I allowed myself a smile -- I didn't think I was any smarter than the other kids, but I sure knew a whole lot more about the world -- the worlds! And maybe, in my heart of hearts, I knew that I was a _little_ smarter. "I'll miss you, sir," I said. "Call me Robert. School's out. Where are you off to, James?" I gestured with my copy of the _Chronicle_. "My home town! Whatever for?" I looked at my shoes. "Oh, a secret. I see. Well, I won't pry. Does your mother know about this?" I felt like kicking myself. If I said no, he'd have to tell her. If I said yes, I'd only have myself to blame if he spilled the news to her. I looked at him, and he blew a streamer of smoke into the sky. "No, sir," I said. "No, Robert." He looked at me. He winked. "Better keep it to ourselves, then," he said. # The ticket-girl at the Castro Theatre wasn't any older than I was, but she wore her hair shorter than some of the boys I'd known back home, and more makeup than even the painted ladies at the saloon. She looked at me like I was some kind of small-town fool. It was a look I was getting used to seeing. "Reddekop only plays for the _evening_ shows, kid. No organ for the _matinee_." "Who you calling a kid?" I said. I'd kept a civil tongue ever since debarking the train, treating adult and kid with equal respect, but I was getting sick of being treated like a yokel. I'd been farther than any of these dusty slickers would ever go, and I was grown enough that I'd told my Mama and Mr Johnstone that I was going off on my own, instead of just leaving a note like I'd originally planned. "You. Kid. You want to talk to Reddekop, you come back after six. In the meantime, you can either buy a ticket to the matinee or get lost." On reflection, telling my Mama was probably a mistake. It meant that I was locked in my room for two consecutive Wednesdays so that I couldn't catch the train. On the third Wednesday, I climbed out onto the roof and then went down the rope-ladder I'd hidden behind a chimney. The Wells Fargo notes I'd started with were almost gone, mostly spent on the expensive food on the train -- I hadn't dared try to sneak any food away from home, my Mama was no fool. I thought about buying a ticket to the matinee. I still had almost five dollars, but a quick look at the menus in the restaurants had taught me that if I thought the food on the train was expensive, I had another think coming. I shouldered my rucksack and wandered away, taking care to avoid the filth from dogs and people that littered the sidewalks. I told myself that I wasn't homesick -- just tired. # "October 29, 1929, huh?" Reddekop was a small German with a greying spade beard and a heavily oiled part in his long hair. His fingers were long and nimble, but nearly everything else about him was short and crude. He made me nervous. "Yes, sir. Mr Nussbaum thought you'd know what it meant."