“Lots bigger. Atlanta’s just a village compared to New York.”
“Uh-huh.” June remained silent this time for many minutes, and Wayne too seemed engrossed in thought. Finally, though, June said: “Mas’ Wayne, what we-all got to go to New York for, sir? Why don’t we stay jus’ where we is? We’s both of us got jobs here, an’ goodness only knows what’s goin’ to happen to us in that big ol’ place! Why don’t we stay put, Mas’ Wayne?”
“Well,” answered the other slowly, “we started for New York, June, you know.”
“Yes, sir, we surely done started for it, but we don’t have to get where we started for, does we? Ol’ Eph Jennings, he started for the circus one day but he fotched up in the calaboose, Mas’ Wayne. Startin’ an’ stoppin’s mighty different things, I reckon. Let’s us stay right here a little while longer, please, sir.”
“All right, June. I—I guess I’d rather, anyway,” answered Wayne.
The next morning he started at his new work, rather doubtful as to his ability to perform it satisfactorily but determined to try his very hardest. There were two reasons for that, one the necessity of earning money and the other a strong desire to please Jim Mason and prove that he had made no mistake in his choice of a helper. By evening of that first day, however, Wayne knew that the work was not beyond him, and he went home at dusk happy in the knowledge. Perhaps someone who had the interests of the boy less at heart might have made that first day in the freight house far from simple for him, for, of course, the duties were new and strange, but Jim was patient and explained everything clearly and in detail. Wayne found that his mathematical ability was more than enough to cope with such simple problems as fell to him. Most of that morning was occupied in filing away an accumulation of papers that had got far ahead of Jim during the time he had had no assistant. There were waybills to check after that, and once Wayne had to go up and down the yard on a vain search for a mislaid flat car loaded with two tractor engines. Jim, relieved of much of the clerical work, was busy outside most of the day, but he and Wayne ate their lunches together in the little office, Jim sharing the can of coffee he had brought.
As the days went on Wayne’s tasks multiplied. He went errands to the main office down the track a block, he tacked waycards to freight cars, became an adept with lead seals and pincers, learned how to coax open a door that had “frozen,” became friends with most of the workers and truckmen—not a difficult task since the story of his timely rescue of little Terry Mason had gone the rounds and even got in the Medfield Evening Star, although Wayne didn’t learn of that until later and never read the account of his heroism—and got on very famously for a new hand. And he liked his work, which is always half the battle. Jim began to trust him with bigger things when he had been there a fortnight, and Wayne proved worthy of the trust. Perhaps the things weren’t so vastly important, after all, but they seemed so to Wayne; to Jim, too, for that matter, for Jim was extremely conscientious and took his work seriously. After a few days Wayne got to walking across the tracks and up the line a ways to the Golden Star Lunch. He was always sure of a welcome there, and sometimes, when the wagon wasn’t very full, he and “Mister Denny” had long and serious conversations on a variety of subjects. Denny had a fair education, was an omnivorous reader, a good listener and held views of his own. Moreover, he could put his views into words. They were sometimes unusual, but Wayne had a feeling that it was a heap better to have opinions and be able to state them, even if they were queer, than to merely agree with everyone else.
There was one subject that never failed them as a conversational topic, and that was baseball. Denny was a “thirty-third degree fan” if ever there was one. Besides that he had some practical knowledge of the game, for he had played it from the time he was four feet high until he had bought the lunch-wagon and set up in business. Wayne’s command of baseball history and percentages was nothing like Denny’s, but he followed the news closely and there were some rare discussions at times in the Golden Star. Many of the freight handlers and truck drivers patronised Denny’s café and Wayne was surprised to find how much they knew of the national pastime and how intelligently they could talk of it. Quite frequently the lunch-wagon shook with the ardour of debate, for there were deep and hearty voices in the company. But a time shortly came when Wayne didn’t loiter in the Golden Star after his lunch was eaten, for he had found by then a better way to spend the remaining time.
He had been in the freight house about a fortnight and May had come to the world, bringing ardent sunshine and soft breezes. Green leaves were unfolding and the meadows were verdant. It was sometimes a task in those first warm days to move, and the trucks that rolled incessantly from cars to platform and from platform to freight house moved more slowly. One noontime Wayne felt too languorous to walk even as far as Denny’s, and so he bought two sandwiches and some apples from a man who came around with a basket and joined the throng on the shaded platform where the trucks stood. After a while one of the younger fellows pulled a baseball from his pocket and soon a half-dozen were throwing and catching in the wide cobble-paved road behind the sheds. Wayne watched lazily and interestedly until a wild throw sent the ball rolling under a truck to his feet. He jumped down and rescued it and threw it back, choosing the man farthest distant and speeding the ball to him so hard and true that shouts of commendation rewarded him.