Free Vanishing Passenger by Gertrude Chandler Warner Page B

face, was holding a long leather leash. And their father was carrying what appeared to be a large box with a red blanket over it.
    “Hey, look over there,” Violet said to Henry.
    “Do you see Mr. Finch?” Henry replied.
    “No, those two small children. They’re crying.”
    A conductor came over and spoke with the family. He was a friendly looking man, with blazing red hair sticking out from under his conductor’s cap. He first talked to the parents, who looked worried. Then he crouched down and tried to cheer up the children. He got two lollipops from inside his jacket. The children took them, but they didn’t stop crying.
    “I wonder what’s wrong,” Benny wondered.
    “I don’t know,” Violet said. “I can’t hear with so many other people around. There’s too much noise.”
    The conductor stood up again and patted the little boy on the back. The father stroked his daughter’s hair and said something to her. Then the conductor led them away.
    “How sad,” Jessie said.
    “Yeah,” Henry agreed. “I hope they’re okay. But has anyone seen Mr. Finch yet?” He tried to see over the crowd, but he wasn’t quite tall enough.
    “No,” Jessie said, looking around carefully. “No sign of him.”
    The children moved closer to the train so they could get a better view of all the doors. A moment passed, then another. The crowd started to thin out. Passengers found their friends and families and began leaving the station. Suitcases were wheeled off, and the noise died down. Then the children were alone.
    Everyone had now gotten off the train— and Gilbert Finch was nowhere in sight.
    Jessie said, “Are you sure you didn’t see him?”
    “I didn’t,” replied Henry. “And I’m certain I checked everyone.”
    “Me, too,” said Violet.

    “Maybe he didn’t realize this was his stop and forgot to get off,” Benny suggested.
    “No,” Jessie said, “Greenfield is the last stop for this train until tomorrow, when it goes back up north. There are no more stops. So even if he forgot, he’d still have to get off here.”
    Henry took a piece of paper from his pocket and unfolded it. He’d written down all the information about Finch’s arrival.
    “Let’s see … ten-thirty in the morning, arriving on Saturday, on train number sixteen.” They checked up and down the cars. Sure enough, right on the side of the engine, “16” was painted in big white numerals. “This is the right one,” said Henry.
    “Then where is he?” Violet wondered.
    They spotted the red-haired conductor walking down the platform counting a stack of tickets.
    “He might know,” Henry said, and they jogged over to him. “Excuse me, sir?”
    As the man turned, the children noticed for the first time that his uniform was all wet.
    “Wow!” Benny said, unable to help it.
    The conductor smiled. “Oh, that. There was a storm up north. I only stepped off for a moment, and I got soaked.”
    “Must’ve been bad,” Violet said.
    “It was. One of the worst I’ve seen this year. Anyway, what can I do for you kids?”
    Henry took a copy of one of Finch’s books from his back pocket. It was the one he told Mr. Finch he would hold in the air when Finch got off the train so he would be able to find the Aldens quickly.
    “Did you notice anyone during the trip who looked like this?” He turned the book around to show the back cover. There was a small photo of Finch, smiling. He was a handsome older man, with wavy brown hair and lively eyes that had a hint of mischief in them.
    “He was supposed to meet us here this morning,” Jessie told him.
    “He’s visiting our library,” Violet said.
    “And his books are really good!” Benny added helpfully.
    The conductor laughed. “I have a boy your age at home, so I’ll have to remember that.” He took the book from Henry and studied the photo.
    “No, I’m afraid not. There was no one in my car who looked like this. You should speak to the other conductors.” He pointed