Produced by David Widger
By W.W. Jacobs
THE WEAKER VESSEL
Mr. Gribble sat in his small front parlour in a state of angry
amazement. It was half-past six and there was no Mrs. Gribble; worse
still, there was no tea. It was a state of things that had only
happened once before. That was three weeks after marriage, and on that
occasion Mr. Gribble had put his foot down with a bang that had echoed
down the corridors of thirty years.
The fire in the little kitchen was out, and the untidy remains of Mrs.
Gribble's midday meal still disgraced the table. More and more dazed,
the indignant husband could only come to the conclusion that she had
gone out and been run over. Other things might possibly account for her
behaviour; that was the only one that would excuse it.
His meditations were interrupted by the sound of a key in the front
door, and a second later a small, anxious figure entered the room and,
leaning against the table, strove to get its breath. The process was
not helped by the alarming distension of Mr. Gribble's figure.
"I--I got home--quick as I could--Henry," said Mrs. Gribble, panting.
"Where is my tea?" demanded her husband. "What do you mean by it? The
fire's out and the kitchen is just as you left it."
"I--I've been to a lawyer's, Henry," said Mrs. Gribble, "and I had to
"Lawyer's?" repeated her husband.
"I got a letter this afternoon telling me to call. Poor Uncle George,
that went to America, is gone."
"That is no excuse for neglecting me," said Mr. Gribble. "Of course
people die when they are old. Is that the one that got on and made
His wife, apparently struggling to repress a little excitement, nodded.
"He--he's left me two hundred pounds a year for life, Henry," she said,
dabbing at her pale blue eyes with a handkerchief. "They're going to
pay it monthly; sixteen pounds thirteen shillings and fourpence a month.
That's how he left it."
"Two hund--" began Mr. Gribble, forgetting himself. "Two hun----Go and
get my tea! If you think you're going to give yourself airs because
your uncle's left you money, you won't do it in my house."
He took a chair by the window, and, while his wife busied herself in the
kitchen, sat gazing in blank delight at the little street. Two hundred
a year! It was all he could do to resume his wonted expression as his
wife re-entered the room and began to lay the table. His manner,
however, when she let a cup and saucer slip from her trembling fingers
to smash on the floor left nothing to be desired.
"It's nice to have money come to us in our old age," said Mrs. Gribble,
timidly, as they sat at tea. "It takes a load off my mind."
"Old age!" said her husband, disagreeably. "What d'ye mean by old age?
I'm fifty-two, and feel as young as ever I did."
"You look as young as ever you did," said the docile Mrs. Gribble. "I
can't see no change in you. At least, not to speak of."
"Not so much talk," said her husband. "When I want your opinion of my
looks I'll ask you for it. When do you start getting this money?"
"Tuesday week; first of May," replied his wife. "The lawyers are going
to send it by registered letter."
Mr. Gribble grunted.
"I shall be sorry to leave the house for some things," said his wife,
looking round. "We've been here a good many years now, Henry."
"Leave the house!" repeated Mr. Gribble, putting down his tea-cup and
staring at her.
"Leave the house! What are you talking about?"
"But we can't stay here, Henry," faltered Mrs. Gribble. "Not with all
that money. They are building some beautiful houses in Charlton Grove
now--bathroom, tiled hearths, and beautiful stained glass in the front
door; and all for twenty-eight pounds a year."
"Wonderful!" said the other, with a mocking glint in his eye.
"And iron palings to the front garden, painted chocolate-colour picked
out with blue," continued his wife, eyeing him wistfully.
Mr. Gribble struck the table a blow with his fist. "This house is good
enough for me," he roared; "and what's good enough for me is good enough
for you. You want to waste money on show; that's what you want.
Stained glass and bow-windows! You want a bow-window to loll about in,
do you? Shouldn't wonder if you don't want a servant-gal to do the
Mrs. Gribble flushed guiltily, and caught her breath.
"We're going to live as we've always lived," pursued Mr. Gribble.
"Money ain't going to spoil me. I ain't going to put on no side just
because I've come in for a little bit. If you had your way we should
end up in the workhouse."
He filled his pipe and smoked thoughtfully, while Mrs. Gribble cleared
away the tea-things and washed up. Pictures, good to look upon, formed
in the smoke-pictures of a hale, hearty man walking along the primrose
path arm-in-arm with two hundred a year; of the mahogany and plush of
the saloon bar at the Grafton Arms; of Sunday jaunts, and the Oval on
He ate his breakfast slowly on the first of the month, and, the meal
finished, took a seat in the window with his pipe and waited for the
postman. Mrs. Gribble's timid reminders concerning the flight of time
and consequent fines for lateness at work fell on deaf ears. He jumped
up suddenly and met the postman at the door.
"Has it come?" inquired Mrs. Gribble, extending her hand.
By way of reply her husband tore open the envelope and, handing her the
covering letter, counted the notes and coin and placed them slowly in
his pockets. Then, as Mrs. Gribble looked at him, he looked at the
clock, and, snatching up his hat, set off down the road.
He was late home that evening, and his manner forbade conversation.
Mrs. Gribble, with the bereaved air of one who has sustained an
irremediable loss, sighed fitfully, and once applied her handkerchief to
"That's no good," said her husband at last; "that won't bring him back."
"Bring who back?" inquired Mrs. Gribble, in genuine surprise.
"Why, your Uncle George," said Mr. Gribble. "That's what you're turning
on the water-cart for, ain't it?"
"I wasn't thinking of him," said Mrs. Gribble, trying to speak bravely.
"I was thinking of----"
"Well, you ought to be," interrupted her husband. "He wasn't my uncle,
poor chap, but I've been thinking of him, off and on, all day. That
bloater-paste you are eating now came from his kindness. I brought it
home as a treat."
"I was thinking of my clothes," said Mrs. Gribble, clenching her hands
together under the table. "When I found I had come in for that money,
the first thing I thought was that I should be able to have a decent
dress. My old ones are quite worn out, and as for my hat and jacket--"
"Go on," said her husband, fiercely. "Go on. That's just what I said:
trust you with money, and we should be poorer than ever."
"I'm ashamed to be seen out," said Mrs. Gribble.
"A woman's place is the home," said Mr. Gribble; "and so long as I'm
satisfied with your appearance nobody else matters. So long as I am
pleased, that's everything. What do you want to go dressing yourself up
for? Nothing looks worse than an over-dressed woman."
"What are we going to do with all that money, then?" inquired Mrs.
Gribble, in trembling tones.
"That'll do," said Mr. Gribble, decidedly. "That'll do. One o' these
days you'll go too far. You start throwing that money in my teeth and
see what happens. I've done my best for you all these years, and
there's no reason to suppose I sha'n't go on doing so. What did you
Mrs. Gribble turned to him a face rendered ghastly by terror. "I--I
said--it was my money," she stammered.
Mr. Gribble rose, and stood for a full minute regarding her. Then,
kicking a chair out of his way, he took his hat from its peg in the
passage and, with a bang of the street-door that sent a current of
fresh, sweet air circulating through the house, strode off to the
It was past eleven when he returned, but even the spectacle of his wife
laboriously darning her old dress failed to reduce his good-humour in
the slightest degree. In a frivolous mood he even took a feather from
the dismembered hat on the table and stuck it in his hair. He took the
stump of a strong cigar from his lips and, exhaling a final cloud of
smoke, tossed it into the fireplace.
"Uncle George dead," he said, at last, shaking his head. "Hadn't
pleasure acquaintance, but good man. Good man."
He shook his head again and gazed mistily at his wife.
"He was a teetotaller," she remarked, casually.
"He was tee-toiler," repeated Mr. Gribble, regarding her equably. "Good
man. Uncle George dead-tee-toller."
Mrs. Gribble gathered up her work and began to put it away.
"Bed-time," said Mr. Gribble, and led the way upstairs, singing.
His good-humour had evaporated by the morning, and, having made a light
breakfast of five cups of tea, he went off, with lagging steps, to work.
It was a beautiful spring morning, and the idea of a man with two
hundred a year and a headache going off to a warehouse instead of a
day's outing seemed to border upon the absurd. What use was money
without freedom? His toil was sweetened that day by the knowledge that
he could drop it any time he liked and walk out, a free man, into the
By the end of a week his mind was made up. Each day that passed made
his hurried uprising and scrambled breakfast more and more irksome; and
on Monday morning, with hands in trouser-pockets and legs stretched out,
he leaned back in his chair and received his wife's alarming intimations
as to the flight of time with a superior and sphinx-like smile.
"It's too fine to go to work to-day," he said, lazily. "Come to that,
any day is too fine to waste at work."
Mrs. Gribble sat gasping at him.
"So on Saturday I gave 'em a week's notice," continued her husband, "and
after Potts and Co. had listened while I told 'em what I thought of 'em,
they said they'd do without the week's notice."
"You've never given up your job?" said Mrs. Gribble.
"I spoke to old Potts as one gentleman of independent means to another,"
said Mr. Gribble, smiling. "Thirty-five bob a week after twenty years'
service! And he had the cheek to tell me I wasn't worth that. When I
told him what he was worth he talked about sending for the police. What
are you looking like that for? I've worked hard for you for thirty
years, and I've had enough of it. Now it's your turn."
"You'd find it hard to get another place at your age," said his wife;
"especially if they wouldn't give you a good character."
"Place!" said the other, staring. "Place! I tell you I've done with
work. For a man o' my means to go on working for thirty-five bob a week
"But suppose anything happened to me," said his wife, in a troubled
"That's not very likely," said Mr. Gribble.
"You're tough enough. And if it did your money would come to me."
Mrs. Gribble shook her head.
"WHAT?" roared her husband, jumping up.
"I've only got it for life, Henry, as I told you," said Mrs. Gribble, in
alarm. "I thought you knew it would stop when I died."
"And what's to become of me if anything happens to you, then?" demanded
the dismayed Mr. Gribble. "What am I to do?"
Mrs. Gribble put her handkerchief to her eyes.
"And don't start weakening your constitution by crying," shouted the
"What are you mumbling?"
"I sa--sa--said, let's hope--you'll go first," sobbed his wife. "Then
it will be all right."
Mr. Gribble opened his mouth, and then, realizing the inadequacy of the
English language for moments of stress, closed it again. He broke his
silence at last in favour of Uncle George.
"Mind you," he said, concluding a peroration which his wife listened to
with her fingers in her ears--"mind you, I reckon I've been absolutely
done by you and your precious Uncle George. I've given up a good
situation, and now, any time you fancy to go off the hooks, I'm to be
turned into the street."
"I'll try and live, for your sake, Henry," said his wife.
"Think of my worry every time you are ill," pursued the indignant Mr.
Mrs. Gribble sighed, and her husband, after a few further remarks
concerning Uncle George, his past and his future, announced his
intention of going to the lawyers and seeing whether anything could be
done. He came back in a state of voiceless gloom, and spent the rest of
a beautiful day indoors, smoking a pipe which had lost much of its
flavour, and regarding with a critical and anxious eye the small, weedy
figure of his wife as she went about her work.
The second month's payment went into his pocket as a matter of course,
but on this occasion Mrs. Gribble made no requests for new clothes or
change of residence. A little nervous cough was her sole comment.
"Got a cold?" inquired her husband, starting.
"I don't think so," replied his wife, and, surprised and touched at this
unusual display of interest, coughed again.
"Is it your throat or your chest?" he inquired, gruffly.
Mrs. Gribble coughed again to see. After five coughs she said she
thought it was her chest.
"You'd better not go out o' doors to-day, then," said Mr. Gribble.
"Don't stand about in draughts; and I'll fetch you in a bottle of cough
mixture when I go out. What about a lay-down on the sofa?"
His wife thanked him, and, reaching the sofa, watched with half-closed
eyes as he cleared the breakfast-table. It was the first time he had
done such a thing in his life, and a little honest pride in the
possession of such a cough would not be denied. Dim possibilities of
its vast usefulness suddenly occurred to her.
She took the cough mixture for a week, by which time other symptoms,
extremely disquieting to an ease-loving man, had manifested themselves.
Going upstairs deprived her of breath; carrying a loaded tea-tray
produced a long and alarming stitch in the side. The last time she ever
filled the coal-scuttle she was discovered sitting beside it on the
floor in a state of collapse.
"You'd better go and see the doctor," said Mr. Gribble.
Mrs. Gribble went. Years before the doctor had told her that she ought
to take life easier, and she was now able to tell him she was prepared
to take his advice.
"And, you see, I must take care of myself now for the sake of my
husband," she said, after she had explained matters.
"I understand," said the doctor.
"If anything happened to me--" began the patient.
"Nothing shall happen," said the other. "Stay in bed to-morrow morning,
and I'll come round and overhaul you."
Mrs. Gribble hesitated. "You might examine me and think I was all
right," she objected; "and at the same time you wouldn't know how I
"I know just how you feel," was the reply. "Good-bye."
He came round the following morning and, following the dejected Mr.
Gribble upstairs, made a long and thorough investigation of his patient.
"Say 'ninety-nine,'" he said, adjusting his stethoscope.
Mrs. Gribble ticked off "ninety-nines" until her husband's ears ached
with them. The doctor finished at last, and, fastening his bag, stood
with his beard in his hand, pondering. He looked from the little,
whitefaced woman on the bed to the bulky figure of Mr. Gribble.
"You had better lie up for a week," he said, decidedly. "The rest will
do you good."
"Nothing serious, I s'pose?" said Mr. Gribble, as he led the way
downstairs to the small parlour.
"She ought to be all right with care," was the reply.
"Care?" repeated the other, distastefully. "What's the matter with
"She's not very strong," said the doctor; "and hearts don't improve with
age, you know. Under favourable conditions she's good for some years
yet. The great thing is never to thwart her. Let her have her own way
"Own way in everything?" repeated the dumbfounded Mr. Gribble.
The doctor nodded. "Never let her worry about anything," he continued;
"and, above all, never find fault with her."
"Not," said Mr. Gribble, thickly--"not even for her own good?"
"Unless you want to run the risk of losing her."
Mr. Gribble shivered.
"Let her have an easy time," said the doctor, taking up his hat.
"Pamper her a bit if you like; it won't hurt her. Above all, don't let
that heart of hers get excited."
He shook hands with the petrified Mr. Gribble and went off, grinning
wickedly. He had few favourites, and Mr. Gribble was not one of them.
For two days the devoted husband did the housework and waited on the
invalid. Then he wearied, and, at his wife's suggestion, a small girl
was engaged as servant. She did most of the nursing as well, and,
having a great love for the sensational, took a grave view of her
It was a relief to Mr. Gribble when his wife came downstairs again, and
he was cheered to see that she looked much better. His satisfaction was
so marked that it brought on her cough again.
"It's this house, I think," she said, with a resigned smile. "It never
did agree with me.
"Well, you've lived in it a good many years," said her husband,
controlling himself with difficulty.
"It's rather dark and small," said Mrs. Gribble. "Not but what it is
good enough for me. And I dare say it will last my time."
"Nonsense!" said her husband, gruffly. "You want to get out a bit
more. You've got nothing to do now we are wasting all this money on a
servant. Why don't you go out for little walks?"
Mrs. Gribble went, after several promptings, and the fruit of one of
them was handed by the postman to Mr. Gribble a few days afterwards.
Half-choking with wrath and astonishment, he stood over his trembling
wife with the first draper's bill he had ever received.
"One pound two shillings and threepence three-farthings!" he recited.
"It must be a mistake. It must be for somebody else."
Mrs. Gribble, with her hand to her heart, tottered to the sofa and lay
there with her eyes closed.
"I had to get some dress material," she said, in a quavering voice.
"You want me to go out, and I'm so shabby I'm ashamed to be seen."
Mr. Gribble made muffled noises in his throat; then, afraid to trust
himself, he went into the back-yard and, taking a seat on an upturned
bucket, sat with his head in his hands peering into the future.
The dressmaker's bill and a bill for a new hat came after the next
monthly payment; and a bill for shoes came a week later. Hoping much
from the well-known curative effects of fine feathers, he managed to
treat the affair with dignified silence. The only time he allowed full
play to his feelings Mrs. Gribble took to her bed for two days, and the
doctor had a heart-to-heart talk with him on the doorstep.
It was a matter of great annoyance to him that his wife still continued
to attribute her ill-health to the smallness and darkness of the house;
and the fact that there were only two of the houses in Charlton Grove
left caused a marked depression of spirits. It was clear that she was
fretting. The small servant went further, and said that she was fading
They moved at the September quarter, and a slight, but temporary,
improvement in Mrs. Gribble's health took place. Her cheeks flushed and
her eyes sparkled over new curtains and new linoleum. The tiled
hearths, and stained glass in the front door filled her with a deep and
solemn thankfulness. The only thing that disturbed her was the fact
that Mr. Gribble, to avoid wasting money over necessaries, contrived to
spend an unduly large portion on personal luxuries.
"We ought to have some new things for the kitchen," she said one day.
"No money," said Mr. Gribble, laconically.
"And a mat for the bathroom."
Mr. Gribble got up and went out.
She had to go to him for everything. Two hundred a year and not a penny
she could call her own! She consulted her heart, and that faithful
organ responded with a bound that set her nerves quivering. If she
could only screw her courage to the sticking-point the question would be
settled for once and all.
White and trembling she sat at breakfast on the first of November,
waiting for the postman, while the unconscious Mr. Gribble went on with
his meal. The double-knocks down the road came nearer and nearer, and
Mr. Gribble, wiping his mouth, sat upright with an air of alert and
pleased interest. Rapid steps came to the front door, and a double bang
"Always punctual," said Mr. Gribble, good-humouredly.
His wife made no reply, but, taking a blue-crossed envelope from the
maid in her shaking fingers, looked round for a knife. Her gaze
encountered Mr. Gribble's outstretched hand.
"After you," he said sharply.
Mrs. Gribble found the knife, and, hacking tremulously at the envelope,
peeped inside it and, with her gaze fastened on the window, fumbled for
her pocket. She was so pale and shook so much that the words died away
on her husband's lips.
"You--you had better let me take care of that," he said, at last.
"It is--all right," gasped his wife.
She put her hand to her throat and, hardly able to believe in her
victory, sat struggling for breath. Before her, grim and upright, her
husband sat, a figure of helpless smouldering wrath.
"You might lose it," he said, at last. "I sha'n't lose it," said his
To avoid further argument, she arose and went slowly upstairs. Through
the doorway Mr. Gribble saw her helping herself up by the banisters, her
left hand still at her throat. Then he heard her moving slowly about in
the bedroom overhead.
He took out his pipe and filled it mechanically, and was just holding a
match to the tobacco when he paused and gazed with a puzzled air at the
ceiling. "Blamed if it don't sound like somebody dancing!" he growled.
*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WEAKER VESSEL ***
***** This file should be named 12154.txt or 12154.zip *****
This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
Produced by David Widger
Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
will be renamed.
Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules,
Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you
do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is
subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project
Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all
the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few
paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the
collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an
individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in
a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check
the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning
the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
copied or distributed:
This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked
1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or
copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other
1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
of receipt of the work.
- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right
of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you
received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with
the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy
is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
opportunities to fix the problem.
1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any
provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists
because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
people in all walks of life.
Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project
Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at
809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
email@example.com. Email contact links and up to date contact
information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
page at http://pglaf.org
For additional contact information:
Dr. Gregory B. Newby
Chief Executive and Director
increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations
($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
status with the IRS.
The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations
where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To
SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
particular state visit http://pglaf.org
While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
approach us with offers to donate.
International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
ways including including checks, online payments and credit card
donations. To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily
keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
Each eBook is in a subdirectory of the same number as the eBook's
eBook number, often in several formats including plain vanilla ASCII,
compressed (zipped), HTML and others.
Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks replace the old file and take over
the old filename and etext number. The replaced older file is renamed.
VERSIONS based on separate sources are treated as new eBooks receiving
new filenames and etext numbers.
Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.
EBooks posted prior to November 2003, with eBook numbers BELOW #10000,
are filed in directories based on their release date. If you want to
download any of these eBooks directly, rather than using the regular
search system you may utilize the following addresses and just
download by the etext year.
(Or /etext 05, 04, 03, 02, 01, 00, 99,
98, 97, 96, 95, 94, 93, 92, 92, 91 or 90)
EBooks posted since November 2003, with etext numbers OVER #10000, are
filed in a different way. The year of a release date is no longer part
of the directory path. The path is based on the etext number (which is
identical to the filename). The path to the file is made up of single
digits corresponding to all but the last digit in the filename. For
example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at:
or filename 24689 would be found at:
An alternative method of locating eBooks: