LitReading - Short Stories and Timeless Tales

Eph Deacon sells pies for a living, or rather his wife bakes them and he carries the basket, which suits his philosophy just fine. Then Phineas Doolittle starts undercutting him from across the river, and what begins as a squabble on a bridge turns into something much bigger, and much sillier. Before long the two men have talked themselves into buying up farms, bakeries, and even a railroad, all in the name of cornering the pie market once and for all. Ellis Parker Butler, the man who gave the world "Pigs Is Pigs," turns small-town rivalry into an empire of hot air, one slice at a time.

Ellis Parker Butler was an Iowa-born humorist who wrote more than two thousand stories, essays, and poems over a career spanning four decades, though he never quite escaped the shadow of his most famous creation, "Pigs Is Pigs." Published in 1904, "The Great American Pie Company" shows off the same gift for watching ordinary ambition curdle into absurdity, set against the folksy backdrop of a small Midwestern town not unlike the one Butler grew up in.

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Eli has spent thirty years a mile under Lead, South Dakota, in an old gold mine turned physics lab, catching neutrinos, the ghost particles that pass through everything. On an ordinary Tuesday he's alone on a rubber raft inside the Well, a steel tank lined with eleven thousand golden sensors, when the water lights up. Up top, the whole world felt something. Below, the cage has stopped. And the only instrument on Earth that saw it is his.

An original story written and read by Don McDonald.

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He only wants to open an account. That's all. Fifty-six dollars, a polite request, and maybe two minutes of a bank manager's time. But the moment our narrator steps inside the building, something happens to his brain, and every word that comes out of his mouth makes the situation worse. Stephen Leacock built an entire career on watching ordinary people crumble under ordinary pressure, and few pieces do it faster, or funnier, than this one.

Stephen Leacock was a Canadian economist, political scientist, and, by wide agreement, the funniest English-speaking writer of the early twentieth century, with Mark Twain among those who said so. Drawing on his own academic training, Leacock had a particular gift for turning institutions, banks, universities, small towns, into stages for quiet human panic, and "My Financial Career," first published in 1910, remains one of the sharpest few minutes of comic writing he ever produced.

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Henry Adams has one dollar to his name, a coat gone thin at the elbows, and a hunger that's stopped being polite about it. Then two rich old brothers hand him an envelope and vanish for thirty days, leaving him holding the single strangest piece of paper in London. It isn't counterfeit. It isn't a joke. And it is worth more than Henry can spend, prove, or even safely admit to owning. Mark Twain turns a penniless clerk loose on Victorian high society and lets the absurdity do exactly what it wants.

Mark Twain, born Samuel Langhorne Clemens, remains one of America's sharpest satirists, a writer who could turn a tall tale into a mirror held up to an entire society. Published in 1893, "The £1,000,000 Bank-Note" takes his gift for skewering wealth and appearances and sets it loose on Victorian London, decades before Hollywood borrowed the premise more than once.

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Out in the Nevada mining camps of the 1870s, men learned to speak a language all their own, part slang, part swagger, part pure invention, and woe to the outsider who couldn't keep up. When a rough-hewn miner named Scotty Briggs marches into town to fetch a proper burial for a fallen friend, he finds himself face to face with a young, freshly minted clergyman who speaks only the King's English, and neither man has the faintest idea what the other is talking about. What follows is one of Mark Twain's funniest, and strangely most tender, character sketches, a collision of two American dialects, two worlds, and two men who, despite everything, manage to understand each other where it counts.

Before he was Mark Twain, he was Samuel Langhorne Clemens, a Missouri riverboat pilot who traded the Mississippi for the Nevada silver fields and, when the mining didn't pan out, picked up a pen instead of a pickaxe. He spent the 1860s knocking around the boomtowns of the Comstock Lode, filing dispatches for the Territorial Enterprise under a borrowed riverboat term, a leadsman's call meaning safe water, two fathoms deep. The camps he covered, and the characters who populated them, miners, con men, preachers, and everyone in between, gave him a lifetime's worth of material and an ear for the peculiar poetry of American speech. He'd go on to write the books that made him famous, but the West made him a writer first.

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