The Petrified Man

By George Weston

"The Petrified Man" is a tale of Herbert Peterson, a young geologist who earned his nickname on college because of his favorite studies, rocks and minerals. After leaving the University, now Professor Peterson roamed up and down the continent visiting mountains and tapping the rocks with his hammer until one day he stumbled upon an accident which changed his life forever.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Good Press
• Release date: Dec 8, 2020
• ISBN: 4064066314491

Book preview

George Weston

The Petrified Man

Published by Good Press, 2022

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EAN 4064066314491

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DOWN the road that winds along the slope of Mt. Aurora rolled an automobile. To the right was the mountain, looming over the car as the flank of an elephant might loom over a crawling fly. To the left a low wall was all that stood between the road and a drop so deep that the trees below looked like bushes and the cows were painted toys from a child's Noah's ark. On such a road, one might have thought, a car would proceed with caution, but the automobile with which our story opens first swung to the right and then to the left as though upon destruction bent.

A glance inside the car, however, would have explained it all. On the back seat were two suitcases, shining with newness; and on the front seat were two newly weds, shining with newness too, and acting quite—quite—quite in the immemorial manner. Nor was that all. Watching them through the back window of the car was a character so strange that you will never understand it unless we go right back to the beginning of things and tell this story properly.

II

Table of Contents

YOU know the way most mothers boast about the beauty of their babies? When Herbert Peterson was eight years old he heard his mother telling a visitor what a beautiful child her Oliver had been, and how, when she took him out in his gocart, perfect strangers had stopped her on the street and cried, Oh! Oh! What a lovely child!

Say, mom, said Herbert when the visitor had departed, wasn't I a pretty baby too?

Herbert was in his mother's black books that day. The night before she had caught him reading in bed with the lamp precariously balanced on the edge of the mattress. So when he asked for information about the beauty of his babyhood he courted a truthful answer; and, what is more, he got it.

No, Herbert, said his mother. You were a strong, healthy baby—I'll say that for you; but I used to pull your little cap down over your face whenever I took you out. Your Uncle Andrew used to say that your head reminded him of an apple dumpling that somebody had sat on—Uncle Andrew was always a great joker. But you were a good baby—I'll say that for you.

Herbert swallowed hard and went back to his lessons. He had always been a quiet boy, but he was just a bit quieter than ever after that.

When he was eleven years old, he was standing