wasnât coming. She checked the street one way, then the other, so many times she was almost dizzy. She could go over to his house. But if he was stuck at home doing chores, heâd want her to stay and help. She did enough of them at home now that there was only Nan and her.
A streetcar rattled past with a boy hanging off the back, one arm and one leg stuck out in a V. He yelled as he passed, but she couldnât make out what he was saying. Scoop had tried that once. Heâd ripped his pants and got a long gouge along his leg when he fell off. Try explaining that to Nan if she tried such a stunt, thought Elsie.
Checking one more time that Scoop wasnât coming, Elsie looked toward home once, and then she headed off in the direction of the shantytown alone. She stuck her hands in her pockets and stuck her elbows out like Scoop, to make herself feel brave. Dog Bob would keep her company, even if her best friend had left her high and dry.
The closer Elsie got to the shantytown, the fewer cars were on the road. There werenât many newspaper vendors about either. Or ladies with their shopping bags and high heels. Most of the storefronts Elsie passed were all locked up, with strips of wood making big Xs across the windows. Others had metal grilles and fat padlocks keeping them shut up tight. Two young men tottered past, leaning against each other as they gulped from a bottle sticking out of a paper bag. When one of them dribbled down his jacket, he pulled up the lapel to his face and licked it off.
Elsie moved closer to the shuttered storefronts. She looked straight ahead as she hurried on. Dog Bob kept up most of the time. When he strayed, she clicked her tongue, and he came back right away.
They were alone on the street now. Elsie really wished Scoop was with her, whistling and talking a mile a minute. But she was not such a chicken that she couldnât go alone to find her father.
C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
E lsie stepped across the train tracks, kicking through the litter and old cans that drifted between the rails in the squally wind. The air was smoky; the stink of something sweet mixed with something bitter hung in the air.
Dog Bob followed the trail of garbage, his nose down low so he didnât miss a single smell. Soon he looked as small as a cat in the distance. Heâd come back in a minute, Elsie thought. She pulled her hat down tight and buttoned her jacket all the way. She tried to walk with a Scoop-like swagger, but she needed her hands out now in case she tripped over the rubble. Her knees felt soft, as if there were no bones in them.
âWhat are you doing here?â A man had come out of nowhere. He stared down at her with damp red-rimmed eyes. His shoulders were tucked up high, almost to his ears. A tattered brown scarf was wrapped across his body.
âIâm looking for my father,â said Elsie. She shoved her hands in her jacket pocket.
The man spat a long stream of tobacco juice onto the ground and stared at her.
âHis name is Joe Miller,â she told him.
âHalf the guys here are called Joe. I donât know about no Miller.â
âHeâs not very tall and not very short. Heâs a bit round. But not fat. Heâs got dark hair and brown eyesâ¦â
âHey, fellas!â When the man yelled, more hoboes emerged from nowhere. One of them almost tripped as he came toward them. They shuffled to stand around her in a circle.
âIâmâ¦Iâm justâ¦I just wanted to know if you have seen my father,â said Elsie.
âHis name is Joe,â said the first hobo. One side of his lip slid up higher than the other in an unfriendly smile.
Another man laughed, a harsh laugh that turned into a cough. He spat onto the ground and coughed again. âJoe! That should make it easy,â he said.
When Elsie looked closer, she could see that one of the hoboes wasnât much older than Scoop. Even though his skin was not as bristly
A streetcar rattled past with a boy hanging off the back, one arm and one leg stuck out in a V. He yelled as he passed, but she couldnât make out what he was saying. Scoop had tried that once. Heâd ripped his pants and got a long gouge along his leg when he fell off. Try explaining that to Nan if she tried such a stunt, thought Elsie.
Checking one more time that Scoop wasnât coming, Elsie looked toward home once, and then she headed off in the direction of the shantytown alone. She stuck her hands in her pockets and stuck her elbows out like Scoop, to make herself feel brave. Dog Bob would keep her company, even if her best friend had left her high and dry.
The closer Elsie got to the shantytown, the fewer cars were on the road. There werenât many newspaper vendors about either. Or ladies with their shopping bags and high heels. Most of the storefronts Elsie passed were all locked up, with strips of wood making big Xs across the windows. Others had metal grilles and fat padlocks keeping them shut up tight. Two young men tottered past, leaning against each other as they gulped from a bottle sticking out of a paper bag. When one of them dribbled down his jacket, he pulled up the lapel to his face and licked it off.
Elsie moved closer to the shuttered storefronts. She looked straight ahead as she hurried on. Dog Bob kept up most of the time. When he strayed, she clicked her tongue, and he came back right away.
They were alone on the street now. Elsie really wished Scoop was with her, whistling and talking a mile a minute. But she was not such a chicken that she couldnât go alone to find her father.
C HAPTER T HIRTEEN
E lsie stepped across the train tracks, kicking through the litter and old cans that drifted between the rails in the squally wind. The air was smoky; the stink of something sweet mixed with something bitter hung in the air.
Dog Bob followed the trail of garbage, his nose down low so he didnât miss a single smell. Soon he looked as small as a cat in the distance. Heâd come back in a minute, Elsie thought. She pulled her hat down tight and buttoned her jacket all the way. She tried to walk with a Scoop-like swagger, but she needed her hands out now in case she tripped over the rubble. Her knees felt soft, as if there were no bones in them.
âWhat are you doing here?â A man had come out of nowhere. He stared down at her with damp red-rimmed eyes. His shoulders were tucked up high, almost to his ears. A tattered brown scarf was wrapped across his body.
âIâm looking for my father,â said Elsie. She shoved her hands in her jacket pocket.
The man spat a long stream of tobacco juice onto the ground and stared at her.
âHis name is Joe Miller,â she told him.
âHalf the guys here are called Joe. I donât know about no Miller.â
âHeâs not very tall and not very short. Heâs a bit round. But not fat. Heâs got dark hair and brown eyesâ¦â
âHey, fellas!â When the man yelled, more hoboes emerged from nowhere. One of them almost tripped as he came toward them. They shuffled to stand around her in a circle.
âIâmâ¦Iâm justâ¦I just wanted to know if you have seen my father,â said Elsie.
âHis name is Joe,â said the first hobo. One side of his lip slid up higher than the other in an unfriendly smile.
Another man laughed, a harsh laugh that turned into a cough. He spat onto the ground and coughed again. âJoe! That should make it easy,â he said.
When Elsie looked closer, she could see that one of the hoboes wasnât much older than Scoop. Even though his skin was not as bristly
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