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

than on the faces of the passengers who were now stopping to watch her. Her job was to make sure they were paying attention to
her,
instead of what was about to happen on the other side of the boat.
    Turn, bring foot back, step right, step front . . .
She made sure she was wearing her brightest smile. A couple of older women nodded kindly as they watched her. There were half a dozen passengers in her audience now, and Frances wondered if it would be enough. . . .
    Just then came the deckhand’s cry. “MAN OVERBOARD!”
    Already?
Frances thought.
    A murmur went up among the passengers who had been watching Frances dance. She stopped mid-jig and looked over at Harold, who was still counting to himself, only now silently.
Eighty-five, eighty-six,
he stood and mouthed, but his eyes were wide with surprise.
    Frances grabbed his arm. “Come on!” Everyone around them was rushing over to the other side of the boat to watch the rescue, but she and Harold headed straight for the large stairway that led to the lowest deck.
    From the top of the stairs Frances could see that the boat had reached the dock and the gangway ramp was in place. All they had to do was run down those stairs and in a few more steps they’d be free! But then someone stepped right in front of her and Harold. A steward in a blue and gold uniform.
    â€œMiss, it’s not time to go ashore yet,” he said, blocking their way.
    â€œBut—but we’re at the dock,” Frances protested.
    â€œMiss, you’ll have to wait until the situation down on the main deck has been resolved.” He lowered his voice and whispered confidentially, “That’s no ‘man overboard’—just a dummy stuffed with straw. Some kind of prank!”
    â€œOh!” Frances tried to sound surprised. “You don’t say!”
    â€œThey’re trying to catch the brats responsible right now,” the steward replied. “They’re all—” He stopped suddenly and grabbed at the air. “What’s this?”
    â€œIt’s snowing!” Harold laughed.
    Before Frances could ask what on earth he meant, she saw a tuft of something white and fluffy float by on the breeze, and then another tuft, and another.
    â€œIs that . . .
cotton
?” the steward said incredulously.
    It
was
cotton, Frances realized. Cotton from the bales down on the lowest deck, scattering in the wind.
    Harold ran over to the railing that overlooked the lowest deck. “Look!” he cried, and Frances followed.
    Down on the front deck where the big cargo was kept, Finn and Chicks and Alexander were running among the stacks of cotton bales, tearing them apart. There was now a dazzling blizzard of drifting cotton bits, and three of the deckhands were in the midst of it all, swatting at the deluge. But instead of trying to stop the boys, they were busy grabbing big wooden casks and stowing them out of sight in another cargo hold.
    Frances blinked. Where had those barrels come from?
    â€œSee, Frannie?” Harold said. “I knew there was something hidden under those bales when I jumped on one of them!”
    Frances leaned over for a better look. There were words stamped on the barrels— MADEIRA RUM AND RYE WHISKEY
.
She sucked in her breath. She had a feeling those casks weren’t supposed to be on a boat like this—and that was why they’d been covered up. Now that the boys had discovered the casks were there, uncovering them was a perfect distraction to keep the deckhands busy!
    Harold pointed down to the deck again. “Here come Dutch and Owney! And Jack and Eli, too!” The boys were making their way through the maze of cargo, heading toward the bow and the gangplank that led from the lower deck to the dock.
    Alexander looked up and spotted Frances and Harold. He began to wave frantically.
Come on!
he mouthed as Finn and Chicks ran past him and joined the others in the cargo