Escape to the World's Fair

by Wendy McClure

  “It’s not enough,” Jack muttered.

  “Not enough for what?” Frances asked.

  Jack didn’t answer. But just then the view outside the trolley changed, with the brick row houses giving way to a vast park, and in the distance—just a mile or two away—the domes and spires of what appeared to be an enchanted city. They all stood to get a better view.

  “It’s the Fair, isn’t it?” Eli said.

  “Look at the wheel!” Harold whispered. “It’s huge!”

  There it was, the famous Ferris wheel, looking exactly like the etching Frances had seen once in an old newspaper. She had heard some of the upper-deck passengers on the Addie Dauphin talking about how it had been built in Chicago years ago and then rebuilt here for the Fair. Now the wheel turned slowly, stopping every so often and then starting again, quiet and graceful in the distance. It looked almost magic, Frances thought. Like you could look at it and make a wish.

  As the trolley sped closer to the Fair the buildings began to appear even more jewel-like, and just beyond them lay the shining surface of a lagoon. It was all far more grand than Coney Island, Frances realized.

  “It’s so . . . big,” Jack said, and from the tone of his voice, Frances could tell what he was thinking: How were they ever going to find the older boys in a place as big as the St. Louis World’s Fair, much less the person who was supposed to get the medallion?

  They were still dumbstruck when the trolley came to a terminal and slowed to stop.

  “End of the line!” the conductor called. “The Louisiana Purchase Exposition!”

  Frances grabbed Harold’s hand as the five of them stepped down from the trolley steps and walked into a bright, bustling plaza outside the Fair’s front gate. The sun was high overhead and Frances counted nearly a dozen black parasols being carried by fairgoers. There was no sign of Dutch or Finn or the other older boys, though Frances had a feeling that they couldn’t be far.

  “Look!” Harold cried. “A mountain! Right over there!”

  They all looked where Harold pointed. Just to the right of the front gates was a mountain—a very fake one, craggy and with fake snow—looming over a boundary wall. “I want to look!” he said, and he dropped Frances’s hand and ran over to the wall for a closer look. Frances and the others followed.

  “That’s not a real mountain, you know,” Frances said, even though she secretly thought it was impressive.

  Alexander agreed. “And look, Harold. Real mountains don’t have doors on the side of them.” He motioned over to a steel door in the wall, partially hidden by hedges, that said TYROLEAN ALPS—EMPLOYEES ONLY.

  “I wonder if it opens!” Harold said, running over to the door.

  “Harold, no!” Frances said. She started to go after him but suddenly felt a sharp pull on the back of her collar.

  “As a matter of fact, Queenie, it does open,” said a voice.

  Finn!

  “Let me go, you snake!” Frances yanked herself free, then whirled around to see that Dutch had Alexander by the collar, and Chicks and Owney had Jack and Eli.

  “So good to see you all again!” Dutch said.

  Harold stood with his hand on the doorknob, his mouth open in shock.

  “You can open that door, Harold,” Dutch said. “And let’s all go inside, shall we? We got business to discuss in private.”

  17

  A DEAL IS STRUCK

  The door in the mountain led to a stuffy passageway lit by an electric bulb. Once they were all inside, Chicks shut the door.

  Jack braced himself, ready to fight, but Chicks had let go of his collar, and no one else was being restrained.

  “You’d think it would be more exciting inside the Tyrolean Alps,” Finn remarked, motioning around him. “But it ain’t.”

  “Can’t even sneak into the Fair this way,” Dutch grumbled. “We already tried.” He pointed to a ladder that stretched up into darkness. “That thing just leads up to a little door at the top of the mountain. So then you’re inside the fairgrounds but you can’t go nowheres except down the ladder again, because it’s too steep to get down the outside of that mountain without breaking your neck.”

  “What’s your point?” Jack said.

  Dutch reached into his pocket and pulled out the medallion. He handed it to Finn, who was tall enough to hold it up out of everyone else’s reach. “Maybe we were wrong to throw you over and try to get the reward ourselves,” he told Jack and his friends.

  “Oh, really?” Frances folded her arms.

  “Well, have you seen the Fair?” Owney said. “It’s huge!”

  Finn swung the medallion. “We suspect you might know more about where to deliver this thing.”

  Alexander’s face brightened a bit. “So, you still want to split the reward with us, if we tell you what we know?”

  But Dutch only glowered. “Here’s the thing. We don’t trust a word you little weasels say. You haven’t exactly been truthful about this Wanderville business. We weren’t even sure if you were telling the truth about this medallion!”

  “We are, we swear,” Jack said. He wanted so badly to just jump up and snatch the medallion out of Finn’s hand.

  Chicks shook his head. “The only reason we know that it’s worth anything is because you followed us to get it back.”

  “Look,” Alexander said. “I’m sorry if we gave you the wrong idea about Wanderville. But we all can still help each other.”

  Dutch and Finn exchanged glances. “Maybe we’ll make you tell us how to deliver the medallion and collect the reward,” Dutch said.

  “Or maybe you’ll just have to trust us!” Frances said. She went over and pulled Harold closer. “We trusted you when we were escaping from the steamboat. Remember when Harold almost fell and you said you would catch him? We believed you!” Harold nodded at that. “And now you need to believe us.”

  Jack held his breath and kept his eyes on the medallion and its shiny carvings. The wings of the bird glinted in the dim light of the passageway, and he stared hard at the strange symbols. There were so many reasons why he wanted the medallion back again, but one of the biggest ones, for sure, was to find out what those symbols meant.

  Dutch was silent for a moment. Then he motioned to Finn, who finally lowered his arm and held out the medallion.

  “All right,” Dutch said. “We’re a team again.”

  Jack grabbed the medallion and felt a strange surge of relief as he closed his fingers around its edges.

  Eli spoke up. “There’s just one thing,” he said. “What about Edwin Adolphius and Miss DeHaven? They’re going to be looking for us. And they know we were heading here to the Fair. Jack and I heard the deckhands say so.”

  Jack suddenly remembered what the deckhand had said: What kid wouldn’t want to see that fair?

  “Good point,” Owney said. “But that’s where we can help. Because we’ve been thinking . . .” He looked over at the ladder. “The top of this here mountain is a great lookout.”

  “It sure is,” Finn added. “We can see everyone who comes through that front gate, and a lot of the fairgrounds, too. If Miss DeHaven and Edwin Adolphius come here after us, we’ll spot ’em.”

  “But if we’re at the Fair,” Frances said, “and you’re up there, how will you warn us that they’re coming?”

  “We could whistle,” Chicks said. “I can whistle real good!”

  Finn laughed. “Naw. You might be able to call home our hound dogs from the woods, but no way any whistle, even yours, can carry over all that noise and ruckus out there.”

  “Wait, I got it!” Dutch said. “We’ll fly a flag up there!”

  Owney pulled a red bandana out of his pocket. “We can tie this to a stick and put it out if we see Adolphius.”

  “That’s perfect!” Frances said. “Besides, they’ll be looking for nine kids toget
her, so if you fellows are on lookout, there will be fewer of us walking around the fairgrounds.” She turned to Jack. “Don’t you think that’s a good plan?”

  “Uh, sure,” Truthfully, Jack didn’t like the idea of splitting up. He always worried that someone would be left behind, the way Quentin and the other kids at the Pratcherds’ had been. Or the way he and Daniel had gotten separated in the fire back in New York. It didn’t matter whether Dutch and Finn and Owney and Chicks were his friends—all he knew was that they needed to be free. And the reward money from the medallion would do them some good. Jack would be able to help them, and he figured their luck could only get better once he went back to New York.

  “We could take turns on lookout duty,” Alexander suggested.

  “Nope,” Dutch replied. “Me and my gang don’t mind keeping an eye on things. Make sure no funny business happens.” He gave Jack and Alexander and Eli a pointed look. Jack was sure that by “keeping an eye on things” Dutch meant keeping an eye on them.

  “Suit yourself,” Jack told Dutch. He tucked the medallion back into his pocket.

  “But we’ll come back with the reward no matter what,” Frances put in.

  “We promise,” Alexander added.

  Then one by one, Jack, Eli, Frances, Harold, and Alexander slipped out the door in the wall beneath the mountain and went back to the plaza outside the entrance gates. From their hiding spot, the older boys nodded as if to say good luck. Then they shut the door.

  “I bet they’re going up to the lookout now,” Frances said, squinting up at the peak of the big fake mountain.

  Jack squinted as he looked up, too. They couldn’t see much from the ground, but after a few minutes, they could just make out a hand waving back at them from behind a crag near the peak.

  Alexander nodded at Jack. “There’s no turning back now.”

  Jack patted the pocket where he kept the medallion.

  “That’s for certain.” He turned to grin at Frances and Harold and Eli. “Guess we have no choice but to go to the World’s Fair.”

  And, with that, they headed straight for the turnstiles.

  18

  SEARCHING FOR THE TEMPLE OF PROMISES

  Frances swore the Louisiana Purchase Monument was as tall as any building on Broadway. It was this thing with stone cherubs all over it, and wreaths, and eagles, and a statue of Thomas Jefferson, and there was a big shiny globe with a statue of a cheering fellow perched on top like a trophy. It was the first grand sight of the Fair when one walked in through the front gates. Or that’s what Frances thought at first, until she saw the shining water of the Grand Basin, and then the giant domed palace across the water.

  I don’t know what to look at first! she thought. The others walked next to her silently, and Frances could tell they were as awestruck as she was.

  “What’s the lou-weezy . . . the Louisiana Purchase?” Harold asked.

  “It’s the . . . it’s . . .” Frances was so distracted by the splendor all around them that she had to scrunch her eyes shut to remember what she’d learned in school. “It’s when Thomas Jefferson bought the Louisiana Territory from France. It’s the hundred-year anniversary!”

  Harold pointed to a sculpture of a woman wearing nothing but some drapes. “Who’s that lady? Is she from France?”

  “Sure,” Alexander murmured. “Whatever you say.”

  Frances had to hold back a laugh. Alexander looked like he was in a trance, he was so transfixed by the scenery. It seemed that in every direction there was a spectacular palace adorned with sculptures and tall columns, and that there were flags flying from every soaring rooftop. . . .

  “Wait!” Frances stopped in her tracks and turned around, scanning the skyline for the fake mountain peak. Finally she found it, looking just as it had been a half hour ago.

  “The signal flag isn’t up,” Jack said. “Don’t worry, Miss DeHaven isn’t here!”

  “I know,” Frances said. “I just don’t want to forget to watch for it!” There was so much going on all around them—for example the miniature trains that wound through the fairgrounds, the boats shaped like giant swans gliding around the lagoon—that she knew she could forget plenty of things.

  “You know what else we should watch for?” Alexander said. “Food!”

  “You’re right,” Eli said, looking all around. “Something smells good.”

  Frances noticed the stands and wagons that dotted the parkways as well, and her stomach began to growl as she read the painted signs. There were peanuts for sale, and pastries, frankfurter sandwiches, popcorn, waffles, bottles of something called “Dr Pepper,” pecans . . .

  “Bananas!” Harold shouted. “They have bananas here!” Harold had never had one before.

  Jack, though, seemed anxious. “Look, we can’t just spend money all over the place.”

  “We’ve got more than you think,” Alexander said. “Mr. Zogby gave us fifty cents each for admission to the Fair. But he didn’t realize that for kids, it’s only twenty-five cents to get in! So we have some left over.”

  “Oh! Well, in that case,” Frances said, trying her hardest to sound stern and sensible. “Harold, you may have a banana. It’s good for you. And maybe I’ll have a small bite of something as well.”

  • • •

  “Mrrpfhuff?” Frances said a few minutes later. Her mouth was stuffed so full of honey corn that she couldn’t even talk. Jack thought she looked like a squirrel hoarding nuts.

  “I said, can I see the note that Zogby wrote in your book?” Jack repeated.

  “Urff,” Frances mumbled, nodding, and stopped to fish her Third Eclectic Reader out of her pocket.

  They were wandering aimlessly around the lagoon bridges with their hands and pockets stuffed with popped corn and pastries. Jack had too much on his mind to enjoy the food, though. He was trying to remember everything he could about the man that Zogby had told them to find. Moses McGee, at the Temple of Promises.

  Frances handed Jack her book, and he turned to the flyleaf corner to stare at the name Zogby had written in a quick, flourishing script: Mr. C. McGee.

  “What I don’t get is why he wrote C. McGee,” Jack said, “when a moment later he said the fellow’s name was Moses.”

  “Never mind his name,” Alexander said. “We just have to find the Temple of Promises, right?”

  “Right,” Jack said. They’d already asked the banana peddler and the fellow at the popcorn cart about the place, but they’d never heard of it.

  “Maybe there’s only palaces in this part of the Fair,” Eli suggested. “And there’s another section with temples.” So far, every building they’d seen was a palace of some kind—they were just now walking past an enormous place called the Palace of Varied Industries, and across the way was a Palace of Machinery.

  “Well, we’ll find it,” Jack muttered. As far as he was concerned, the sooner they found Mr. McGee, the better. Then they’d have the reward money. And then—Jack wouldn’t say this to anyone, of course—then Jack could go. He’d go back to New York, and of course he’d wonder about them, Eli and Alexander and Frances and Harold, but they’d be better off without him, and if he left them the reward money, that would also help, wouldn’t it? They could go to California.

  “I found this!” Harold cried, handing Jack a slightly crumpled booklet. “It was under that bench. It has a map!”

  Daily Official Program, the booklet’s cover said. Jack turned to the map page, and Alexander and Frances peered over his shoulder.

  “There have to be a hundred buildings here at least,” Alexander said. “And some of them aren’t even listed on the map.”

  “Wait!” Frances said, “Down here!” She pointed to the list of buildings at the bottom of the page. “It says Temple . . . Temple of something.”

  Jack squinted down at the type. “It says ‘Temple of Mirth’!�
��

  They all looked up from the map and then at one another.

  Eli shrugged. “That’s the closest we’ve gotten so far. Let’s go!”

  • • •

  The Temple of Mirth was along a long avenue labeled THE PIKE on the map.

  Frances could tell right away that The Pike was different from the rest of the Fair, with its grand plazas and stately places. The crowd was more boisterous, the signs gaudier: NICKELODEON and BEER GARDEN and DANCE HALL.

  “Oh!” she gasped. “These are the amusements! Like the boardwalk at Coney Island!”

  “This is really something else,” Eli said, craning his neck to stare at it all.

  The whole street looked like it was trying to be fifty different places all at once—a stone fortress, a model of Ancient Rome, a place called “Paris,” and even a ship, all shoved up next to one another. Frances kept her hand on Harold’s collar. She knew how anything could distract him, and if he stopped for just a moment in this crowd they could lose track of him.

  “Here it is,” Jack called from just a few paces ahead. “The Temple of Mirth!”

  Frances felt Harold’s shoulders stiffen, the way they did when he was scared.

  Over the front entrance of the Temple of Mirth was a giant, sculpted face. A clown face—staring like an awful painted mask, with a grinning mouth and weird, arched eyebrows.

  “Harold, it’s just a fun house,” Frances told him. “You like those.”

  “I don’t like that clown. His nose has big nostrils.”

  “There’s nothing to be scared of,” Frances told Harold. Then she turned to listen to Jack and Alexander talking to the bored-looking fellow in the admission booth.

  “Could you please tell us where we can find Moses McGee?” Jack asked him.

  “Admission is ten cents,” the man muttered.

  “But could you just tell us where Mr. McGee is?” Alexander asked. “Is he inside?”

  “If he was, you’d still have to pay ten cents.” The bored young man picked at a button on the cuff of his shirt.