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Updated: April 30, 2025
"And who in hell is Weedon Scott?" the faro-dealer demanded. "Oh, one of them crackerjack minin' experts. He's in with all the big bugs. If you want to keep out of trouble, you'll steer clear of him, that's my talk. He's all hunky with the officials. The Gold Commissioner's a special pal of his." "I thought he must be somebody," was the faro-dealer's comment.
That farmer gentleman appeared shortly after we arrived at the crest of a gentle hill. "No trespassin' on these here premises!" he grinned. "How are ye, everybody? Miss Lawrence tells me that my man Wallace, here, is a crackerjack drivin' one of them golf balls. You'd ought to see him drive a team when he first come here.
It was a big Crackerjack touring car overflowing with scouts and driven by a smiling scoutmaster. It seemed as if they ought to have been pressed in and down with a shovel like ice cream in a quart box. "For the love of " one of them began. "Look what's here, it's a scout." "That?" shouted another, "Let's have the magnifying glass, will you?" Pee-wee straightened himself up to his full height.
But an idea just occurred to me, fellows." "Then let's have it, Frank. We're short of ideas at present, just as we are of a bully good football player needed in to-morrow's game. What is it?" asked Molly Manners, unduly excited by these strange occurrences. "Perhaps the dog might lead us to where Bones is!" said Frank. "Say, now, that's just a crackerjack suggestion.
You'll see what happened in the next chapter. Oh boy, it's going to be a peacherino! One thing, I wished Tom Slade was there, because he was the best tracker we ever had. He could track an airplane that's what the fellows used to say. But he was over in France and the only other fellow in our troop who is a crackerjack at tracking, is Westy Martin.
But you've got to remember that we've had more experience at the game than Lon," Bob reminded him. "It seems to me that we'd do better all to work on one big, crackerjack set than each to make a separate long distance set," said Herb. "In the first place, it's more fun working together. And then we could put our money together and get better equipment than we could the other way.
"Yes, Ned is a crackerjack salesman!" agreed Tom, no less enthusiastically. "He's sold more bonds, in proportion, for his bank, than any other in this county. Dad and I both took some, and have promised him more. I am glad now that we let him go, although we valued his services highly. We hope to have him back later." "He can put me down for more bonds too!" said Mr. Nestor.
The cheap lithographs of the Sam Levin Crackerjack Belles Company glared at one from the bill-boards. "That's our paper," explained Blanche LeHaye. "That's me, in the center of the bunch, with the pink reins in my hands, drivin' that four-in-hand of johnnies. Hot stuff! Just let Dacre try to get it away from me, that's all. I'll show'm." She sank back into her corner.
"If I were manager of a show, you can bet I'd snap him up pretty quick." "That's right," agreed Jimmy. "He's certainly a crackerjack dancer, but there is one thing about him that I never thought much of." "What's that?" asked Bob, curiously. "Why, haven't you ever noticed what a light appetite he has?" asked Jimmy. "I'd be ashamed of myself if I couldn't eat more than he does.
Lessing was about Peter's own age and had large and cheerful notions of the probable increase of real-estate values in Pleasanton, combined with a just appreciation of the simple shrewdness which had so recommended Peter to his employers. "You'd be a crackerjack to talk to the old ladies," Lessing generously praised him. "I scare 'em; they think I'm too hopeful."
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