Put it out of your
head. When you can't do a thing there is no use thinking about it
and wishing you could."
"I see no earthly harm in talking about it."
"I do. It just keeps you stirred up."
"Then what did you mention it for in the beginning?"
"I don't know. I wish to goodness I hadn't," Bob declared.
"Well, in spite of your opinions I repeat I'd give a fiver to see
that game Saturday."
"You can't, so cut it out and let me finish this theme. Every time
I've started to write you've broken in and driven every blooming
idea out of my head. Now quit it. You better pitch into your own
work for to-morrow. Dig out all the Cicero you can, and later I'll
help you with the rest."
With finality Bob wheeled his chair around and proceeded to submerge
himself in his task.
But not so Van. He took up his book, to be sure, but over the top of
it his eyes roved to the world outside, and fixed themselves
dreamily on the line of hills that peeped above the tips of the red
maples budding in the school campus. He was far away from Colversham
and its round of duties. In imagination he moved with a gay, eager
crowd through the gateway leading into the great city ball ground.
He could hear the game called; watch the first swirl of the ball as
it curved from the pitcher's hand; catch the sharp click of the bat
against it; and join in the roar of applause as the swift-footed
runner sped to second base.
Everybody would be at that opening game!
Not to go when it was within trolley distance was absurd.
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