“Hair-brushes and combs and towels and soap, and your tooth-brush and mine, and the tooth-paste,” answered Mrs. Horton. “And pajamas for you and a nightie for me, in case we can’t get the trunk to-night.”
“But it is going on the train just like us,” urged Sunny Boy. “Daddy said so.”
“But it will be nearly night before we reach Brookside,” explained Mrs. Horton, “and Grandpa will meet us with a horse and surrey most likely. We will have to leave the trunk at the station till some one can go and get it for us in the morning. I have a play suit in the bag for you, though, so trunk or no trunk, you can be real country boy.”
Presently the taxi rolled up under a stone arch, and Mr. Horton said they were at the station. They all got out and went into a great space filled with people. Porters were rushing about with suitcases and bags, crowds of men and women were going in several directions at once, and a man running for his train nearly ran right over Sunny Boy.
“I’ll get the trunk checked and then give you the tickets,” Mr. Horton said to his wife. “You sit down over there by the door where I can find you, and I’ll be back in five minutes. We have plenty of time.”
Sunny Boy and Mother sat down by the door and watched the people. Opposite them sat a short, fat woman with a baby in her arms and five little children, two girls and three boys, in the seats nearest her. They were each sucking a lolly-pop and took turns giving the baby a taste. Although they were very sticky and not exactly tidy, they seemed to love one another very much and to be having a very good time.
“Where do you suppose they’re going?” Sunny Boy asked.
Mrs. Horton did not know. Perhaps, if they watched them, they might see them take the train.
Then Sunny Boy wanted to know where they kept the trains. He could hear them, and nearly every minute a man with a big trumpet—which Mother said was a megaphone—would call out something, and from all over the station people would come rushing to get on the train. But though Sunny Boy watched carefully, he could not see a single smokestack.
“The trains are downstairs—you’ll see when we go out,” said Mrs. Horton. “I wonder what can be keeping your father? He has been gone almost fifteen minutes.”