the can. “Hey, can I have the key?” I asked when he finished. “I collect them.” They ate a lot of sardines and anchovies on the
Point Pelee
, and the cook started saving them for me when I was only seven. Back home in Ashtabula, I had two quart jars full of them.
“You collect sardine can keys?”
Sam asked, incredulous.
“What on earth for?”
“Nothing special. I just like them.” Clarence threw me the key.
When I was sticking the key into my pants pocket, something sharp stabbed my hand—the barrette! I had completely forgotten about it! I took it out of my pocketand polished the engraved oval surface on my pants until it glistened like a mirror.
“What have you got there?” Clarence asked.
I set the barrette on the bed, next to the sardine can. “I found this on the floor, right after the train stopped in Albany.”
“Hmmm. Nice,”
said Sam.
“Looks like sterling silver, good quality. What, exactly, is it?”
“It’s called a barrette,” I said. “Girls use them to … they put them in their hair.”
“Does this barrette have some special significance, or are you interrupting my dinner out of spite?”
Sam asked.
“Knock, knock,” said a voice out in the vestibule. “Mr. Nockwood?”
“Come in,” said Clarence. “Ah, Reverend Perfiddle. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment—in private.”
Clarence disappeared into the vestibule to talk to him, leaving me to finish telling the story of the barrette to Sam alone.
“I don’t
know
that it is important, but there’s something funny—funny strange, that is—about it. Like I said, it was right after the Albany stop, right after I was talking to you. I was heading toward the back of the train, looking for Ellie,when I got stuck behind a family that had just boarded. There were three of them. The dad, who was carrying a girl with long red hair—she was sleeping, with her face against his shoulder, so I couldn’t tell how old she was—and the mom, whose hair was exactly the same color. They were right in front of me, and all of a sudden,
this
drops onto the floor and bounces under a seat. I was
sure
it came from one of them, but when I tried to give it to the lady, she said it wasn’t hers or her daughter’s. There was nobody else around, so I don’t know where else it could have come from.”
Sam yawned.
“Kid, you’re killing me. Where are you going with this story? So some dame dropped a barrette and didn’t want it back. Big deal. Now, why don’t you tell me more about this little hobby of yours. How many cans of sardines would you say the cook aboard your pop’s ship has stocked away? A couple hundred? More?”
“Boy, you really do have a one-track mind,” I said. “I’m not done with my story yet. What I was trying to say is, don’t you think it’s a little fishy that she wouldn’t want something so nice back?”
“Sorry, kid, but I have to interrupt you again. I’m not really comfortable with people using the word
fishy
as a synonym for suspicious,”
said Sam. “Fishy
should always be considered a
good
thing. But go on.”
“You see, I kept my eyes open all through dinner, watching everybody who came into the dining car, and I never saw them—the man, the woman, the kid. None of them had dinner. They’d be kind of hard to miss with all that red hair.”
Another yawn from Sam, this one louder and longer.
“One more time: so? Maybe they brought their own sandwiches. Maybe they forgot about dinner. Maybe they got off the train at Schenectady—”
“We didn’t stop at Schenectady.”
“Oh, right. I knew that.”
“You could be right about the sandwiches; my mom does that sometimes. I just think it’s … strange, that’s all. Okay, okay, I’ll stop talking about it. For now.”
“Good. Now, let’s go spy on Clarence and Reverend Perfiddle, and see what that little visit was all about.”
I’m not proud of the humiliating conclusion to
Point Pelee
, and the cook started saving them for me when I was only seven. Back home in Ashtabula, I had two quart jars full of them.
“You collect sardine can keys?”
Sam asked, incredulous.
“What on earth for?”
“Nothing special. I just like them.” Clarence threw me the key.
When I was sticking the key into my pants pocket, something sharp stabbed my hand—the barrette! I had completely forgotten about it! I took it out of my pocketand polished the engraved oval surface on my pants until it glistened like a mirror.
“What have you got there?” Clarence asked.
I set the barrette on the bed, next to the sardine can. “I found this on the floor, right after the train stopped in Albany.”
“Hmmm. Nice,”
said Sam.
“Looks like sterling silver, good quality. What, exactly, is it?”
“It’s called a barrette,” I said. “Girls use them to … they put them in their hair.”
“Does this barrette have some special significance, or are you interrupting my dinner out of spite?”
Sam asked.
“Knock, knock,” said a voice out in the vestibule. “Mr. Nockwood?”
“Come in,” said Clarence. “Ah, Reverend Perfiddle. What can I do for you?”
“I was wondering if I could talk to you for a moment—in private.”
Clarence disappeared into the vestibule to talk to him, leaving me to finish telling the story of the barrette to Sam alone.
“I don’t
know
that it is important, but there’s something funny—funny strange, that is—about it. Like I said, it was right after the Albany stop, right after I was talking to you. I was heading toward the back of the train, looking for Ellie,when I got stuck behind a family that had just boarded. There were three of them. The dad, who was carrying a girl with long red hair—she was sleeping, with her face against his shoulder, so I couldn’t tell how old she was—and the mom, whose hair was exactly the same color. They were right in front of me, and all of a sudden,
this
drops onto the floor and bounces under a seat. I was
sure
it came from one of them, but when I tried to give it to the lady, she said it wasn’t hers or her daughter’s. There was nobody else around, so I don’t know where else it could have come from.”
Sam yawned.
“Kid, you’re killing me. Where are you going with this story? So some dame dropped a barrette and didn’t want it back. Big deal. Now, why don’t you tell me more about this little hobby of yours. How many cans of sardines would you say the cook aboard your pop’s ship has stocked away? A couple hundred? More?”
“Boy, you really do have a one-track mind,” I said. “I’m not done with my story yet. What I was trying to say is, don’t you think it’s a little fishy that she wouldn’t want something so nice back?”
“Sorry, kid, but I have to interrupt you again. I’m not really comfortable with people using the word
fishy
as a synonym for suspicious,”
said Sam. “Fishy
should always be considered a
good
thing. But go on.”
“You see, I kept my eyes open all through dinner, watching everybody who came into the dining car, and I never saw them—the man, the woman, the kid. None of them had dinner. They’d be kind of hard to miss with all that red hair.”
Another yawn from Sam, this one louder and longer.
“One more time: so? Maybe they brought their own sandwiches. Maybe they forgot about dinner. Maybe they got off the train at Schenectady—”
“We didn’t stop at Schenectady.”
“Oh, right. I knew that.”
“You could be right about the sandwiches; my mom does that sometimes. I just think it’s … strange, that’s all. Okay, okay, I’ll stop talking about it. For now.”
“Good. Now, let’s go spy on Clarence and Reverend Perfiddle, and see what that little visit was all about.”
I’m not proud of the humiliating conclusion to
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