“Does it go?” he said.
“Sure it does,” said the freckle-faced boy.
“How?” said Wendell.
“You wind it up,” said the boy.
It was apparently a perfect model of a large aeroplane, a fascinating toy. The freckle-faced boy let him hold it, let him examine it closely. It was a joy to see such a perfect mechanical model on that small scale; but suddenly it brought a leaden lump to Wendell’s heart. It reminded him of his impossible task.
“Where you taking it?” asked Wendell.
“Home. I live in Medford.”
“Change at Park Street?” said Wendell.
“Scollay Square,” said the boy. They were now opposite the Public Garden.
“I’ll bet it can travel,” said Wendell.