The doctor smoked his pipe thoughtfully. One trouble, however, shot its slanting bolts athwart the shining warmth of that opening day and marred its perfection, and that was the thought of her father. " "What time is it?" inquired Jack. Keeping to the shadow of the house, he crept forward until he could see better without, he hoped, being seen. " "Mr. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. \"I'm going to his baseball game, he's pitching for Lincoln, and then I believe he is taking me to dinner. Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. Wood lifted up his hands in mute despair.
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