Read Online Escape to the World's Fair by Wendy McClure - Free Book Online

Frances.
She’d be so happy and remember that he was the one who first built Wanderville. And she’d forget those boys. As Alexander climbed back down the cargo ladder he was in such good spirits he felt like he could just leap off the last step and keep walking on air.
    As he started to make his way back to the luggage hold where his friends were, he passed a set of narrow stairs, which gave him another idea: Why not get a peek of the deck above and tell the others about it? The upper decks had to be grander. Maybe there was even some more food up there he could liberate. Oranges weren’t enough for a full meal, after all. He crept up the stairs carefully so as not to make noise and tiptoed down a narrow passageway.
    The passage ended at a great, long parlor that smelled of both cigar smoke and perfume. The polished woodwork gleamed, and there were ferns in brass vases and a thick Oriental carpet on the floor. Alexander’s footsteps were silent as he trod on it, and for a moment it made him feel like he’d become a ghost. But he knew that here, more than ever, he’d have to be careful to escape notice. All the finely dressed passengers were in this section—portly men gathered around card tables, the chairs and divans filled with women who fanned themselves or gazed out the windows. The sky above the riverbank was turning pink—it must have been early evening—and Alexander supposed everyone was dressed for dinner.
    He found a tall chair to stand behind. There was no use hiding in this room, but the top of the chair came almost to his shoulders and he could conceal his worn, dusty jacket. The trick to being in places like this, Alexander knew, was to act like he was supposed to be there. He’d done the same thing back at the mercantile in Kansas where he’d taken things that Wanderville needed.
Nothing to it,
he thought.
    He glanced around and spotted a platter of jam sandwiches that had been cut into tiny triangles. He knew he’d be able to slip a few of those into his sleeve, if he could just make his way over. . . .
    Just then a voice seemed to rise up over the murmur of the crowd.
    â€œBut
of course,
dear
Edwin
. It would be a
lovely
excursion!”
    Alexander tried not to shudder. Miss DeHaven was just a few feet away!
    She sat at a little table next to the bearded man, the one they’d seen at the dock. The man the older boys said was Edwin Adolphius. Miss DeHaven had just called him
Edwin,
too
.
    Alexander’s mind raced. The chair that he stood behind was made of painted wicker, with a high, latticed back like a screen. He slowly moved the chair so that its back was to Miss DeHaven’s table, and then he sat down. The chair was tall enough to completely hide him, but when he turned his head to the side he could peer out through the little openings in the latticework. He could see them both now: Mr. Adolphius was pouring a drink for Miss DeHaven—some kind of amber cordial served in tiny little glasses shaped like tulips—and bragging about his motorcar.
    â€œLet me tell you, it drives so smooth that they say a lady could take the wheel. Why, I’ll even let you try!” Mr. Adolphius declared. Alexander could tell he was the kind of man who never noticed that his voice was always just a bit too loud.
    â€œPerhaps I shall,” Miss DeHaven replied. “I hope it won’t be too
difficult
.”
    Alexander suspected that Miss DeHaven was more clever than Mr. Adolphius, who tried to act refined but was really sort of coarse, and that she was trying to humor him.
    â€œWon’t be hard at all, Miss Lillian!” Mr. Adolphius replied. “After all, you sure know how to handle those charity cases! Those boys are uncorkable, but a year or two of cannery packing will shut them right up.”
    â€œI
think
you mean
incorrigible,
Edwin. Not
uncorkable,
” said Miss DeHaven. “And don’t forget to call it an