Servo 22:3
Servo 22:3
The next morning I rode over to Dagwood’s. I found him in the chicken coop tending to several of his flock. Somewhere in the barnyard a rooster crowed. The weather was warm and sunny. “Hey, Dagwood.”“Jonah!”“I need your help.”He put down a dented white enameled pail of chicken feed and approached. “For what?”“Dad thinks we need to rescue Suz.”“Do you even know where she is?”“Probably in New Philadelphia.”“Boy howdy, that’s a long way from here.”“Yeah, and we need to figure out how to get there.”“It may sound crazy, but you might be able to hobo a freight train.”“Hobo?” I had no concept of the term.“Yeah, hop a ride like the hobos do.”“Umm, what’s a hobo?”Dagwood laughed, slapping his thigh like he did so often. “A hobo’s a person that’s got no home.”“Oh, I see.”“Lots of ’em travel from one town to another looking for work and food.”“Of course, the train tracks running through town!”“Lots of times it stops at the small switchyard near Tenth Street.”“How do we know which train to take?”“Take the eastbound one. It goes to Lincoln where there’s a big switching yard.”“And how will we know which one to take after that? Where do the track go?”Dagwood shrugged his shoulders. Just hop one that’s goin’ east. As far as I can remember, the rail line stops in Chicago. You’ll go through Omaha and Des Moines.”“I hope we don’t get lost.”“They’re train tracks, not like gettin’ lost on a bunch of roads.”“Do you think it’ll work?”“I can’t think of any other way to get you there.”“But what if Dad gets seen?”“He can hide good in some of those box cars.”“Do you know when the trains go through?”Dagwood picked up the pail, dipped his hand, scooping up a bunch of cracked corn. He flung it wide over the area where a dozen chickens wandered. “Dunno. Sometimes I can hear the trail whistle from here.”I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to think back. Did I ever recall hearing the train from the house? Vaguely. Now I’d have to make a point to listen. If we knew when the trains went through, we could time our escape. There still remained the problem of smuggling Dad across town. “Any ideas on how we could get there without being seen?”“You’re gonna think I’m silly.”“What?”“Well, you polished up your Dad so good, he’s as obvious as a cat in a dog store.”“Are you saying we need to paint him a dull color?”“Naw, just put some clothes on him.”“Brilliant idea!” I paced around in a small circle, several of the chickens clucked at me because I disturbed their meal. “Maybe even put a hat on him.”“There ya go!”I watched Dagwood’s face sag. “What’s the matter?”“Nothing.”“Dagwood, I know you well enough to know something’s wrong.” And that wasn’t a lie. My simple-minded friend displayed his emotions like a slogan on his t-shirt.“Sounds like it’s gonna be an exciting adventure.”“Adventure is right. But I don’t want any excitement.”“Still, you’re gonna runaway.”“I’d hardly call it that. Granted we won’t be telling Grandma and Grandpa, but having my father runaway with us is not so daring.” His body language told me he wanted to come along. “Isn’t the State fair coming up?”“Yeah.”“You don’t want to miss that, do you?”“No.”“Our little adventure may take a while—a long while.”“Will you be back before summer ends?” “I hope so.”
The next morning I rode over to Dagwood’s. I found him in the chicken coop tending to several of his flock. Somewhere in the barnyard a rooster crowed. The weather was warm and sunny. “Hey, Dagwood.”“Jonah!”“I need your help.”He put down a dented white enameled pail of chicken feed and approached. “For what?”“Dad thinks we need to rescue Suz.”“Do you even know where she is?”“Probably in New Philadelphia.”“Boy howdy, that’s a long way from here.”“Yeah, and we need to figure out how to get there.”“It may sound crazy, but you might be able to hobo a freight train.”“Hobo?” I had no concept of the term.“Yeah, hop a ride like the hobos do.”“Umm, what’s a hobo?”Dagwood laughed, slapping his thigh like he did so often. “A hobo’s a person that’s got no home.”“Oh, I see.”“Lots of ’em travel from one town to another looking for work and food.”“Of course, the train tracks running through town!”“Lots of times it stops at the small switchyard near Tenth Street.”“How do we know which train to take?”“Take the eastbound one. It goes to Lincoln where there’s a big switching yard.”“And how will we know which one to take after that? Where do the track go?”Dagwood shrugged his shoulders. Just hop one that’s goin’ east. As far as I can remember, the rail line stops in Chicago. You’ll go through Omaha and Des Moines.”“I hope we don’t get lost.”“They’re train tracks, not like gettin’ lost on a bunch of roads.”“Do you think it’ll work?”“I can’t think of any other way to get you there.”“But what if Dad gets seen?”“He can hide good in some of those box cars.”“Do you know when the trains go through?”Dagwood picked up the pail, dipped his hand, scooping up a bunch of cracked corn. He flung it wide over the area where a dozen chickens wandered. “Dunno. Sometimes I can hear the trail whistle from here.”I closed my eyes for a moment, trying to think back. Did I ever recall hearing the train from the house? Vaguely. Now I’d have to make a point to listen. If we knew when the trains went through, we could time our escape. There still remained the problem of smuggling Dad across town. “Any ideas on how we could get there without being seen?”“You’re gonna think I’m silly.”“What?”“Well, you polished up your Dad so good, he’s as obvious as a cat in a dog store.”“Are you saying we need to paint him a dull color?”“Naw, just put some clothes on him.”“Brilliant idea!” I paced around in a small circle, several of the chickens clucked at me because I disturbed their meal. “Maybe even put a hat on him.”“There ya go!”I watched Dagwood’s face sag. “What’s the matter?”“Nothing.”“Dagwood, I know you well enough to know something’s wrong.” And that wasn’t a lie. My simple-minded friend displayed his emotions like a slogan on his t-shirt.“Sounds like it’s gonna be an exciting adventure.”“Adventure is right. But I don’t want any excitement.”“Still, you’re gonna runaway.”“I’d hardly call it that. Granted we won’t be telling Grandma and Grandpa, but having my father runaway with us is not so daring.” His body language told me he wanted to come along. “Isn’t the State fair coming up?”“Yeah.”“You don’t want to miss that, do you?”“No.”“Our little adventure may take a while—a long while.”“Will you be back before summer ends?” “I hope so.”
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