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“Billy, I don’t like the look of your eyes; you’re reading too much at night,” his mother said one evening when he was helping with the dishes. “You must go to bed earlier.” In the meantime Mr. Wopp sitting precariously on the edge of the sofa was examining for at least the two-hundredth time the red plush album which contained the records of the Wopp family, past and present, in picture form. He looked long and earnestly at a tin-type representing a plump, velvet-coated, mop-haired boy of twelve. He sighed deeply. “She may come with me, mother,” Edith said, pausing in the lesson with finger uplifted on the beat; “Billy mustn’t go into that bleak tank house.”.
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either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call
me instead fails.There was
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Conrad
They were a happy lot. Each held some high-sounding position, the name coined in Billy’s busy brain. His box of abused tools came forth; the much mended wheelbarrow, picks, shovels wobbly from use as well as abuse, improvised things that only an imagination as large as Billy’s could have named tools,—something for each one there. Fate led the trio to the theatre where Mr. Zalhambra was playing. Howard took his friends to a box and no sooner were they seated than he espied Nell and Betty. Clarence brought out his high-school books to display before the simple country boy the profundity of his learning. He opened his “Euclid” and Moses, sitting at the table, was vastly impressed with the sight of angles and triangles, and rash but interesting statements about abc being equal to bed. His attitude toward Clarence became one of utter abasement as that budding Archimedes produced his exercise book covered with squat-shaped triangles gleefully pursuing circles whose rims were horribly mangled by reason of defective compasses..
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