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Updated: May 2, 2025
All books and no business makes Jack a jack-in-the-box, with springs and wheels in his head; all play and no work makes Jack a jackass, with bosh in his skull. The right prescription for him is play when he really needs it, and work whether he needs it or not; for that dose makes Jack a cracker-jack.
If Castle should get stuck he'll raise an awful howl." Jim grinned: "He'd holler, would he? In course; it might help his business. Yer the orneriest ostrich fur a man of yer keerful eddication! Did you hear thet Boston banker what bought the Cracker-jack from us a-hollerin'? He kept so shet about it, I'll bet, thet you couldn't a-blasted it outer him."
"If that aeroplane did climb up out of that field, while we pushed through the heavy timber, and none of us heard a thing, let me tell you, boys, they've got a cracker-jack of a motor, that's what!" "But arrah! would ye be thinkin' that a lot of bog-trottin' counterfeiters'd be havin' a rale aeroplane?" burst out Andy Flinn, who had up to now been unable to give any expression to his feelings.
Besides, there's no telling what cracker-jack chances we may strike for pictures. I'm always on the lookout for anything like that, you remember." Frank of course knew next to nothing about the lay of the ground, but he could give a pretty good guess, for he had kept his eyes about him all of the time. Accordingly he laid out the course they would take.
Cracker-jack of a looking chap," announced "Cop" Billings to his roommates late one morning, as he burst into the room after his early mile run to find them with yet ten minutes to spare before the "rising bell." "Shut up, and let a fellow sleep," growled "Sandy," from his bed in the corner.
"You always did envy me the possession of that gun, and I know it, in spite of your sneers. You just thought I'd beat you out in making a record. Wait! I'm going to get that cracker-jack gun back again, some fine day," remarked Bluff, grimly. And Frank, seeing that look of determination on his face, knew he meant it. "Wake up, everybody!"
Trapes, glancing up from her household accounts, "you go into the kitchen an' look around." "I mean it's aces up." "Up where?" queried Mrs. Trapes. "Well, it's a regular Jim-dandy cracker-jack some swell clump, eh?" "Arthur, that low, tough talk don't go with me," said Mrs. Trapes, and resumed her intricate calculations again. "Say, when'll Geoff an' Hermy be back?"
"I am Weetonka, the famous Indian chief!", I shouted, "and I haven't had anything to eat since eight o'clock. Give me that sandwich or I'll scalp you!" This chapter and the next one are mostly about Wigley Weigand, but we usually call him Wig-Wag Weigand, because he's a cracker-jack on wig-wag signalling. He's good on all the different kinds of signalling.
He went on to Miss Hopkins's, and delivered the twin of the box, with a similar yellow printed card bearing the impress of the same great firm on the inside of the box cover. For Margaret had hied her to Lorania Hopkins the instant Shuey was gone. She presented herself breathless, a little to the embarrassment of Lorania, who was sitting with her niece before a large box of cracker-jack.
"The sun is just right for a cracker-jack snap-shot from here," he remarked, as he proceeded to press the bulb, and then carefully change the exposure so that he might not inadvertently take two pictures on the same portion of film; for Alec was exceedingly systematic in most things he did, which was one secret for his wonderful success at photography, a profession that allows no haphazard habits.
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