Hungry! I swan to Betsy if he hadn’t et a square meal for three grown men.
He went to whittling again. About three o’clock he come out and says, “Plunk, we got to go to the city.”
“What for?” says I.
“To git f-freight-cars,” says he.
“And fetch ’em home in our pockets, I s’pose,” says I.
“Maybe,” says he. “Git enough clothes to stay all night. We’ll catch the five-o’clock t-train.”
“But what you goin’ to do?”
“I hain’t sure. But there’s somebody up to those head offices of the r-r-railroad company that’s got a right to give us cars. I’m goin’ to f-f-find out who it is, even if it’s the President of the United States, and I’m goin’ to find some way to make him give ’em to us.”
“They wouldn’t ever let a couple of kids in to see the head men,” says I.
“They will,” says he.