Free Escape to the World's Fair by Wendy McClure

World’s Fair. It’s really something, isn’t it?”
    Frances tried to smile back. “It sure is,” she said.
    Only now she wished for real that the medallion could tell them the future. That way she’d know what Jack was going to do.
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    Jack still didn’t quite trust the older boys, but at least they had gotten friendlier as they all whiled away the afternoon in the luggage hold. The boys had liked Eli’s stories, and then Owney volunteered to tell one, too—a cowboy story from a dime novel he’d heard read aloud at the broom factory. It was a pretty exciting tale about bank robbers making a daring escape.
    â€œThe robbers ordered everyone out of the stagecoach,” Owney told them. “Then they took their trunks and emptied them out right there on the road!”
    â€œWhy’d they do that?” Harold wondered. “That’s mean!”
    â€œSo they could have a place to hide the gold they stole from the bank,” Owney explained as he tugged at a loose thread on his patchwork trousers. “And then the robbers could disguise themselves as regular old stagecoach drivers.”
    â€œOh,” Harold said, wiping his nose on his sleeve again. He seemed to be thinking. “Do you think anyone is hiding gold in
those
?” he asked, pointing over to the trunks they’d just stacked.
    Chicks laughed. “Naw, probably not. But someone sure could hide something in those if they really wanted to.”
    Jack couldn’t help thinking there was something very strange about those empty trunks. But he didn’t know what, exactly. He was about to say something when suddenly Frances stood up in surprise.
    â€œHey! You’re back!” she said.
    Jack turned to look behind him. There was Alexander, nodding slowly. He was slightly out of breath, and he looked a little sick, too. Not green in the face, exactly, but ashen. Like he’d seen a ghost.
    â€œAre you okay?” Jack asked him. Alexander never looked that grim unless it was about something big.
    Alexander shook his head.
    Frances stepped closer. “Alex, what’s wrong?”
    â€œI just saw . . .” Alexander began. But then he shook his head again. He took a deep breath. “Nothing’s wrong!” he said, his voice suddenly brighter. “Look!” He reached up his sleeve and pulled out an orange. “See what I found!”
    Finn’s eyes got wide. “
Oranges?
Where’d you get those?”
    â€œNever had a whole orange before,” said Owney.
    â€œWell, here you go,” Alexander said, tossing the fruit to Owney. Then he pulled out two more oranges, giving one to Harold and handing the other, with an elegant bow, to Frances.
    Dutch had his unlit cigar clenched in his teeth again, and he pushed it to the other side of his mouth so that he could sneer. “I suppose you went a-begging on the upper decks?” he asked Alexander. “Sang a little song, did you?”
    Alexander seemed to tense up. “Not at all,” he replied. He turned to take a quick look behind him, then he lowered his voice. “Look, there’s plenty more oranges where those came from. I’ll . . . I’ll show you.”
    â€œWhat if we get caught?” Chicks asked, glancing at his brother.
    â€œWe won’t,” Alexander shot back. “There’s nobody around there. Come on!” He was talking fast now, his voice insistent. Jack hoped Alexander knew what he was talking about.
    They all followed Alexander over to the other side of the lower deck, and he showed them where a short ladder led into a little room filled with crates. He walked up to one and pulled a slat aside, and three oranges rolled right out onto the floor.
    â€œWow!” Dutch said under his breath. He and Finn snatched them up while Chicks reached into the crate to grab more. Meanwhile Alexander opened up another crate for