He didn’t go home to dinner, but just called to me to stop at his house and fetch him a snack. I knew what a snack meant for him, so I fetched back three ham sandwiches and three jelly sandwiches and two apples and a banana and a piece of apple pie and a piece of cherry pie and a hunk of cake and about a quart of milk. He went at them sort of deliberate and gradual, but the way they disappeared was enough to make you think he was some kind of a magician. Before you knew it the whole lot was gone and he was looking down into the basket kind of sorrowful. “What’s the m-matter, Plunk?” says he. “Was they short of grub at home? Seems like the edge hain’t hardly gone off’n my appetite.” “You’ve et enough to keep me for a week,” says I. “Huh!” says he. “Well, a f-feller kin think better when he’s hungry, they say.” Hungry! I swan to Betsy if he hadn’t et a square meal for three grown men. He went to whittling again. About three o’clock he come out and says, “Plunk, we got to go to the city.” “What for?” says I. “To git f-freight-cars,” says he. “And fetch ’em home in our pockets, I s’pose,” says I. “Maybe,” says he. “Git enough clothes to stay all night. We’ll catch the five-o’clock t-train.” “But what you goin’ to do?” “I hain’t sure. But there’s somebody up to those head offices of the r-r-railroad company that’s got a right to give us cars. I’m goin’ to f-f-find out who it is, even if it’s the President of the United States, and I’m goin’ to find some way to make him give ’em to us.” “They wouldn’t ever let a couple of kids in to see the head men,” says I. “They will,” says he. “How d’you know?” says I. “Because,” says he, “I’ll make ’em.” “Don’t bite off more ’n you kin chaw,” says I. “Look here,” says he, “are you g-g-goin’ to lay down on this job? Because if you be I kin take Tallow or Binney. They won’t git cold f-f-feet.” “I’ll stick,” says I, “but we hain’t got a chance.” “Anybody’s always got a chance,” says he. “Folks can make chances. Anything that’s p-p-possible kin be done if you stick to it and use your head. This here is p-possible and it’s necessary. I’m goin’ to git them freight-cars.” That was just like him. You couldn’t scare him and you couldn’t discourage him. He would stick to anything till you sawed him loose. I guess maybe there was some bulldog in him, or something. Maybe he had had a meal of glue some day and that made him stick to things. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him when he showed that he was discouraged, and I really don’t believe he ever was discouraged. No, sir; he got so interested in trying to do whatever it was that he wanted to do that he forgot all about how hard it was. And I guess that’s a good idea. CHAPTER XIII