Let My People Know. “The world has a right to know.”
Alex told his producer. “It’s our duty as a media outlet that we inform the public. They need to be warned.” “Look, I understand your desire to tell people. You’re concerned about their safety, and that’s admirable. “Little threat? “Okay,” the producer sighed. “Then no damage done, right?” “No, we’re here to report the news.” the producer said bluntly. “Well, this is news.” Peter hesitated a moment, browsing Alex’s proposed article. “Thank you, thank you.” “Are you sure this is credible?” “I hope so.” “Fine.” the producer conceded. Alex took his place, excitedly beaming at the camera. Peter silenced the room and put up his hand. “Hello! Peter was gesturing, signalling to wrap thing up. “That’s it for now, viewers.
“No, the attack didn’t happen yet.” “What then?” “What? “What do I do?” “Report it.” “Right.” Peter had been waving his hands about again, this time he looked more than just frantic. “What is it?” “No.” “Well, that’s good isn’t it? Let My People Know. Let My People Know. Humorous Satire Stories: Mark Twain Buying Gloves in Gibraltar. A very handsome young lady in the store offered me a pair of blue gloves.
I did not want blue, but she said they would look very pretty on a hand like mine. The remark touched me tenderly. I glanced furtively at my hand, and somehow it did seem rather a comely member. I tried a glove on my left, and blushed a little. Manifestly the size was too small for me. “Oh, it is just right!” I tugged at it diligently, but it was discouraging work. “Ah! It was the last compliment I had expected. “Ah, you have had experience!” I was too much flattered to make an exposure and throw the merchandise on the angel’s hands. “This one does very well; it fits elegantly. It was warm. And I tried to remember why I had entered the store in the first place, and if I shouldn’t return on the morrow to complete my initial mission. Return to Mark Twain Humorous Short Stories On-line from Humorous Satire Stories: Mark Twain Buying Gloves in Gibraltar. Regret. By Kate Chopin MAMZELLE AURLIE possessed a good strong figure, ruddy cheeks, hair that was changing from brown to gray, and a determined eye.
She wore a man's hat about the farm, and an old blue army overcoat when it was cold, and sometimes top-boots. Mamzelle Aurlie had never thought of marrying. She had never been in love. At the age of twenty she had received a proposal, which she had promptly declined, and at the age of fifty she had not yet lived to regret it. So she was quite alone in the world, except for her dog Ponto, and the negroes who lived in her cabins and worked her crops, and the fowls, a few cows, a couple of mules, her gun (with which she shot chicken-hawks), and her religion. One morning Mamzelle Aurlie stood upon her gallery, contemplating, with arms akimbo, a small band of very small children who, to all intents and purposes, might have fallen from the clouds, so unexpected and bewildering was their coming, and so unwelcome. She turned into the house. New Feature! A Dark Brown Dog. By Stephen Crane A Dark-Brown dog and the accompanying illustrations were published in Cosmopolitan, March 1901.
The story was probably written in the summer of 1893. A Child was standing on a street-corner. He leaned with one shoulder against a high board-fence and swayed the other to and fro, the while kicking carelessly at the gravel. Sunshine beat upon the cobbles, and a lazy summer wind raised yellow dust which trailed in clouds down the avenue. After a time, a little dark-brown dog came trotting with an intent air down the sidewalk. He stopped opposite the child, and the two regarded each other. This thing seemed to overpower and astonish the little dark-brown dog, and wounded him to the heart. He looked so comical on his back, and holding his paws peculiarly, that the child was greatly amused and gave him little taps repeatedly, to keep him so. At last the child grew weary of this amusement and turned toward home. Presently he struggled to his feet and started after the child.