It was only Tuesday, and the days just dragged by. It seemed Saturday
was a year off, when I was to see Mitch. I was out in the front yard
about nine o'clock and all the rest was in the house. My uncle came
along and began to sharpen a scythe on the grinder and I was turnin' it
for him. I was teasin' him to go to the river and fish and camp out over
night. He said it was too hot, and besides we needed another man, and
Willie Wallace was gone, and he couldn't get Bud Entrekin to go until
he'd hauled some corn. By and by he got the scythe sharp and went away
to cut weeds. While I was standin' there wonderin' what to do, I heard a
low whistle and looked over the fence and there was Mitch. He didn't
look very gay. He was covered with dust, had been walkin' since early
mornin'. He scrooched down behind the fence and whispered to me to come
over into the orchard. We got down in the grass by a tree, first lookin'
for snakes, and then Mitch said: "How much money you got?" I said, I
thought I could get two dollars anyway, and he said, "That's bully, I've
got 80 cents and that's enough." "What you goin' to do, Mitch, you're
not goin' to see Tom now, are you?" Says he: "The time has come. Go get
your money and we'll start right now."
He almost scared me, he was so quick and earnest. Then he said, "I've
got somethin' on my mind, a good deal on my mind. The time has come to
go. There's nothin' left but Old Salem, and we can finish that any
time--and let's go now and see Tom before anything else happens. Pretty
soon the summer'll be over, and things keep happenin'. We must go now."
So he made me go to the house for my money. I had to ask grandma for it,
and at first she wouldn't give it to me. She said I'd lose it. But I
teased her till she went to her closet and gave it to me. Then said she:
"You never let a body alone when you start. So here it is, and if you
lose it--you lose it."
I went back to the tree in the orchard where Mitch was. Then we walked
clear to the back of the orchard, clumb the rail fence, walked through
the meadow a roundabout way and came to the road on the other side of
the Tate farm. So here we struck out for Atterberry, so as to walk the
railroad to Havaner. We thought we could make Oakford before night.
When we got fairly started Mitch said, "Something terrible has happened
to me, Skeet--it's terrible."
"What?" says I.
"I can't talk about it now," says Mitch. "By and by I can, maybe. Of
course I'll tell you--I must tell some one. But it's that made me come
out here and see you, and not wait for Saturday. I just had to see you;
and it seemed the time had just come for us to go to see Tom."
I says: "Well, Mitch, you know me, and if I can do anything, you know
I'll do it. And maybe you'd better tell me right now."
"Well," says Mitch, "there's more'n one thing to tell--and both of 'em
had somethin' to do with me comin' to-day. I couldn't stand the town
another minute. I had to get away."
So we walked on and didn't get a lift or anything, and about eleven we
came to Atterberry. We went into the store to get a bottle of pop, and
while we was there, the train whistled, and the store-keeper says,
"That's number 2. She's on time."
You never see such luck. We went out and the freight train pulled in and
there was Willie Wallace. Well, he was that glad to see me. Here he was
with gloves on and a cap with a silver label which said "Brakeman," and
he was the happiest man you ever see.
I began to think what to say. We wanted to ride, but where was we goin',
and did our folks know it? If we told him we was runnin' away to see Tom
Sawyer, maybe he wouldn't let us on the train. So I began to play safe.
I told him Mitch and me was goin' to Havaner to see my pa who was there,
and come back with him to-morrow. Then I took out my two dollars and
showed him, and says, "That's for my fare, and Mitch has money, too."
Willie Wallace says: "You don't need no fare--just crawl up in the
cupola of the caboose, and it will be all right. I owe your grandpap a
lot for what he did for me in times past--and I'll pay part of it by
lettin' you ride."
Then Willie walked away to go into the depot; and Mitch says, "Derned if
I'm not proud of you, Skeet. That was a bully whack--and we've struck it
rich. Our luck has turned at last."
We climbed up into the cupola and took seats, swingin' seats they
was--and we could see all over the country--clean down to the woods
where the river was, and over the fields far away. And pretty soon we
was off, goin' like mad.
"What do you think of this?" says I.
"Why, Skeet," says Mitch, "did Tom Sawyer ever have anything like this?
He never did. And come to think of it, was there a railroad in Tom's
town? He never speaks of one. And nobody ever goes anywhere, except to
Coonville, which maybe was as far from Tom's town as Atterberry from
your grandpa's farm. Say, this is wonderful."
[Illustration: Willie Wallace Lets Us Ride]
And Mitch took off his hat and let the wind blow through his sweaty
hair. It was a wonderful day, and here we was, whizzin' right through
the country, lookin' down on the fields, and goin' so fast that
blackbirds flyin' alongside of us got way behind and couldn't keep up.
Then we could whirl around in our chairs and look through the windows of
the cupola all around the country.
We got to Oakford by and by and looked down on the men and boys standing
by the depot, their hands in their pockets, chewin' tobacco, whittlin',
jostlin' each other, laughin' and all that. Then the conductor came out
of the depot with tissue papers in his hand and gave the signal and we
started off. At Kilburn we did some switchin', put on a car with cattle
in it. And here the conductor saw us for the first time.
He started to come up in the cupola and the first thing he says was,
"Fares, please." "How much?" says I. "Where you goin'?" says he. "To
Havaner," I says. "Where did you get on?" "At Atterberry," I says. I
began to look for Willie Wallace, but he warn't anywhere around. Then
the conductor says, "One dollar." I pulled a dollar out and handed it to
him. Then he turned to Mitch and says, "You goin' to Havaner, too?"
Mitch says, "Yes, sir." "One dollar, please," says the conductor. Mitch
didn't have it--he only had 80 cents. So I gave my other dollar to the
conductor, and he climbed into the cupola and stayed a bit and then
climbed down and went away sommers.
Mitch says, "Well, that about cleans us out. We've got just 80 cents now
between us. I thought Willie Wallace was your friend."
"He is," says I, "but I never met this here conductor before."
"It looks like it," says Mitch. "And now who knows what this will do to
us? Suppose we have to pay our fare on the boat? That means we'll have
to lay over long enough in Havaner to earn the money. One thing
sometimes leads to another."
Just then Willie Wallace came through the caboose, and the train
stopped. I looked out and saw we was alongside a corn-crib--nothin'
else; but we began to back on to a switch, and pretty soon stopped. And
now it was so still that you could hear the crickets chirp in the grass.
It was a lonely country here--flat and sandy. Mitch and I got down and
went to the back platform to see what Willie Wallace was doin'. He was
standin' by the switch. And pretty soon the passenger train came
whizzin' by. And what do you suppose? There stood pa on the back
platform of the last car, smokin' a cigar and talkin' to a man.
We backed up and started on. Willie Wallace came into the caboose. Here
we was in a pickle. If I complained to Willie Wallace about the
conductor takin' two dollars for our fare, I was afraid he'd say, "Look
here, what's your pa doin' on that train goin' back to Petersburg? You
ain't goin' to Havaner to meet him--you're runnin' off--that's what you
are. And I'll put you off here and you can walk back, or I'll take you
to Havaner and give you over to the police." So I was afraid and I began
to edge.
Says I: "What time does that train get to Petersburg, Willie?"
"About an hour from here," says he.
"Where does it come from?"
"Peoria."
"Does it come through Havaner?"
"Why, of course it does; why?"
"Because," says I, "I thought I saw a friend of my pa's standin' on the
back platform."
"Who?" says Willie.
"Well, you don't know him," says I. "He's a friend of my pa's."
Willie didn't say nothin'.
Then I says, "Didn't you see a couple of men standin' on the back
platform?"
"No," says Willie. "I can't be watchin' things like that when I'm takin'
care of a switch and all that."
Mitch looked at me. We knew then it was all right. So I started in on
the money.
"Look here, Willie, this here conductor hit us for two dollars, a dollar
apiece for our fare to Havaner."
"No," says Willie.
"Honest, didn't he, Mitch?"
Mitch said, "Yep."
"Well, he must be foolin'," says Willie, "for the fare is only 60 cents
from Atterberry, and you'd go half fare at 30 cents."
Mitch says, "I've heard about conductors knockin' down, and this looks
like it to me. But what's two dollars? When we get to Havaner, Skeet's
pa will give him that twice over, if he wants it. So let it go, Skeet.
If a conductor wants to be mean enough to cheat a couple of boys, and
the railroad is mean enough to take the money, I say, let it go."
We hadn't gone more'n six miles anyway when the train stopped again.
Willie and the conductor went way up toward the engine, and we was
stalled here for most an hour. It was a hot box or somethin'. And we got
tired and we was as hungry as wolves, since we hadn't et anything since
morning.
Pretty soon Willie came in and says, "She's whistlin' for Havaner." We
curved around by a sand hill and drew up by the depot. The sun was just
above the tree tops. It had taken us hours and hours to come from
Atterberry, and Willie said it wasn't more'n forty miles. We hopped off
and started away.
"Here," said the conductor. "Here's the receipt for your fare." He
slipped the two dollars into my hand with a laugh, and we shook hands
with Willie Wallace and started up town.