Search:
A \ B \ C \ D \ E \ F \ G \ H \ I \ J \ K \ L \ M \ N \ O \ P \ R \ S \ T \ U \ V \ W \Z

Best Short Stories by Various

V >> Various >> Best Short Stories

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11


BEST SHORT STORIES



Collected by THOMAS L. MASSON


Published by DOUBLEDAY, PAGE & COMPANY for REVIEW OF REVIEWS CO. 1922





A FOREWORD TO EVERYBODY


There is a wide difference of opinion, even among the most
discriminating critics, as to what constitutes the point of a good joke.
Aside from varying temperaments, this is largely due to one's experience
with life in general. Or intimate acquaintance with certain phases of
life gives us a subtler appreciation of certain niceties, which would be
lost upon those who have not traveled over that particular path. The
doctor, the lawyer, the family man, and the soldier, each have their
minds sensitized to their own fields of thought. Human nature, however,
works according to universal laws, and a really first-class joke strikes
home to the majority.

The compiler of this collection has had it in mind to get as much
variety as possible, while at the same time to use only such material as
serves to illustrate some easily recognizable human trait.

It is almost needless to say that this book should not be read
continuously. It should be taken in small doses, as it is highly
concentrated.

Many old friends will be noticed in the crowd. But old friends, even
among jokes, should not be passed by too lightly.





BEST SHORT STORIES



THE POINT OF HONOR

A young lieutenant was passed by a private, who failed to salute. The
lieutenant called him back, and said sternly:

"You did not salute me. For this you will immediately salute two hundred
times."

At this moment the General came up.

"What's all this?" he exclaimed, seeing the poor private about to begin.

The lieutenant explained.

"This ignoramus failed to salute me, and as a punishment, I am making
him salute two hundred times."

"Quite right," replied the General, smiling. "But do not forget, sir,
that upon each occasion you are to salute in return."


ALWAYS GET THE FACTS

It is never wise to jump to conclusions. Always wait until the evidence
is all in.

A Jersey man of a benevolent turn of mind encountered a small boy in his
neighborhood who gave evidence of having emerged but lately from a
severe battle.

"I am sorry," said the man, "to see that you have a black eye, Sammy."

Whereupon Sammy retorted:

"You go home and be sorry for your own little boy--he's got two!"


CAN THIS BE TRUE?

A certain Irishman was taken prisoner by the Huns. While he was standing
alone, waiting to be assigned to his prison, or whatever fate awaited
him, the Kaiser came up.

"Hello," said the Kaiser. "Who have we here?"

"I'm an Irishman, your honor."

Then he winked solemnly.

"Oi say," he continued. "We didn't do a thing to you Germans, did we?
Eh, old chap?"

The Kaiser was horrified. Calling an orderly he said to him:

"Take this blasphemer away and put a German uniform on him, and then
bring him back."

Shortly the Irishman was returned, in a full German uniform.

"Well," said the Kaiser, "maybe you feel better now. How is it?"

Pat grabbed him by the arm, and leaning over, whispered:

"Oi say, we gave them Irish Hell, didn't we?"


NEW SERVANT-GIRL STORY

The wife of a successful young literary man had hired a buxom Dutch girl
to do the housework. Several weeks passed and from seeing her master
constantly about the house, the girl received an erroneous impression.

"Ogscuse me, Mrs. Blank," she said to her mistress one day, "but I like
to say somedings."

"Well, Rena?"

The girl blushed, fumbled with her apron, and then replied, "Vell, you
pay me four tollars a veek--'

"Yes, and I really can't pay you any more."

"It's not dot," responded the girl; "but I be villing to take tree
tollars till--till your husband gets vork."


HE WAS BROAD MINDED

Even married life does not affect some people unpleasantly, or take away
the fine spirit of their charity.

A certain factory-owner tells of an old employee who came into the
office and asked for a day off.

"I guess we can manage it, Pete," says the boss, "tho we are mighty
short-handed these days. What do you want to get off for?"

"Ay vant to get married," blushed Pete, who is by way of being a
Scandinavian.

"Married? Why, look here--it was only a couple of months ago that you
wanted to get off because your wife was dead!"

"Yas, ay gess so."

"And you want to get married again, with your wife only two months
dead?"

"Yas. Ay ain't ban hold no grudge long."


MISSED HIS CHANCE

Before introducing Lieutenant de Tessan, aide to General Joffre, and
Colonel Fabry, the "Blue Devil of France," Chairman Spencer, of the St.
Louis entertainment committee, at the M.A.A. breakfast told this
anecdote:

"In Washington Lieutenant de Tessan was approached by a pretty American
girl, who said:

"'And did you kill a German soldier?'

"'Yes,' he replied.

"'With what hand did you do it?' she inquired.

"'With this right hand,' he said.

"And then the pretty American girl seized his right hand and kissed it.
Colonel Fabry stood near by. He strolled over and said to Lieutenant de
Tessan:

"'Heavens, man, why didn't you tell her that you bit him to death?'"


GREAT RELIEF IN HEAVEN

The following story is from the _Libre Belgique_, the anonymous
periodical secretly published in Brussels, and which the utmost
vigilance of the German authorities has been unable to suppress.

Once upon a time Doctor Bethman-Holweg went up to heaven. The pearly
gates were shut, but he began to push his way through in the usual
German fashion. St. Peter rushed out of his lodge, much annoyed at the
commotion.

"Hi, there, who are you?" he demanded.

"I am Doctor Von Bethman-Holweg, the imperial chancellor," was the
haughty reply.

"Well, you don't seem to be dead; what are you doing around here?"

"I want to see God."

"Sorry," replied St. Peter, "but I don't think you can see him to-day;
in fact, he's not very well."

"Ah, I'm distressed to hear that," said the chancellor somewhat more
politely. "What seems to be the trouble?"

"We don't quite know, but we are afraid it is a case of exaggerated
ego," answered St. Peter. "He keeps walking up and down, occasionally
striking his chest with his clenched fist, and muttering to himself: 'I
am the kaiser! I am the kaiser!'"

"Dear me! that is really very sad," said the chancellor in a still
kindlier tone. "Now I happen to be the bearer of a communication from my
imperial master; perhaps it might cheer him up to hear it."

"What is it?"

"Why, the emperor has just issued a decree, providing that in future he
shall have the use of the nobiliary particle; from henceforth he will
have the right to call himself 'Von Gott'."

"Step right in, your excellency," interrupted St. Peter. "I am very sure
the new Graf will be much gratified to learn of the honor done him.
Third door to the right. Mind the step. Thank you."


UNCHANGEABLE

A story about Lord Kitchener, who was often spoken of as "the most
distinguished bachelor in the world," is being told. A young member of
his staff when he was in India asked for a furlough in order to go home
and be married. Kitchener listened to him patiently then he said:

"Kenilworth, you're not yet twenty-five. Wait a year. If then you still
desire to do this thing you shall have leave."

The year passed. The officer once more proffered his request.

"After thinking it over for twelve months," said Kitchener, "you still
wish to marry?"

"Yes, sir."

"Very well, you shall have your furlough. And frankly, my boy, I
scarcely thought there was so much constancy in the masculine world."

Kenilworth, the story concludes, marched to the door, but turned to say
as he was leaving: "Thank you, sir. Only it's not the same woman."


HE KNEW THE LAW

An old colored man charged with stealing chickens was arraigned in court
and was incriminating himself when the judge said:

"You ought to have a lawyer. Where's your lawyer?"

"Ah ain't got no lawyer, jedge," said the old man.

"Very well, then," said his honor, "I'll assign a lawyer to defend you."

"Oh, no, suh; no, suh! Please don't do dat!" the darky begged.

"Why not?" asked the judge. "It won't cost you anything. Why don't you
want a lawyer?"

"Well, jedge, Ah'll tell you, suh," said the old man, waving his
tattered old hat confidentially. "Hit's dis way. Ah wan' tah enjoy dem
chickens mahse'f."


A SERMON ON THE WAR BY PARSON BROWN

The historic colored preacher who held forth so strenuously after the
Civil War has almost become obsolete, but in certain sections he still
holds his own, as the following sermon, taken from _Life_, will show:

Brederen an' Sisterin: I done read de Bible from kiver to kiver, from
lid to lid an' from end to end, an' nowhar do I find a mo' 'propriate
tex' at dis time, when de whole worl' is scrimmigin' wid itse'f, dan de
place whar Paul Pinted de Pistol at de Philippines an' said, "Dou art de
man."

Kaiser Bill ob Germany is de man, an' Uncle Sam done got de pistol
pinted his way, an' goin' to pull de trigger, lessen Bill gits off his
perch, like dat woman Jezebel dat sassed Ahab from de roof top.

Ahab say to his soldiers, "Go up an' th'ow dat woman down," an' dey
th'ew her down. Den he say, "Go up an' th'ow her down again," an' dey
th'ew her down again; an' he say, "Take her back up an th'ow her down
seben times," an' dey th'owed her down seben times, an' ast if dat ain't
enough.

But Ahab done got his dander up, an' say, "No! Dat ain't enough. Th'ow
her down sebenty times seben."

And afterwards dey done pick up twelve baskets ob de fragments dereob.

Dat's what gwine ter happen ter dat Bill Heah Him Hollerin.

De Good Book done fo'told dis here war, an' jist how it gwine ter end.
Don't it say about de four beasts in de book of Relations, what spit
fire an' brimstone, meanin' de Kaiser, de Turks, de Ostriches, and de
Bullgeraniums, case two ob dem beasteses is birds, an' Ostriches an'
Turkys is birds. De bigges' beast is de Kaiser, case he uses Germans to
pizen his enemies. De newspapers say as how diseases is all caused by
Germans gittin' in de food an' bein' breathed in de lungs, givin' folks
hydrophobia an' lumbago an' consumption.

Dis brings us to de time when Abraham led de chillun ob Israel into
Egypt, an' Moses led 'em out again case de folks ob Egypt so bad dey
shoot craps all day, and eben make Faro de king. Dey take all de money
'way from de Jews an' raise de price ob cawn an' hay till de po' Jews
can't live.

Rockefeller-Morgan Faro, de king, say dey can't go, but Moses done got
de Lawd on his side, an' he crossed de Red Sea in submarines, so Faro
got drowned wid all his host. De mummy ob dat same Faro is still alive
in de big museums ob de world, but whar de host is no man can tell.

Dat de way de Wall Street gang dat been raisin' de price ob food gwine
ter pass in dey checks--in de Red Sea ob blood ob dis war.

Moses an' de Jews went trabelin' ober de desert till one day dey gits so
hungry dey makes a fatted calf ob gold while Moses up on Mount Sinai
gittin' de law laid down. Moses come er-cussin' back an' busted de Law
ober Aaron's head, an' den dey killed de fatted calf an' put a ring on
his finger. For de prodigal done return, an' dey is mo' rejoicin' ober
one sinner sabed dan ninety an' nine what doan know 'nuff to put deir
money in de contribution box instead ob shootin' it 'way on craps.

Oh, I knows you backsliders, an' ef any ob you doan come across while
Dekin Jones passes de box, I'se gwine ter preach nex' Sunday on what
happened ter de money-chasers in de temple.

We will now sing two verses ob "Th'ow Out de Lifeline, Anoder Ship
Sinkin' To-day."


"OVER HERE"

The hobo knocked at the back door and the lady of the house appeared.

"Lady," he said, "I was at the front--"

"You poor man!" she exclaimed. "One of war's victims. Wait till I get
you some food, and you shall tell me your story. You were in the
trenches, you say?"

"Not in the trenches. I was at the front--"

"Don't try to talk with your mouth full. Take your time. What deed of
heroism did you do at the front?"

"Why, I knocked, but I couldn't make nobody hear, so I came around to
the back."


LIFE'S ETERNAL QUERY

Did it ever occur to you that a man's life is full of cussedness? He
comes into the world without his consent, and goes out against his will,
and the trip between is exceedingly rocky.

When he is little, the big girls kiss him; when he is big, the little
girls kiss him. If he is poor, he is a bad manager; if he is rich, he's
a crook. If he is prosperous, everybody wants to do him a favor; if he
needs credit, they hand him a lemon.

If he is in politics, it is for graft; if out of politics, he is no good
to his country. If he doesn't give to charity, he's a tightwad; if he
does, it's for show. If he is actively religious, he is a hypocrite; and
if he takes no interest in religion, he is a heathen.

If he is affectionate, he is a soft mark; if he cares for no one, he is
cold-blooded. If he dies young, there was a great future for him; if he
lives to an old age, he missed his calling.

If you don't fight, you're yellow; if you do, you're a brute.

If you save your money, you're a grouch; if you spend it, you're a
loafer; if you get it, you're a grafter, and if you don't get it, you're
a bum.

_So what's the use?_


HIGH FINANCE

Even certain professors, who are supposed to be immune from commercial
inducements are sometimes financially overcautious. A party of tourists
were watching Professor X as he exhumed the wrapt body of an ancient
Egyptian.

"Judging from the utensils about him," remarked the professor, "this
mummy must have been an Egyptian plumber."

"Wouldn't it be interesting," said a romantic young lady, "if we could
bring him to life?"

"Interesting, but a bit risky," returned Professor X. "Somebody might
have to pay him for his time."


MATRIMONIAL PROFUNDITY

A young planter in Mississippi had an old servant called Uncle Mose, who
had cared for him as a child and whose devotion had never waned. The
young man became engaged to a girl of the neighborhood who had a
reputation for unusual beauty and also for a very violent temper.
Noticing that Uncle Mose never mentioned his approaching marriage, the
planter said:

"Mose, you know I am going to marry Miss Currier?"

"Yassuh, I knows it."

"I haven't heard you say anything about it," persisted the planter.

"No, suh," said Mose. "Tain't fo' me to say nothin' 'bout it. I's got
nothin' to say."

"But you must have some opinion about so important a step on my part."

"Well, suh," said the old negro with some hesitation, "yo' knows one
thing--the most p'izonest snakes has got the most prettiest skins."


THE NEW REGIME

The new change in social conditions to be brought about by the war is
illustrated in the following advertisements taken from _Life_:

SITUATIONS WANTED

HUSBAND AND WIFE would like position as gardener and cook, or will do
anything. 23 years in last place as czar and czarina. Salary not so
important as permanent place in quiet, peaceful atmosphere. Address
ROMANOFF, this paper.

EMPLOYERS, giving up royalty, would like to secure position for their
king. Steady, experienced, thoroughly broken to crown and sceptre.
Distance no objection. Will go anywhere. Small salary to start.
CONSTANTINE, 49 Greece, in rear. (Ring Sophy's bell.)

YOUNG MONARCH, 28 years old, 4 years as king in last place, would accept
like position in small, tranquil country, Latin preferred. No objection
to South America. Light, rangy and stylish, very fast, and thoroughly
broken to bombs and revolutions. MANUEL J. PORTUGAL, London.

KING AND QUEEN, Swedish, expecting to make change shortly, would like
position as gardener and coachman, cook and laundress. Good home more
important than salary. A1 references. Address GUS and VICKY, care this
paper.

EMPEROR, 29 years as Kaiser in present position, expecting to be at
liberty shortly, owing to change in employers' circumstances, would like
place as assassin, or pig-sticker in abattoir. No aversion to blood.
Cool, resourceful, determined. Address EFFICIENT, care this paper.


WHERE IGNORANCE IS BLISS;

Thus, seeking to be kind and fraternal, but at the same time perfectly
honest, if we make mistakes, we may still comfort ourselves with the
assurance which his Irish Catholic servant once expressed to the devout
and learned Bishop Whately.

"Do you really believe," he asked her, "that there is no salvation
outside of the Roman Catholic Church?"

"Shure, an' I do," she replied, "for that's what the praist ses."

"Well, then, what is going to become of me?"

"Oh, that's all right," she answered, with an Irish twinkle in her eyes.
"Yer riverence will be saved by yer ignorince."


WHEN THE "S" FELL OUT

"We are thorry to thay," explained the editor of the Skedunk _Weekly
News_, "that our compothing-room wath entered lath night by thome
unknown thcoundrel, who thtole every 'eth' in the ethtablithment, and
thucceeded in making hith ethcape undetected.

"The motive of the mithcreant doubtleth wath revenge for thome
thuppothed inthult.

"It thall never be thaid that the petty thpite of any thmall-thouled
villain hath dithabled the _Newth_, and if thith meet the eye of the
detethtable rathcal, we beg to athure him that he underethtimated the
rethourceth of a firtht-clath newthpaper when he thinkth he can cripple
it hopelethly by breaking into the alphabet. We take occathion to thay
to him furthermore that before next Thurthday we thall have three timeth
ath many etheth ath he thtole.

"We have reathon to thuthpect that we know the cowardly thkunk who
committed thith act of vandalithm, and if he ith ever theen prowling
about thith ethtablithment again, by day or by night, nothing will give
uth more thatithfaction than to thoot hith hide full of holeth."


FULL PARTICULARS FREE

They were seated in a tramcar--the mother and her little boy.

The conductor eyed the little boy suspiciously. He had to keep a lookout
for people who pretended that their children were younger than they
really were, in order to obtain free rides for them.

"And how old is your little boy, madam, please?"

"Three and a half," said the mother truthfully.

"Right, ma'am," said the conductor, satisfied.

Little Willie pondered a minute. It seemed to him that fuller
information was required.

"And mother's thirty-one," he said politely.


THEY WERE SO GLAD TO SEE HIM

"I am taking some notes about civic pride," said the urbane stranger, as
he wandered into the up-to-date community. "I suppose you have such a
thing?"

"Well, I should say we had," said the corner real estate agent. "I am
loaded with it myself."

"Good!" replied the agent, taking out his memo-book. "I'll make a note
of it. This, you will understand, is a more or less scientific inquiry,
and I shall make my estimates as carefully as possible, with all due
regard to the human equation. Who, should you say, has the most civic
pride in town?"

"That is some problem," replied the agent, "but you might go across the
way to the Woman's Club. Out of courtesy to the ladies I am ready to
yield the palm."

"Yes," said the president of the Woman's Club when she had heard the
visitor's errand. "We have the most civic pride, of course. The Town
Council thinks it has, and the Board of Education thinks it has, but pay
no attention to them; we are on the job day and night; as a factory for
turning out civic pride, nobody in this vicinity can beat us. You want
to hear my lecture on the subject at the next meeting."

"Thanks," said the visitor, "but you will appreciate that in these
piping times of war, I am a busy man, and must hurry on. Has anybody
else any civic pride here that you could name?"

He was presented with a list and went about town getting them all down.
At the end of several days, all the organizations in town that dealt in
civic pride got together and arranged for a banquet for the
distinguished stranger. They were immensely proud that he had come among
them.

It was a great affair. The mayor, who was swelling with civic pride,
vied with the president of the Woman's Club. It was, indeed, a
neck-and-neck race between them as to who had the greater quantity of
civic pride.

At the end of the banquet, when they were all bidding the guest good-bye
with tears streaming down their faces, the only pessimist in town got up
and said:

"Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen, for obtruding my repellent personality
on this joyful assemblage, but our dear guest will not, I am sure,
object to answering a simple question. I have no civic pride myself, but
do you mind, sir, telling me the object of your visit to this lovely
little burg?"

"Certainly not," said the guest, as he prepared to take a quick slant
through the door, "no objection at all. You see, my friends, civic pride
is the only thing that the government hasn't taxed. You'll get your
bills a little later, based on your own estimates. Much obliged for all
your first-hand information."


HAD TO BE SETTLED

"Johnny, it was very wrong for you and the boy next door to fight."

"We couldn't help it, father."

"Could you not have settled your differences by a peaceful discussion
of the matter, calling in the assistance of unprejudiced opinion, if
need be?"

"No, father. He was sure he could whip me and I was sure I could whip
him, and there was only one way to find out."


STILL UNBEATEN

The sergeant-major had the reputation of never being at a loss for an
answer. A young officer made a bet with a brother officer that he would
in less than twenty-four hours ask the sergeant-major a question that
would baffle him.

The sergeant-major accompanied the young officer on his rounds, in the
course of which the cook-house was inspected. Pointing to a large copper
of water just commencing to boil, the officer said:

"Why does that water only boil round the edges of the copper and not in
the centre?"

"The water round the edge, sir," replied the veteran, "is for the men on
guard; they have their breakfast half an hour before the remainder of
the company."


ACCOUNTING FOR IT

Levi Cohen was looking very dejected. That morning he left the house
with five pounds in his pocket to try his luck at the races, but, alas!
he had returned at nightfall footsore and weary, and nothing in his
possession but a bad half-penny.

No wonder his better half was in a bad temper. "How is it," she snapped,
"that you're so unlucky at the races, and yet you always win at cards?"

"Well, my dear," responded Levi, meekly, "you see, it's this way: I
don't shuffle the horses."


HIS LACK

A keen-eyed mountaineer led his overgrown son into a country
schoolhouse.

"This here boy's arter larnin'," he announced. "What's yer bill o'
fare?"

"Our curriculum, sir," corrected the school-master, "embraces geography,
arithmetic, trigonometry--"

"That'll do," interrupted the father. "That'll do. Load him up well with
triggernometry. He's the only poor shot in the family."


A REVISED CLASSIC

"Now, my dear girl," said Bluebeard, "remember you can go anywhere in
the house but the pantry. That is locked up, and the key will be placed
under the mat. Remove it at your peril."

Consumed with curiosity, Mrs. Bluebeard could scarcely wait until her
husband had cranked his machine before she was trying the key. It fitted
perfectly. She turned it, and entered. Within was the finest collection
of provisions that she had ever seen: at least a hundred dozen eggs
preserved in water, sacks of potatoes, barrels of wheat--in fact, a
complete commissary department.

And then, as she looked out of the window, she gave a faint scream. Her
husband was returning. He had a puncture. She retained her presence of
mind, however, long enough to step to the telephone. Just as she had
finished delivering the message Bluebeard entered.

"Ha!" he exclaimed. "So you have forced the pantry. I see flour on your
lips. Prepare to die."

Mrs. Bluebeard only smiled.

"Not so fast," she muttered. At this moment Herbert Hoover entered the
house.

"So you are the wretch who has been storing up private food supplies,
contrary to my orders!" he exclaimed. "Ninety days in jail!"

Whereupon Mrs. Bluebeard, waving her late lord and master farewell,
prepared to beat up a luscious eggnog.


SCOTCH THRILLS

Sandy Macpherson came home after many years and met his old sweetheart.
Honey-laden memories thrilled through the twilight and flushed their
glowing cheeks.

"Ah, Mary," exclaimed Sandy, "ye're just as beautiful as ye ever were,
and I ha'e never forgotten ye, my bonnie lass."

"And ye, Sandy," she cried, while her blue eyes moistened, "are just as
big a leear as ever, an' I believe ye jist the same."


HIS APPLICATION

An alien, wishing to be naturalized, applied to the clerk of the office,
who requested him to fill out a blank, which he handed him. The first
three lines of the blank ran as follows:

Name?

Born?

Business?

The answers follow:

Name, Jacob Levinsky.

Born, Yes.

Business, Rotten.


A CLINCHER

Pat O'Flaherty, very palpably not a prohibitionist, was arrested in
Arizona recently, charged with selling liquor in violation of the
Prohibition law. But Pat had an impregnable defense. His counsel, in
addressing the jury, said:

Pages:
1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11
Copyright (c) 2007. bestextbooks.com. All rights reserved.

Booker prize shortlist drops early frontrunners
Latest news and features from guardian.co.uk, the world's leading liberal voice

Extract: The Whales by Evie Wyld

Christos Tsiolkas and David Mitchell, both much-tipped when they appeared on the award longlist, have been overlooked in the six finalists

Listen to Claire Armitstead and Sarah Crown discuss the Booker shortlist on a special edition of the Guardian Books Podcast

It headed the most controversial Man Booker prize longlist in years, but Christos Tsiolkas's The Slap has failed to make the final cut for the literary award, as has David Mitchell's much-tipped fifth novel, The Thousand Autumns of Jacob de Zoet.

Judges overlooked Australian novelist Tsiolkas's tale of the consequences when a child is slapped at a suburban barbecue – which is either "unbelievably misogynistic" or "riveting from beginning to end", depending on who's asked – and Mitchell, twice shortlisted for the prize in the past, to select a shortlist which ranges from two-time former winner Peter Carey's Parrot and Olivier in America to Emma Donoghue. The Irish writer has also stirred up debate with her Josel Fritzl-inspired Room, the story of a boy and his mother imprisoned in a tiny room for years.

Orange prize winner Andrea Levy's The Long Song, about the last years of slavery in Jamaica; Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question, a cerebral comedy about grief and Anglo-Jewishness; experimental novelist Tom McCarthy's C, which tells the story of Serge Carrefax, a first world war radio operator who escapes from a German prison camp; and South African writer Damon Galgut's tale of a young man travelling through Greece, India and Africa, In a Strange Room, complete the six-strong shortlist for the £50,000 prize, announced this morning.

"It's been a great privilege and an exciting challenge for us to reduce our longlist of 13 to this shortlist of six outstandingly good novels," said chair of judges Andrew Motion, the former poet laureate. "In doing so, we feel sure we've chosen books which demonstrate a rich variety of styles and themes – while in every case providing deep individual pleasures."

The panel of judges had previously read 138 books to select the 13 titles for their longlist, with Martin Amis's new novel The Pregnant Widow and Ian McEwan's venture into comic fiction Solar both overlooked and Carey the only previous Booker winner on the longlist.

His inclusion on the shortlist today for Parrot and Olivier in America, a reimagining of Democracy in America author Alexis de Tocqueville's visit to the New World, gives him the chance of becoming the first ever writer to win the Booker three times, having previously taken it in 1988 for Oscar and Lucinda and 2001 for True History of the Kelly Gang.

"The omission of both David Mitchell and Christos Tsiolkas from the shortlist is a real shock. While both writers might rightly feel aggrieved at being overlooked, I imagine it took some wrangling amongst the judges to reduce one of the best longlists in years to six," said Jonathan Ruppin at independent book chain Foyles, who, while praising all six books for their "lightness of touch which means the reader doesn't get bogged down in something worthy or dull", predicted that Room was the most likely title to go on to win the award.

Waterstone's tipped C to take the prize, with fiction buying manager Simon Burke calling it "a challenging yet dazzling novel". "The news that David Mitchell has not made the shortlist will cause great wailing and gnashing of teeth across the bookworld, but perhaps is a useful reminder of the independence and unpredictability of the Booker," he said. "But this is still a hugely varied and exciting list, worthy of the Booker brand. Carey and Levy have to be strong contenders, but our money is on Tom McCarthy. The more people that read [C] the better."

The bookies agreed, with William Hill immediately installing McCarthy as 2/1 favourite to win the prize. "There has been a considerable media buzz around all of the books on the shortlist, and literary punters have staked more money in total on Tom McCarthy to win than any of the other authors, so he is a worthy favourite," said spokesman Graham Sharpe. Donoghue and Galgut came in second at the bookmaker, both at 3/1, with one customer so sure that In A Strange Room would win that they placed £400 on Galgut at 7/1, the largest single bet on the prize "for a few years", said Sharpe.

Carey came in fourth, at 5/1, with Levy at 7/1 and Jacobson the 8/1 outside to take the prize.

The opinion-splitting novels picked for this year's longlist have helped make it the most popular since 2001, with Tsiolkas's novel selling the most copies, followed by Donoghue's. The winner, who will join a roster of former winners including Margaret Atwood, Roddy Doyle and JM Coetzee, will be announced on 12 October. Last year's winner Wolf Hall by Hilary Mantel is the fastest-selling Booker winner ever, with sales of around half-a-million copies to date.

The Man Booker shortlist in full:

Peter Carey's Parrot and Olivier in America

Emma Donoghue's Room

Damon Galgut's In a Strange Room

Howard Jacobson's The Finkler Question

Andrea Levy's The Long Song

Tom McCarthy's C

To buy all six Booker shortlisted titles for only £65 (save £37.94) with free UK p&p visit the Guardian Bookshop or call 0330 333 6846.


guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds

The Marxist Miliband

Evie Wyld, whose debut novel After the Fire, a Still Small Voice won the 2009 John Llewellyn Rhys prize, has written a short story, The Whales, exclusively for Booktrust, where she is currently writer-in-residence. Here we join Jimmy, Elaine, Terry and Yvonne, deep in the bush after five days of walking. The conclusion will appear on the Booktrust website tomorrow

There are four of them footslogging single file along the trail. They sweat and wave their sticks at the flies, spitting the salt off their lips and feeling the rub of their backpacks, hot on their shoulders. A storm bird knows about them from miles off and lets out a wop-wop-wop, getting higher and louder as it goes. Jimmy watches Elaine look up at the gum-treed sky. He follows her gaze. No, he thinks. The bird is wrong; overhead is blue without a wash of cloud.

The crack of dry bark, the whistle of whip birds and sometimes a thundering in the undergrowth – a wombat, a pademelon – it all makes Jimmy feel younger. He can feel the muscles in his thighs working, can feel them thank him for not being stood at the assembly line six hours a day.

Five days of walking and now they are deep in the bush. In another day, they'll turn east, head for the sea, where if they make good time, they'll see the humpbacks heading south towards the Antarctic, their new calves in tow. There'll be a party that night, between the four of them. Terry the young bow-legged one from further down the line with a touch of the idiot about him, Yvonne his frizz-plaited, heavy cousin who runs accounts and her friend Elaine who is nothing to do with the factory and who returns his glances, smiling. Not a bad lot really, especially the girls.

Three days down the coast and they'll arrive home about ready for that soft bed and the meal without char-grit from the campfire, or the dog food pong of tinned meat. It's been good so far. He thinks of what was waiting for him if he hadn't gone bush this week – all those monkey-wrenches wanting to be set. It's been time to move on for a while, he sees that now. Only he'll wait and see what comes of Elaine and the damp hair that ringlets at the back of her neck.

Later in the day he spots a bower bird's chapel. Even this far in, the bird has found a blue toothbrush and bits of turquoise plastic to frame its humpy. He takes a photo, so that the side of Elaine's brown leg slides up the view finder.

'They only collect blue stuff', he says, mainly to Elaine. He feels the roots of his fingers strain as he reigns himself in, his stiff hands reminding him not to overdo it. Steady on.

Chances are, Elaine already knows more than him about bower birds – she told him she's walked the bush for six years, since she left varsity, this last two with Yvonne for company and he only knows from camping out when money gets bad. But he wants to show something to her. Elaine squats next to him and traces an arc with one finger in the dirt, looking at the toothbrush. She is smiling with her eyebrows pulled in.

'It's to impress the female – then she'll come down and he'll do a sexy dance.' As he explains, he wiggles his tail a little in a sexy dance and Elaine smiles wider.

Terry who has been leaning over them to get a look, gyrates around his walking stick. What his mating dance lacks in accuracy it makes up for in energy and the other three look on in silence while he makes the noise of a boombox with his lips pressed together. Jimmy's fingers stretch out towards the ground in embarrassment as he keeps his bad eye – the eye that he thinks of as his secret eye – on Elaine.

'You're a disgustin' specimen, Terry', says the stone-buttocked Yvonne. Terry quickens his hips and points, wiggling himself towards her.

Yvonne stands stiff and still like a wary buffalo. 'Never been the brightest crayon in the box', she says and they all push past him, smiles held down. Jimmy looks back to see him finish in a bunny squat and a flick of his head.

'Yeah!' says Terry loudly, arms raised and both thumbs up to the tops of the trees like they are his audience.

'Yeah' and he finds a cigarette in his back pocket, lights it and considers its glowing end before following on.

There'd been a night of heavy breathing when Elaine and Jimmy faced each other in their swags. They hadn't touched but they'd looked hard in the dark, seeing the glints of each other's tongues, teeth and eyes. There is a luxury in not touching, Jimmy thinks, in not just going with your gut; they don't have all the time in the world but they have this time, which won't end for another few days.

He looks forward to it, imagines the beach in an old film kind of a way. The last night when they will open the wine they've lugged all this way – they'll cool the bottles in a rock pool for a couple of hours, while they see what the beach has for them. He's a beach person at heart, it's where his childhood is at and he can't wait to show off about it. Terry's brought along his spearfishing gear and says he reckons on a good spot up at the point. Jimmy imagines striding into camp, a jewfish slung over one shoulder, a clutch of softly ticking crays hung from their whiskers in his other fist. When the moon's up and the salty wine is drunk, their fingers warm and sticky with sand and cray brains, he'll rub his foot over hers. He'll put his wrists either side of her jaw, so as not to touch her with his prawny fingers and he'll plant a long warm kiss on her mouth, one that shows them both that this is the start of things. He could think about staying on at the factory, him who hasn't stayed in one spot for more than six months at a time since he was 16. Or else, Elaine could come with him, go feral together up the coast. He gets the feeling there's not much holding her to the city anymore. He looks down at himself and he speaks softly to his hands You're orright you bung-eyed bastard. You're an okay sort after all.

Elaine breaks off from the group to take a pee in the scrub. She squats behind a paperbark and laughs. She's been hip deep in croc water, has woken up feeling a huntsman, as big as both of her hands put together, tangling with her feet in her swag. But the idea that the group might hear the sound of her pissing makes it so that she can't go. Eventually, she manages and makes a wet stain on the gum leaves. She pulls her shorts back up and a twig cracks not far up ahead. Shadows rise and fall as something heavy moves away. She catches up with the others at a jog.

Jimmy, that trunk of a man with his duff eye and his bear hands and her pal Yvonne are arguing about a fish. The argument is snapper versus flathead, but in what capacity Elaine is not sure. Terry is unusually quiet for a conversation involving food and he walks a little way from Jimmy and Yvonne.

'Stone lighter?' he asks quietly.

'It was a pee', she says, but her face flushes anyway.

'Right', says Terry and he smiles a weird smile. Elaine accidentally catches his eye.

By five o'clock they reach a small billabong. They strip down to their underwear and jump in like kids, laughing, drowning each other with splashing. Terry tries to duck the girls under, Jimmy dives for yabbies and opens his eyes in the bourbon-coloured water. The white legs of the other three bicycle in the open water. When he comes up for air, he can see that Yvonne is pleased with her breasts and bobs them gently up and down making small waves to the bank.

Jimmy looks a long time at Elaine and she looks back. There is a water level smile between them. He is aware of the ripples that come from his heartbeat and he sees how Elaine's canines creep over her bottom lip. Her hair is dark now, but in the light you can see into it. Where the sun hasn't caught her, her skin is like the damp underside of a leaf.

Elaine thinks she's some wonderful creature. The water holds her in on all sides, she feels good in her skin. The billabong is black from the tea trees that line the bank and when she flicks her legs to the surface she's a pale fish. She pauses before she puts her head under – a brief worry about spluttering and snotting in front of Jimmy, but then she thinks of the beach and the sea to come and she duck dives.

The dark water lifts her hair up and spreads it out, it pushes around her cheeks and taps on her eyelids as she reaches out for the leafy mud of the billabong floor, but even though she goes deep, her hands touch nothing. She kicks up for air and sends a flume of mist from her mouth. She smiles widely at Jimmy who floats on his back like an otter, hands clasped over his chest, dreaming of something.

Frogs and magpies are loud and someone finds a leech and then another and another and there's shrill laughing.

Terry shouts, 'It's eatin' the fuckin' kidneys out of me!' then, 'You girls want me to check under your bras?'

Even though everyone has had a leech before and every person has treated that leech with salt or the tip of a cigarette, quietly, without fear, they all pretend this is the first time they've been bitten and they wallow in the hysteria, enjoying it like gobble-mouthed kids.

Out of the water, damp shirts wrapped around them like towels, Jimmy burns a fat one off Elaine's shoulder. She looks at him sideways and curls a bit of paper bark around her finger.

'Ta', she says, as Jimmy passes her the cigarette which they share puffs from. He looks at her with his good eye. It creases in the corner.

The four of them set up camp a little way from the water hole, away from the leeches. Terry makes a small tepee out of kindling and rings stones around it to stop the fire spreading. Once it's lit they hang over a billy and drink tea while they watch the bats turning circles in the creeping darkness. Yvonne stirs up a thick damper and they bake it in a pan over the fire, to be eaten with a warmed tin of bean stew and rice pudding for afters. The birds are mostly quiet and the cicadas and frogs rev themselves up, as everyone slaps on Rid against the mosquitoes.

'Reckon we'll beat those whales, the way we're moving', Terry says cleaning his bowl with a licked finger.

'Fuckin' A.' Yvonne brings out a flask of bourbon to swill down the pudding with. She takes a long unflinching pull of it before passing it round and beginning a murder story.

'There's this girl went missing not far from Tully – all the kids hitchhike out there…' The dark gets deeper and everyone settles in, enjoying the creep of it. Elaine thinks that there's nothing you can't fix by putting your cheek to the land and feeling it settle. She studies the landscape of Jimmy's face. He is unashamedly enthralled by Yvonne's story. His funny eye looks directly at Elaine but doesn't see her. The lines on his forehead have dirt ground in. He's older than Elaine and she wonders what it is he's been doing all the time he's been alive.

In the silence, after Yvonne's concluding remark 'They only ever found her thumb', Terry farts, a loud one and everyone groans.

'Well, that's put that to bed', he says and they all unroll their swags around the fire and climb in for the night. Jimmy feels the hot weight of Elaine's foot on his and his fingers twitch on their own. Elaine sees Terry's wet eyes, tangerine from the fire and spreads her toes out. She stays awake for as long as possible, making up script after script of how it will go with Jimmy once they reach the sea. She replays the swim at waterhole until she's unsure if she's made parts of it up. She finally falls asleep with her heartbeat high in her chest.

Jimmy wakes long before dawn with a pressure like a stone on his bladder. He swears quietly and rolls out of his swag to ease the ache against a tree. In the undergrowth to his right, something scrabbles. He catches a strong scent and sees a wet snout or eye in the dark. A rumble in the brush and it's gone. Probably a pig or a dingo, but he's glad to get back to the group, where the coals in the fire are still orange. He checks each sleeper. Terry is spread at a diagonal, mouth open, not snoring but making noise. Yvonne sleeps on her front clutching the loose material of her swag, not letting it get away. Elaine is on her side and a brown arm has slithered free. Her hair makes a perfect ring around her ear. As he watches she produces a little noise, a tiny pop from her lips as they're opened with breath. Sleep speaking, thinks Jimmy as he burrows back into his swag, careful not to jog her feet with his, but careful also that they are touching.

The morning is hot and blue from the outset. After tea and a tidy up, they set off, aiming to reach the sea before sunset. Jimmy looks forward to a swim in the bubbling salt, a proper clean down with no bloodsuckers. Terry starts to talk about food almost immediately,

'Lamb chops.' He says confidently to Yvonne. 'That's gotta be the best type of food; lamb chops with the whole grill piece; onions, mushrooms, boiled spuds – no tomatoes though, I'm so over tomatoes.' Yvonne rolls her eyes at him.

'Couldn't give a rat's ring, Terry,' but she hands him a date and a piece of chocolate. Elaine enjoys her feeling of emptiness. Her spit tastes of eucalyptus, she feels new, like the air and blood in her has been filtered out and changed for something better.

After midday, there's a yell from Terry up ahead.

'Get a look at this!' The other three catch up to find him crouching in a small clearing surrounded by stay-a-while and they peer over his shoulder. There's a dead butcher bird on the ground and following the line of Terry's finger into one of the thorny bushes, they see its larder. A small mouse impaled through the neck, stiff and dry, missing parts of its hind quarters, a large Christmas beetle, upside down with the thorn square through the middle and last, still twitching, its legs up and angry, barely impaled through its leaking abdomen, a mouse spider.

'Christssake' whispers Jimmy stepping back.

'How the poor bastard got it up here, I can't figure,' Terry says, pushing the bird with his foot to reveal the green ants starting on its wing. The mouse spider's fangs, black and thick and shiny are up and ready to strike. It waves its legs in the air. Terry picks up a twig to poke it with, but Yvonne knocks it out of his hand.

'Don't be a bum, Terry. I'm not carrying yer fat dead lump out of here if you get bitten. You can count on that.' Jimmy takes a photograph, in which Terry insists on including his own hand, so as get the scale of the thing.

They start to walk on, but Elaine stays behind a beat or two looking at the spider; its fangs reaching for her, legs pointing.

'The sky is falling, the sky is falling!' Yvonne shrieks in a chicken voice as thunder mumbles in the distance. Elaine looks again at the sky, but it's still clear. The thunder is a long way off, but you can smell it in the air, which is heavy and hot. The tips of the trees sway in the sky, but there's no breeze down on the bush floor.

A goanna clings to a Moreton Bay fig above them but nobody sees it.

Jimmy touches the side of Elaine's hand with his little finger and as he does, the leaves to the side of her snaffle and a striped snake comes streaking out of the ground, hitting her on the boot. She barks loudly and kicks trying to get her foot away. The snake's fangs are deeply embedded in the leather of her boot and she shakes her leg hard while around her the others dip and weave and try to help and point their sticks. Jimmy thinks he has control of the situation when he holds Elaine's arm and beats at the snake with his walking stick, accidentally cracking her on the shin. The snake is dislodged, but instead of bolting back into the undergrowth, it turns again and bites Elaine, once, twice, three times and a fourth; calf, back of the knee, thigh, deeply, deeply again on her inner thigh. It's snap-quick and Jimmy doesn't have time to understand and still has Elaine by the arm so she doesn't get away. Finally, Terry gets it – a blow to the eye – and it's stunned. He stomps on the head, but it still twitches, so he beats it with his stick, smashing, till it changes colour, loses its stripes. It is still, but the bush crackles and carries on.

Elaine is tight-lipped and white. Yvonne cries softly into her cupped hands, the small beeps of a bird. Terry shoes leaves over the corpse of the snake and Jimmy still holds Elaine's arm, his grip hard from not knowing what to do, from doing the wrong thing. There is blood, Elaine thinks how it looks like she's got her period and then thinks she'd love a piece of liquorice from her backpack. She starts to turn around, to take her pack off, but her legs have lost their hardness and she is sliding back into Jimmy who is stiff and still.

'Jesus H Christ,' whispers Terry. He looks at the snake and away, prodding it rhythmically with his stick. 'Jimmy,' he says. 'Jesus, Jimmy.'

'S'just a nip,' says Elaine.

As she slides to the ground with the help of Jimmy who has become flesh again, Elaine thinks about the liquorice and then about how it was a tiger. A big dose of tiger and she's starting to feel it now, it feels like it bit her in the artery of her groin. The big one. The one where all the blood lives.

Yvonne straightens herself. She helps Elaine's pack off her back and slides it behind her back to prop her up. She pulls out her poncho and arranges it over Elaine's wounded leg, to keep it out of sight and then snaps the men into action.

'Hot water - get a fire on. Get the first aid.' She looks at the two men who are twisting their fingers. 'C'mon s'only a fuckin' snake bite, let's get it sorted and get on with it.' She's right and Jimmy says so. He says, 'Only a snake bite.' Smiling at Elaine, but what they all think, Jimmy, Terry, Yvonne and Elaine is but it's tiger. And we are deep in. Deep.

• To read the conclusion of the story, visit the Booktrust website from Tuesday 7 September.

• Evie Wyld works in the independent Review Bookshop in Peckham. She is taking part in a live-streamed book club Q&A from the shop at 7.30pm on Thursday 9 September. To find out how to submit questions for the event, visit the Booktrust website


guardian.co.uk © Guardian News & Media Limited 2010 | Use of this content is subject to our Terms & Conditions | More Feeds