CHAPTER X
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?