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

tried not to think about the fact that Edwin Adolphius’s canning factory was nearby.
    â€œDo you think we missed the whistle?” he whispered to Eli.
    Eli shook his head. “Not a chance. That thing is right over our heads. And if the plan wasn’t going right, we’d know.” They had all agreed that if something went wrong, the code word to shout was
huckleberry,
and so far nobody had shouted it. “Just calm down.”
    Jack breathed out. “Aren’t
you
nervous?”
    Eli grinned. “Well, I keep thinking there’s someone looking over our shoulder, and
that
feels funny.”
    Jack turned and looked back at the straw-stuffed figure wearing a red flannel shirt, brown trousers, and a black derby hat. “Well, at least he’s on
our
side.”
    They’d discovered the shirt and trousers and hat in one of the heavier trunks. The figure’s head was a lady’s stocking stuffed with cotton from the cargo bales, and its feet were socks packed with straw. They’d even found a pair of shoes, but everyone realized that Owney could use them more. In the end they had something that was a lot like a scarecrow, only better, because it was going to do much more than stand on a post in a cornfield.
    â€œWe should call him O’Reilly,” Eli said. O’Reilly was the mean farmhand who’d bossed him around back at the Careys’ place. “What do you think?”
    Jack laughed and was just about to answer when the whistle began to sound. It gave off a long, low call that everyone on the boat could hear.
    â€œFinally!” Eli said under his breath. “Start counting!”
    Jack nodded.
Four five six seven eight nine ten eleven . . .
He was trying not to count too fast.
    He and Eli each took an arm of the dummy. “Come on, O’Reilly, let’s get a move on,” Jack muttered as they began to drag it toward the railing.
Thirty-two thirty-three thirty-four thirty-five . . .
Now they had only a minute.
    â€œWait a second!” Jack cried as soon as they got to the railing. “His arm came loose!” He reached up inside the dummy’s shirtsleeve and tried to pack the straw more tightly.
    Just then Dutch and Owney came running back from the bow.
    â€œWe got the gangplank ready!” Dutch cried. “But . . . uh . . .” He gasped and shook his head.
    â€œWhat is it?” Jack asked.
    â€œ
Huckleberry!
” Owney shouted. “You’ve got to hurry! Finn found something real strange under the cotton bales and we might be in even bigger trouble if we don’t hustle.”
    Jack could hear boots pounding the deck in the direction Owney and Dutch had come from. Someone was after them—getting closer—but still out of sight for the moment. He and Eli exchanged a panicked look. They couldn’t let anyone see them doing what they were about to do.
    With only seconds to spare, they lifted O’Reilly as high as they could over the railing, swung back, and let go.
    â€¢Â â€¢Â â€¢
    On the upper deck, Harold was counting. “Sixty-five sixty-six sixty-seven sixty-eight . . .”
    â€œShh! Quit counting out loud!” Frances hissed. She was trying to focus on her dance steps and match her rhythm to the jaunty piano music coming from the nearby parlor. She felt self-conscious enough in the dress she’d borrowed from one of the trunks in the luggage hold. The dress was lacy and yellow, and she had pulled it on over her breeches and shirt in the little hidden stairwell between decks. She hoped to be rid of it by the time they were all off the boat, because if Dutch or Finn saw her in this getup they’d laugh their heads off, and Alexander would give her a funny look, too. Good thing they were all elsewhere at the moment.
    Point foot, then bring it back. Step left, step front, hop . . .
Frances tried to concentrate more on her footwork