Timebound(95)
“Oh… sorry,” he said. “I can use the ones on the Midway where you don’ hafta pay the nickel, but… I thought maybe you just needed to… Some ladies won’ say, y’know. One of the ladies from London never would say and she nearly—”
“Girl reporters aren’t prissy,” I said, giving him a little smile. “We say what we think. So if I need to go, I’ll tell you straight-out.” I glanced over at the steps leading up to the ornate portico of the building. “We’re already here, so we might as well step inside. I’ll just wait for you in the lobby.”
We had a brief disagreement with the attendant at the gentlemen’s lavatory. He took one glance down his long nose at Mick’s attire and suggested he find another toilet. Mick argued with him for a moment and then I settled the dispute by handing the guy a quarter—well beyond the nickel charge for using the facilities. His attitude changed, but he still followed the boy inside, as though he was worried Mick might run off with the towels.
I sat on a black upholstered bench and looked around at the wide variety of statues in marble, plaster, and bronze. According to the clock inside the rotunda, it was only a few minutes after nine. We still had plenty of time, but I was too nervous to sit still, so I wandered over to examine a few of the works on display. One of the larger-than-life statues depicted a man who was about to punch an eagle that was attacking him. Nearby, a smaller bronze work with a French title showed a young child sitting on a riverbank. It was beautifully detailed, and I was surprised to see that the artist was a teenage girl from Boston, Theodora Alice Ruggles.
Mick emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later and had actually managed to remove most of the grime from his face and arms. His cuffs were a bit damp from his efforts to scrub them clean, but they showed a definite improvement as well. He had apparently made good use of the complimentary toiletries—his hair was now parted neatly down the middle. It was also slicked down with something that smelled like the bergamot oil they use in Earl Grey, and I was reminded of sitting half asleep in my dad’s lap on weekends as a kid, while he read the paper and sipped his morning cup of tea.
The boy was again standing in inspection mode, so I gave him a quick nod. “Very respectable, sir. I think you’ll pass quite nicely as a journalist’s assistant.”
He gave me a wide grin, and we left the Arts Palace. This was apparently not an area where Mick had much expertise, as he didn’t say anything about the many statues and paintings we passed on our way outside, but he perked up again as we turned left on the sidewalk.
“The Midway’s not very far at all, Miss Kate. So how do you know they’ll be there at ten? What were they doin’ over by the Hunter’s Camp anyway? I seen him there before, a coupla times. He’s always comin’ out of those bushes… I nearly tol’ the cops, ’cause some ladies have been disappearin’, but then I noticed it’s the same woman with him each time. An’ she’s here at the Expo a lot. They got somethin’ hidden in there?”
He glanced up when I didn’t respond. “Oh, right. You said no questions. Me mom always says I’ll get a lot further in life if I learn to button me lip.”
“My mom tells me the same thing,” I laughed. “I don’t usually listen to her either. But it probably is good advice, you know.”
He shrugged. “Yeah, but me dad said th’ only way to learn is t’ ask questions. An’ it’s hard to do that with buttoned-up lips. Anyway, I c’n tell that one you’re followin’ is a bad bloke. He has those eyes. He always give me the evil look when he comes up that hill, kinda like you did this mornin’, but I could tell you was jus’ scared. Not mean.”
“I was not scared,” I said.
“’Course you were,” he replied matter-of-factly. “You’re new here and followin’ some bad guy. But you got a good guide now, so you’ll get your story and then your boss’ll be happy, right?”
It seemed pointless to argue with an eight-year-old kid, especially when he was essentially correct, so I just buttoned my lip and followed.
The Midway Plaisance was already noisy, dusty, and crowded at nine thirty in the morning. The buildings weren’t as immense as those in the main Exposition, but what they lacked in size they made up for in color and design. In the space of a few city blocks, we passed replicas of an early American log cabin, an Irish castle, a collection of Asian-looking huts, and a smaller version of a Turkish mosque.
We stopped at a small concession stand just past the German Village, where I bought two lemonades. After a few minutes, we found a spot on one of the benches in front of the buildings.