Escape to the World's Fair by Wendy McClure Page A

gone there a lot, but maybe you could take us there
before
we go to the Fair. If ain’t too much trouble, that is.”
    â€œYeah, those hot buttered rolls sound good,” Chicks said.
    â€œSure!” Alexander said, grinning. “It’s never too much trouble to go.”
    â€œDo you think I could work in that bakery?” Dutch asked. “You know, the one that sells those rolls. You suppose they pay good wages?”
    Alexander nodded and grinned. “You can do whatever you want,” he said.
    It was then that Frances realized that there was something strange about the conversation Alexander was having with the older boys. She looked over at Jack, who was also listening in, and she could tell by his expression that he knew it, too.
    These boys don’t know what Wanderville really is,
she realized. They still thought it was like other towns—real-life towns. She and Jack could tell by the way the boys talked about it, and by the questions they asked Alexander.
    But Alexander couldn’t tell.

13
    H OCUS-POCUS STUFF
    J ack guessed it was pretty late at night, judging from the way the ragtime piano music from the upper decks had given way to slower songs and the din of passenger voices had quieted down.
    By now Harold was curled up fast asleep in the straw, and Eli had dozed off as well. Frances had her
Eclectic Third Reader
out and was trying her best to use the meager lamplight outside the animal pen to make out the words. Meanwhile, Alexander and the older boys were still excitedly talking over in the far corner. As for Jack, he had been lying in his corner for a while trying unsuccessfully to sleep. Finally, he crept over to where Frances sat with her book. She seemed grateful to have someone to talk with, too.
    â€œIt’s too dark to read.” Frances sighed. “I’ve just been listening to Alexander and the boys talking. They’re talking about the World’s Fair now, but before that, they were talking about Wanderville, and . . .” She took a deep breath. “And, well, you heard how
that
went. It’s clear those boys don’t know the truth.”
    Jack nodded in agreement. “The problem is that Alexander thinks they’re just playing along and thinking up new things to build.”
    â€œShould we tell them what Wanderville really is?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Jack said.
    â€œI don’t either,” Frances whispered. “Maybe not yet. Or not here. It would change everything.”
    Over in the corner Alexander was smiling from ear to ear as Dutch dealt out playing cards to their group.
    â€œI was so mad at him for not telling us about that conversation between Miss DeHaven and Mr. Adolphius.” Jack rubbed his cramped legs and sighed. “But I guess it was just too hard for him to tell us. And now that I see how happy he is, I feel the same way about telling those boys Wanderville isn’t what they think it is. It would be too hard.”
    Frances agreed. “He
is
happier now. And I’m glad he’s getting along better with Finn and his gang.”
    â€œAlso, he’s excited about going to the Fair,” Jack pointed out. “Remember when he didn’t think it was a good idea for us to go?”
    Frances’s expression suddenly shifted. “Yeah, well . . .”
    â€œWhat? You’re not still suspicious of Mr. Zogby, are you?”
    â€œI’m not the only one who is, Jack. Didn’t you hear Dutch say it all seemed kind of fishy?” She turned to the flyleaf of her book where she kept her notes. “All Zogby wrote was a name, ‘Mr. C. McGee.’ Then as he was driving off he said to look for ‘
Moses
McGee at the Temple of Promises.’ Come on, the
Temple of Promises
? None of it makes any sense! And then there’s that medallion thing you’ve got—”
    Jack interrupted. “Look, there’s something going on with that