"I have to write a letter," he protested hastily.
Sunny Boy went back to his parents. He had an odd feeling that Joe Brown was not looking forward to seeing New York as much as he, Sunny Boy, was.
"Is he sick, do you think, Daddy?" he urged, his troubled eyes resting on Joe, now huddled moodily in his seat and making no pretense of letter-writing.
"No, he's all right," said Mr. Horton easily. "Come, laddie, we're almost at the end of our trip. Sit down by Mother and see your first glimpse of one of the largest cities in the world."
Sunny Boy scrambled into his place again, but Joe Brown was still in his thoughts. Presently he heard his father speaking in a low voice to his mother.
"Olive, I believe that young scamp, the Brown boy, is running away from home. He has it written all over him. I wish we could keep an eye on him."
"But Mrs. Brown has a sister who lives in New York," said Sunny Boy's mother. "He may really be going to visit her."
"Perhaps," admitted Mr. Horton doubtfully.
There was no time to say more just then for the train rushed down from daylight into what was next to darkness.
"Oh!" cried Sunny Boy, "where are we going, Mother? Are we in a cellar?"