Well, though, as Mr. Horton expressed it, they “had to hustle,” they did make the ten-forty-five. They went down in an elevator to board the train and the ticket man at the gate would not let Mr. Horton through.
Daddy hugged his little boy tight before he let him go, and Mother had diamonds in her pretty brown eyes as she turned from saying good-by to him. But when they looked back to wave to him, there was Daddy smiling gayly at them and waving his hat.
“Have a fine time,” he called. “Take care of Mother, Sunny Boy. And look for me exactly three weeks from to-day.”
Sunny Boy and Mother found a seat after they had walked through a number of cars that were filled, and, though it was rather dark, Sunny Boy could make out the people near them.
“Look, Mother,” he whispered, “there’s the woman with the baby and the other children we saw in the station. Isn’t it funny they took our train?”
Sure enough, there they were, a little further down the aisle on the other side of the car, lolly-pops and all.
Mrs. Horton took off her hat and Sunny Boy’s and put them in a large paper bag she took from her bag.
“That will keep them clean,” she said, “and we shall be cooler and more comfortable without them. We may have to shut the window when we get out of the tunnel, but we need the air now. Now we’re off! Hear the conductor calling?”
“All a-bo-ard,” Sunny Boy heard some one crying. “All a-bo-ard!” and soon the train began to move.
Slowly they rumbled out of the dark gray of the train shed, past so many snorting, sniffing black iron engines that Sunny Boy did not see why they did not run into each other, past a crew of men working on the railroad tracks, past red and green lights, into a tunnel without a roof, but walled high on either side with smooth concrete walls. Just as Sunny Boy grew tired of looking at this wall, it stopped, and the train was merrily rushing along through open streets. Sunny Boy looked at Mother and smiled.