The Doctor Dines in Prague Read Online Free PDF

Jiri nodded yes.
    â€œI know what you’d like to see.” Fenimore drew again.

    At the sight of his relatives, Jiri clapped his paws.
    Marie peered hesitantly at the picture.
    â€œHow ’bout it, Jiri?” Fenimore bounced the bear on his knee. “You can have pretzels, and cheese steaks, and ice cream—the best in the world!”
    The bear jumped up and down, clapping his paws.
    â€œBut you can’t leave Marie.”
    Jiri looked at Marie and shook his head. He touched her hand with his paw and, in a gruff, bearlike voice (which only slightly
resembled Fenimore’s) said, “Come on, Marie. Come with me to America!” He began jumping up and down again.
    The glimmer of a smile crossed the child’s face.
    Fenimore placed Jiri in her arms.
    She hugged him to her chest.
    Fenimore asked, in his normal voice, “Is it a deal?”
    She looked puzzled.
    â€œIs it okay?”
    Slowly, she nodded.

CHAPTER 7
    T hat hurdle over, he tackled the passport problem. “Where do Mama and Papa keep their important papers?” he asked Marie, praying she didn’t say, “In the bank.”
    She led him into the master bedroom and pointed under the bed. He peered under and saw a strongbox. He dragged it out and blew off a thin coating of dust. It was locked.
    â€œKey?”
    She looked puzzled.
    Fenimore imagined having to lug the box into a field and blow it up with a stick of dynamite. He retrieved the dictionary. “Klí?” he said.
    She brightened and led him into the kitchen. On a nail, beside the door that opened into the alley, hung a ring of keys. Fenimore had probably looked at it a dozen times since he arrived—without seeing it. Quickly, he fingered through them—door keys, car keys, closet keys, trunk keys—until he came to a small, nondescript key, cut in the shape of the letter E . It looked just right. He took it into the bedroom. A perfect fit. He turned it and lifted the lid of the strongbox. Inside lay a pile of legal papers wrapped in a large rubber band. A will, a document donating various organs to various organizations,
three insurance policies—two life, one car—a marriage certificate, and three birth certificates. Marie’s was on the bottom. “Eureka!” he cried, waving it in the air.
    Marie giggled.
    Hurdle number two had been scaled. Now for number three. “Photographs?” he said.
    Marie led him to her mother’s closet and pulled out a cardboard box. Inside were three hefty photograph albums and numerous packs of loose photos. He groaned at the thought of going through all of them. Marie reached into the box and drew out a large yellow envelope. Inside was a recent eight- by ten-inch picture of Marie and six wallet-sized pictures. They were taken at school this year, she told him.
    Praise the Lord, thought Fenimore. He planted a kiss on top of her head and slipped two of the smaller pictures into his pocket.
    Next, with Marie’s help, he filled out the passport application form. It was a laborious task—communicating his questions and interpreting her answers. But, with the aid of the dictionary, they got through it. He had taken the precaution of writing it in pencil first, then inking it over. When it was finished, Fenimore sat back with a sigh and looked at his watch. Good grief! All this passport baloney had taken almost three hours! It was two-thirty; the passport office closed at four o’clock, and it was on the other side of town.
    An unpleasant thought struck him. What if someone was watching the apartment? If the phone was being tapped, the apartment might also be under surveillance. No one must know that Marie was here. But the government never would issue her a passport without seeing her in person. Somehow he had to smuggle her out. But how?
    â€œI’m hungry!” Marie handed the pizzeria card to Fenimore.
    His stomach contracted. He glanced at his watch. Almost three! But