THE SIDE-DOOR PULLMAN
Joe Strong, unaware of the exciting events that were taking place in the
home of his foster-parents—a home he had deserted for what, to him, were
good and sufficient reasons—hurried on down the silent and dark streets
of Bedford. It was unusual in such a small town for any one to be out
after midnight, unless there were some special occasion, and the young
wizard had the place to himself.
“Well, I got out of that all right,” he said, half aloud, as he stopped,
when safely around the corner, to put on his shoes. “I got away without
the deacon’s seeing me. But he was right after me, and I didn’t think I
made much noise.
“Let’s see now,” went on our hero, musingly, as he straightened up after
lacing his shoes. “What had I better do? Say, it’s great to feel free to
do just as one pleases for the first time in years!”
Joe flung up his arms and gazed at the silent, blinking stars which
sprinkled the sky overhead.
“It sure does feel good to be your own boss! I can go when I please, and
come when I please, and I don’t have to stand the shame of a beating
just because I burned a suit in saving a man’s life! It sure is good to
be free!”
Joe was to learn that it is not all joy and happiness to be “free,” and
to be one’s “own boss,” but, just at present, he felt only a sense of
exultation.
“First I’ve got to leave this bundle at Tom’s house,” thought Joe, as he
picked up the suit which had been loaned him. “I’ll leave it there with
a note that will explain. I wish I could see some of the boys to bid ’em
good-bye, but maybe it’s just as well not to. They might laugh at me,
and I wouldn’t want that. Some day, when I’m a well-known magician, I’ll
come back and give ’em a show that will open their eyes!”
Joe next picked up his valise. It was rather heavy, for he had stuffed
in it belongings that had accumulated for years—little mementos and
keepsakes of younger days. He also had in it what clothes he felt he
would need. But Joe did not feel the weight of his satchel now. It was
as light as a feather to him.
And to prove it Joe tossed it up in the air, also the bundle of Tom’s
clothes, and there in the darkness of midnight, standing in the middle
of one of Bedford’s principal streets, he juggled the objects in the
most approved style, using a small stone he had picked up for the third
piece to make a symmetrical act.
“I’ll be able to do some juggling if I have to, when I want to fill in
between tricks,” thought Joe. “I do hope I can get work in some sort of
a show. Professor Rosello ought to be able to give me a letter,
introducing me to some of his friends in the business.
“Well, standing here juggling and thinking about it won’t get me
anywhere,” said Joe, in a sort of stage whisper. “I’d better be moving
if I’m to get a berth in my side-door Pullman,” and he laughed in a
silent fashion at the idea.
Joe had made up his mind to go to the town of Lorilard, distant about
fifty miles from Bedford, where Professor Rosello was to give a
performance the next day, and for two or three days following. This much
the magician had told Joe in the interview at the hotel, when he gave
him a list of his stopping places.
“Yes, I’ll go to see the professor at Lorilard,” decided Joe. “He can’t
any more than turn me down. But he promised to help me, and he was
grateful to me. I believe he’ll be able to do something.” Now for Tom’s
house, and then my ‘berth!’”
Joe had made up his mind to take the midnight freight that stopped at
Bedford, and which arrived in Lorilard some time in the early morning.
Joe was not particular as to time.
“I’ll have to save what money I have,” thought the boy, “so I won’t have
any to waste on railroad fare. A freight car will suit me.”
Joe Strong walked on through the dark and silent streets. He kept on the
grass as much as possible, for his footsteps rang out loudly in the
quietness, and Joe knew that “Hen” Sylvester and Tim Donovan, the two
policemen of Bedford, did not spend quite all the night in sleep.
“I just wouldn’t like ’em to see me going away like this,” thought Joe.
“They’d be sure to stop and ask me questions. And if I make too much
noise walking on the sidewalks they may hear me. It’s me for the green
grass.”
And so he went on until he came to the Simpson house. Joe there came to
a pause, and looked at the dwelling. No light showed.
“Guess they’re all asleep,” he mused. “I wouldn’t want any of the family
to see me sneaking up and leaving a bundle on the steps. They might take
me for a burglar, and raise a row.”
Silently and cautiously he opened the front gate, and tiptoed up the
brick walk, leaving his valise outside. He laid the suit of clothes,
with a little note he had written, in plain view on the door-step, and
then with a whispered good-bye to Tom, which that sound-sleeping lad did
not hear, Joe set off again.
“Now I’m really on my way,” he told himself. “The whole world lies
before me, as we used to see in our school readers, and I have my own
fortune to make. And I hope I begin to make it soon,” mused the lad,
whimsically. “At least I hope Dame Fortune allows me to draw a few
dollars a week in advance.”
As Joe turned into a street that led to the freight station and caught
sight of what was left standing of the fireworks factory, he could but
think of the stirring events in which he had played such a prominent
part—the discussion with his chums of the professor’s tricks, the alarm
of the explosion, the swimming of the creek, and the sensational rescue
of Professor Rosello.
There was no sign of the fire as Joe passed the scene of it now. It had
all died out, and the main building was surrounded by heaps of ashes
which marked where the smaller structures had stood.
Two loud, shrill whistles broke the midnight stillness.
“The freight!” cried Joe, breaking into a run. “She’s getting ready to
leave! I wonder if I can make it.
“She’s leaving ahead of time,” Joe went on. The freight arrived in
Bedford at midnight and left an hour later, an event which Joe had
counted on in making his calculations to leave by it. But the train was
getting ready to pull out now, fully twenty minutes early, the two
whistles Joe heard being the signal for “off brakes;” though with the
modern air apparatus this was really only a starting signal, the
brakemen being no longer required to run along the tops of the cars to
loosen the wheels.
“I’ll have to hustle!” Joe told himself, as he increased his pace.
The youth was in fine physical condition, and he knew he could easily
reach the freight train before it passed entirely beyond the station,
for it was a long one.
“But I counted on having time to pick out a car,” thought Joe, still
running toward the railroad. “I wonder what I can do now?”
The matter worried him. It is not easy to “jump” a moving freight train.
There are no cars with steps, such as passenger coaches have, with
convenient hand rails. Jumping a moving freight train is a risky matter,
even for a trained railroad brakeman.
“And how I’m to do it with this valise I don’t know,” thought Joe. “But
it’s got to be done!”
He was glad he was in such good physical trim.
“I see what the trouble is,” Joe went on. “There wasn’t any shipment of
fireworks to-night, and that’s why the freight pulled out earlier. I
didn’t think of that.”
As he ran on down the street he heard a voice behind him calling:
“Here! Hold on! Stop! Who are you?”
“Hen Sylvester!” gasped Joe. “He’s seen me and he’s suspicious. Well,
I’ve no time to stop and explain now. I’d miss the train sure!”
He ran on, faster than before. He heard the patter of feet behind him,
and again the hail:
“Hold on, or I’ll shoot!”
“He’ll only shoot in the air if he does,” Joe told himself. “I’ll take a
chance. I guess he doesn’t know who I am.”
He was near the freight depot now. Another few steps and he was on the
long covered platform along which the train was moving. None of the
trainmen or depot freight handlers were in sight. It was a “light”
night, and they had gotten through early.
Joe watched the train gliding along in front of him, rapidly acquiring
speed. The platform was on a level with the floor of the freight cars.
“If I could only see one with an open door,” mused Joe. “Then I could
dive into it. I don’t dare take a chance of jumping in between two cars.
I might slip down between the buffers.”
Eagerly he watched the gliding train. Oh, for an open door!
Joe heard other feet now pounding along the wooden platform.
“It’s Hen coming to see who I am!” thought Joe.
He looked for a hiding place. And yet to hide meant to lose the chance
of taking the freight out of town.
“I saw him come up here!” some one said.
“We’ll get him,” said another. “He’s probably a burglar!”
“Tim Donovan is with Hen now,” thought Joe. “They’re both after me—the
whole Bedford police force,” and in spite of his predicament he
chuckled.
Just then there glided past him a freight car with a wide open door.
“Here’s my chance!” cried Joe half aloud. And the next second he made a
flying leap into the moving “side-door Pullman.”
Joe Strong was on his way—whither?