days.”
Ruthie told Ms. Biddle that maybe she was just a little tired; her sister was staying up late with the light on, studying for the college entrance test this weekend. In fact, that was true—Claire was keeping the light on late—but it didn’t really matter; Ruthie would have had trouble falling asleep anyway. She lay in her small, plain bed in her shared, cramped room, paging through the catalogue Lydia had lent her, imagining herself in one of those fantastic rooms. She read and reread each entry, absorbing every detail about the rooms. All she could think about was her chance to sleep in one of the luxurious beds from another century.
School was out at noon, and Ruthie and Jack ate their lunch on a city bus heading down Michigan Avenue. It wasn’t a long trip from their school to the Art Institute, but today it was snowing hard, so the bus driver drove unbearably slowly. Also, more people than usual, bundled in big puffs of down coats, got on and off at each stop. Jack dropped a glove three times in dirty pools of melted snow on the floor of the bus.
Finally at the museum, they trudged up the stairs against the icy wind that blew the snow horizontally into their faces. It felt wonderful to enter the warmth and protection of the museum and leave winter outside. Since neither of them had turned twelve yet, admission was free. But they still had to pay a dollar each to check their backpacks. Jack paid his in nickels, dimes and pennies.
Because of the bad weather, the museum was relatively empty, which would be a benefit to them, they assumed as they bounded down the stairs. Usually the children’s galleries were pretty full of school groups, but this was the kind of Chicago blizzard that cancelled field trips.
“This’ll make it easier to sneak into the corridor,” Jack said in a low voice to Ruthie as they rounded the corner.
But no sooner had they entered the exhibit space than they realized how wrong they were. It was true that there were hardly any visitors in Gallery 11, but they had overlooked the obvious: Mr. Bell! How could they have forgotten that he would be here? This was Tuesday—he was off only on the weekends. And he was in his proper place, very close to the alcove. It didn’t matter how many keys they had, magic or otherwise—as long as he stood there, they couldn’t use them.
“Well, hello again, my friends!” Mr. Bell said cheerily to them both. “I’m surprised to see you here today! Still snowing hard out there?”
“It’s pretty much a blizzard,” Jack said.
“That’s why we’re in here,” Ruthie added. “We had a halfday today and you can’t do anything outside. The snow’s coming down sideways!”
“Most people stay home on days like this. I’m glad to have some company down here, though. You two have become regulars.”
“This is my new favorite place in the city,” Ruthie told him.
“Well, today’s a good day to enjoy yourself in here.”
Although she felt disappointed that she and Jack wouldn’t be able to get into the corridor this afternoon, at least she could browse the rooms to her heart’s content. Ruthie wandered down the length of the first wall and came across the room with the green silk canopy bed and the room with the tiny musical instruments.
“Hey, Ruthie, I have an idea,” Jack said to her quietly, after looking around. “Ask Mr. Bell to show you his favorite.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Remember what he said? It’s that California room around the corner. You can’t see the door from there. So I can check to make sure the key works.”
Ruthie casually walked back over to Mr. Bell while Jack went the other way.
“Can you tell which rooms are most popular?” she asked.
“Hard to say, but most people seem to like the early American rooms, I suppose,” Mr. Bell answered.
“Can you show me your favorite?”
He smiled at her. “Just over here,” he said. With Ruthie following him, Mr. Bell walked around the corner to
Ruthie told Ms. Biddle that maybe she was just a little tired; her sister was staying up late with the light on, studying for the college entrance test this weekend. In fact, that was true—Claire was keeping the light on late—but it didn’t really matter; Ruthie would have had trouble falling asleep anyway. She lay in her small, plain bed in her shared, cramped room, paging through the catalogue Lydia had lent her, imagining herself in one of those fantastic rooms. She read and reread each entry, absorbing every detail about the rooms. All she could think about was her chance to sleep in one of the luxurious beds from another century.
School was out at noon, and Ruthie and Jack ate their lunch on a city bus heading down Michigan Avenue. It wasn’t a long trip from their school to the Art Institute, but today it was snowing hard, so the bus driver drove unbearably slowly. Also, more people than usual, bundled in big puffs of down coats, got on and off at each stop. Jack dropped a glove three times in dirty pools of melted snow on the floor of the bus.
Finally at the museum, they trudged up the stairs against the icy wind that blew the snow horizontally into their faces. It felt wonderful to enter the warmth and protection of the museum and leave winter outside. Since neither of them had turned twelve yet, admission was free. But they still had to pay a dollar each to check their backpacks. Jack paid his in nickels, dimes and pennies.
Because of the bad weather, the museum was relatively empty, which would be a benefit to them, they assumed as they bounded down the stairs. Usually the children’s galleries were pretty full of school groups, but this was the kind of Chicago blizzard that cancelled field trips.
“This’ll make it easier to sneak into the corridor,” Jack said in a low voice to Ruthie as they rounded the corner.
But no sooner had they entered the exhibit space than they realized how wrong they were. It was true that there were hardly any visitors in Gallery 11, but they had overlooked the obvious: Mr. Bell! How could they have forgotten that he would be here? This was Tuesday—he was off only on the weekends. And he was in his proper place, very close to the alcove. It didn’t matter how many keys they had, magic or otherwise—as long as he stood there, they couldn’t use them.
“Well, hello again, my friends!” Mr. Bell said cheerily to them both. “I’m surprised to see you here today! Still snowing hard out there?”
“It’s pretty much a blizzard,” Jack said.
“That’s why we’re in here,” Ruthie added. “We had a halfday today and you can’t do anything outside. The snow’s coming down sideways!”
“Most people stay home on days like this. I’m glad to have some company down here, though. You two have become regulars.”
“This is my new favorite place in the city,” Ruthie told him.
“Well, today’s a good day to enjoy yourself in here.”
Although she felt disappointed that she and Jack wouldn’t be able to get into the corridor this afternoon, at least she could browse the rooms to her heart’s content. Ruthie wandered down the length of the first wall and came across the room with the green silk canopy bed and the room with the tiny musical instruments.
“Hey, Ruthie, I have an idea,” Jack said to her quietly, after looking around. “Ask Mr. Bell to show you his favorite.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Remember what he said? It’s that California room around the corner. You can’t see the door from there. So I can check to make sure the key works.”
Ruthie casually walked back over to Mr. Bell while Jack went the other way.
“Can you tell which rooms are most popular?” she asked.
“Hard to say, but most people seem to like the early American rooms, I suppose,” Mr. Bell answered.
“Can you show me your favorite?”
He smiled at her. “Just over here,” he said. With Ruthie following him, Mr. Bell walked around the corner to
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