“No chance of getting off now, Bob. I guess we’re in for it. Where does this train go?” he asked the boy.
“Chicago,” was the response. “That’s where this car is headed for. I made sure before I got in it.”
Bob grunted.
“We’re booked for a ride, I guess,” he said. “Still there may be a chance of getting off at some town not far from here.”
“That’s what we’ll hope for,” the other youth said, nodding. He turned to the lad. “Can you find your way home after you reach Chicago?”
“Sure. This ain’t the first time I’ve run away. Gettin’ back ain’t what worries me.”
“What does?” inquired Joe.
“My old man. He’ll be mad enough to bite nails. Bet he’s got the razor strop hangin’ up now waitin’ for me.”
Bob and Joe smiled. The personality of this waif touched them.