Letters from Josh
(A weekly update from Josh Urban’s adventures on the farm and in the city. #107)
Howdy, folks! All aboard for tall tales of adventure! “Previously on Dr. Electro: R. and Dr. E stop by the Mangy Badger for something stronger than tea, and discover they’re being followed. It’s back to the rail yard to “catch the next freight before they catch us”.
The Return of Dr. Electro - #4: All Aboard
The train whistle echoed off the buildings, bounced off the water tower painted “Whittaker”, mingled with the rumble of the wheels, and shook something awake in Dr. Electro. He peered outside the boxcar door at the town slipping away. The moon was glowering vermilion in full eclipse. He shivered, but was strangely glad.
“Jolly well, old chap!” Rutherford loved hopping trains, and an adventure always put him in fine spirits. The eastbound had rolled by none too soon. As he was chuckling at Electro’s alarm (“Get on a moving train?”) and swinging aboard, he thought he saw a cloaked figured skulking by the warehouses. “Full steam ahead, my good Doctor! To east, and morning!”
The boxcar jostled over an unseen junction, and Electro marveled at the trackside lights and signal tower as they flashed by, glowing cozy on the night watch. Breaking away from the nocturne, he stumbled into the pitch night of the car. Rutherford rummaged through a pack in the corner. Suddenly, a flare - the candle sputtered, and steadied. Electro sat on the dusty floor. Thoughts of bedtime and unfinished books seemed to roll away like the countryside outside the door. He found the Unknown intimidating, yet tasty, like a dollop of his great grandfather’s horseradish. Makes ya feel.
“Just what are we up to?”
“Righ-o!” Rutherford rubbed his hands together. “That fine young lady - Claire - I was mentioning in the tavern.” Electro groaned. “Man, this is no time for tall tales!” “On my honor, sir! She’s barely five feet high! But seriously...” Rutherford coughed. “I took a shine to her, and she to me. Her great aunt even seemed to approve. Perhaps it was my manners. Lady Wilkes is cut from a fine cloth. One day, strolling lakeside with Claire, a young man of the house bounded up. ‘Sir! You must come at once!’ The mark of Phobos was in his eye. Panic and rout had come to Chicago, of that I was certain. When we returned to the house, Lady Wilkes was inconsolable. ‘The Portuguese Citrine! Stolen!’ was all she uttered.”
“Citrine - isn’t that a rather common variety of quartz?” Electro asked, puzzled.
“Precisely! But the good Lady assures me that this specimen is priceless - and that
only she knows that. Most wouldn’t pay ten dollars for it. I told her I would help recover it.
Perhaps I spoke too soon. I haven’t the faintest idea how. That’s why I came calling, sir!”
Suddenly, in the darkest corner of the boxcar, somebody coughed.
To be continued...
I like the ending to this one.