimson sweater which must have cost well up in two figures-but you never could tell, and, anyway, Horace Burlen was the school leader and had a right to do what he pleased. Just at present it pleased him to scowl fiercely, for the new boy was displaying a most annoying deliberation. Horace examined the other with awakening interest. He was a fairly tall youth, sixteen years of age, well set up with good chest and shoulders and rather wide hips. Like Horace, the younger boy was in football togs, only his sweater instead of being brown was crimson and in place of the letters "F H" sported by Horace the front of his garment showed where the inscription "H 2nd" had been ripped away. But the difference between the two boys didn't end there; Horace Burlen was tall and big and dark; Roy Porter was several inches shorter, not so wide of shoulder nor so deep of chest; and whereas Horace's hair was straight and black, Roy's was light, almost sandy, and was inclined to be curly. Under the hair was a good-looking sun-browned face, with a short, well-built nose, a good mouth and a pair of nice grey-blue eyes which at this moment were regarding Horace calmly. The older boy scowled threateningly.

The Arrival of Jimpson By Ralph Henry Barbour

Peggy-In-The-Rain is a novel written by Ralph Henry Barbour and published in 1913. The story revolves around a young girl named Peggy who lives in a small town in Massachusetts. Peggy's mother passed away when she was young, and she lives with her father and grandmother. Peggy is a spirited and independent girl who loves spending time outdoors and exploring the countryside. One day, while out on a walk, Peggy gets caught in a rainstorm and seeks shelter in a nearby barn. There she meets a young boy named Jack, who is also seeking shelter from the rain. The two quickly become friends and spend the afternoon playing games and telling stories. As the days go by, Peggy and Jack continue to spend time together, exploring the town and its surroundings. They have many adventures and help each other overcome their fears and challenges. However, their friendship is put to the test when Jack's family moves away, and Peggy must learn to cope with the loss of her friend. Peggy-In-The-Rain is a heartwarming story of friendship, adventure, and growing up. It portrays the innocence and simplicity of life in a small town in the early 1900s and the joys and challenges of childhood. The novel is a classic piece of American literature and a must-read for anyone who loves stories about friendship and coming of age.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.

Left Tackle Thayer is a novel written by Ralph Henry Barbour and first published in 1915. The story follows the life of a young man named Dick Thayer, who is the left tackle on his college football team. Thayer is a talented athlete, but he struggles with the pressures of playing football and maintaining his grades. Throughout the book, Thayer faces numerous challenges both on and off the field. He must navigate the politics of college sports, deal with injuries, and overcome personal obstacles. Along the way, he forms close friendships with his teammates and falls in love with a young woman named Betty. Left Tackle Thayer is a classic sports novel that explores the themes of perseverance, teamwork, and the pursuit of excellence. It is a timeless tale of a young man's journey to find his place in the world and achieve his dreams.This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the old original and may contain some imperfections such as library marks and notations. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions, that are true to their original work.

This scarce antiquarian book is a facsimile reprint of the original. Due to its age, it may contain imperfections such as marks, notations, marginalia and flawed pages. Because we believe this work is culturally important, we have made it available as part of our commitment for protecting, preserving, and promoting the world's literature in affordable, high quality, modern editions that are true to the original work.

Excerpt: ...and looked at her a trifle wistfully. "You can't understand just what Ed's death meant to me, Miss Walton. You see, he was about the only real friend I ever had, the only fellow I ever got real close to. And he was such a thoroughbred, and

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In response ten boys dressed in white shirts bearing the crimson H, white running pants, and spiked shoes disentangled themselves from the crowd about the dressing-room door and assembled at the corner of the grand stand. The youth who had uttered the command was the captain of the Hillton Academy Cross-country Team, and, with the runners clustered close about him, he gave his last instructions before the race in low and earnest tones: "Fellows, we must win this, you know. It's going to be hard work; House and Beaming, of St. Eustace, are difficult men to beat, but I think we can do it. Northrop and I will try to attend to them. The rest of you must try your best for the next places. I don't believe there is a dangerous runner in Shrewsburg's team; at all events, there aren't four. If they get less than four in ahead of us it won't matter. Save yourselves for the last three quarters of a mile, and don't try to leap the 'combination jump' or the 'Liverpool'; get over by the side railings or run up the braces, as you've done in practice. It's not style over the obstacles that's going to win this race, but good hard running and lots of wind at the end. Keep your strength till you need it most.

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work.This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work.As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1922 Excerpt: ...friendship ceased. Put Wells in football togs and he would have fought to a finish with his grandmother! Sometimes Steve had to call the tackle down for "slanging" too much, but he always hated to do it. If he could only get the rest of the team into the same frame of mind he would, he felt, have a real eleven, an eleven that would make history. On the way out of the gymnasium he caught sight of Russell and hailed him. "I used you a bit hard this afternoon, Emerson," he said, "but I wanted to see how you showed up, and there isn't much time for coddling." "I'm afraid I showed up pretty poorly," said Russell. "I had no idea a fellow could go stale so soon, Gaston." "I know." Gaston nodded. "You were all right, though. Get some one to work out the kinks in your muscles to-night. A good hot bath will help, if you get right into bed afterwards. I'll let you ofi easy to-morrow. How did the team strike you?" Russell hesitated, for it hadn't occurred to him before to consider that subject. "Pretty fair," he said at last. "It's early yet." "It's never early when it comes to getting a team in shape," responded the coach. "I've got the stuff there, Emerson, but I don't get it out. I will, though, by ginger! I'm going to make that bunch deliver the goods. Well, good night. Take care of yourself." CHAPTER XIII THE NEW ASSISTANT "Ir I only had a tin dinner-pail!" reflected Jimmy regretfully as he turned into West street the next morning and caught sight of the gay sign above the doorway of Number 112. His enthusiasm had brought him there at a minute after halfpast eight and t...

The Adventure Club had its inception, one evening toward the last of June, in Number 17 Sumner Hall, which is the oldest, most vine-hidden and most hallowed of the seven dormitories of Dexter Academy. It was a particularly warm evening, the two windows were wide open and the green-shaded light on the study table in the centre of the room had been turned low-Sumner prided itself on being conservative to the extent of gas instead of electricity and tin bathtubs instead of porcelain-and in the dim radiance the three occupants of the room were scarcely more than darker blurs. Since final examinations had ended that afternoon and Graduation Day was only some twenty-eight hours away, none of the three was doing anything more onerous than yawning, and the yawn which came from Perry Bush, didn't sound as though it cost much of an effort. It was, rather, a comfortable, sleepy yawn, one that expressed contentment and relief, a sort of "Glad-that's-over-and-I'm-still-alive" yawn.

Ralph Henry Barbour (Also wrote, with L.H. Bickford, as Richard Stillman Powell) was an American novelist, who wrote popular works of sports fiction for boys.

This work has been selected by scholars as being culturally important, and is part of the knowledge base of civilization as we know it. This work was reproduced from the original artifact, and remains as true to the original work as possible. Therefore, you will see the original copyright references, library stamps (as most of these works have been housed in our most important libraries around the world), and other notations in the work. This work is in the public domain in the United States of America, and possibly other nations. Within the United States, you may freely copy and distribute this work, as no entity (individual or corporate) has a copyright on the body of the work.As a reproduction of a historical artifact, this work may contain missing or blurred pages, poor pictures, errant marks, etc. Scholars believe, and we concur, that this work is important enough to be preserved, reproduced, and made generally available to the public. We appreciate your support of the preservation process, and thank you for being an important part of keeping this knowledge alive and relevant.