Swindled!: The 1906 Journal of Fitz Morgan (2 page)

Now Teddy was yanking on his leash. I flicked my index finger three times toward the floor. This was one of the 25 or so silent
commands Teddy and I had developed. Father jokingly called them “Teddyspeak.” We had signals for “Open the door” (which Teddy
could do by using his front paws while standing on his hind legs) and “Find Father’s glasses.”

The command I had just made meant “Wait a minute. Teddy,” and my dog grudgingly sat down on the floor.

Before moving on, I wanted to get a quick look at my reflection in the nearby glass display case, just to make sure that I
looked right. I did. My dark cap, which all the boys wear, sat straight on my head and hid most of my brown hair. I had on
a grass-colored jacket–it covered my white shirt and suspenders–and matching knickers that ended at my knees.

Teddy pulled on his leash again. He was right–we were running late. Time to get moving!

At the end of the corridor, we reached the platform next to our train-with just two minutes to spare! Steam hissed from the locomotive as if the engine was begging to start racing down the rails. The cars behind the locomotive stretched
the length of at least two football fields.

A mass of travelers, baggage handlers, screaming children, vendors’ carts, skittish horses, and shouting porters swarmed between
the passenger cars and us. “Stay close,” I told Teddy by patting my hip twice.

“Watch out!” A thin woman pushing a baby carriage suddenly screamed, her voice rising above the din in panic.

With its horn blaring, a long black automobile came barreling through a gate meant for emergencies. It drove directly onto
the platform, sending people scurrying in all directions. It screeched to a halt and just narrowly missed the back wheel of
the screaming woman’s baby carriage.

The driver sprang from his seat and opened the back passenger door. I watched as a beautiful woman gracefully emerged. Most
women wear their hair up these days, but her black hair ran down her back, nearly to her waist. Long black gloves covered
her hands and extended up past her elbows.

As the woman was handing the driver some money, a little girl who looked about six sprang out of the back of the car. The
girl wore an expensive gray dress with ruffled petticoats, bloomers, and stockings. She had two pigtails tied tightly with
ribbon the bright red color of blood. The instant her feet hit the ground, the girl broke into a sprint, heading for a vendor’s
cart. Something–maybe the grape belly wash or another soft drink–must have caught her eye.

The woman took the girl’s arm and gently pulled her back. Bending down, she whispered in the girl’s ear, pointing across the
platform. They both grew very still as they continued to stare.

I followed their gaze and discovered they were studying another little girl. She was pretty, with straight blonde hair that
was swept up behind her head in a loose bun. She looked about nine years old, but she wore the long brown dress of someone
much older–a woman who is serious and has an important job to do. No petticoats or ruffles for her, just straight lines. Only
a bright purple scarf provided a splash of color.

The blonde girl was struggling to free her hand from the extremely large woman who stood next to her. The woman looked like
a schoolteacher and held tight to the squirming girl’s hand.

As a detective, I wanted to discover what made this girl special enough to attract stares. I moved a little closer to them
and was just in time to hear the girl demand, “Why do you insist on holding my hand in public? It’s humiliating! You are my
governess, not my jailor!”

The woman took a deep breath, as if they had this argument all the time. “Until you are safely in the custody of the Pullman
car porter, I cannot trust that you will not follow your whims. You know how you get distracted.”

“I’ll be the judge of that,” the girl proclaimed. “Besides, I get focused. Not distracted.”

The governess sniffed.

A tall man dressed in a porter’s black uniform bounded up to them. About nineteen, he was skinny, all arms and legs. Before
speaking he removed a shiny gold pocket watch from his vest pocket, flipped open the cover, and gave it a quick glance. He
snapped it shut and looked at the girl and her governess.

“Hello! Right on time, I see. That’s something I really admire,” he said to the pair. “My name’s William Henry Moorie. I’ll
be your porter for the trip to San Francisco.”

The governess turned to him, pointed to the girl, and–to my amazement–said, “May I present Miss Justine Pinkerton.”

I was thunderstruck! No wonder people were staring. The little girl was a Pinkerton. An actual Pinkerton!

The governess gave Justine’s head a farewell pat and put the girl’s hand into William Henry’s. “She is all yours. Good luck.
You are going to need it”

Justine instantly began defending herself to the porter. “My governess is exaggerating! She’s just upset because she had to
be rushed to the hospital once when–” I didn’t hear any more because they disappeared into the crowd.

Suddenly, Teddy started barking at something in the air. What was the matter? I looked up. A fluttering green paper was floating
by over our heads. I reached up, snatched it out of the air, and gazed at it in wonder.

A dollar bill.

Oh, the things I could buy–a magnifying glass, fingerprint powder, the latest guide to blood typing. But, of course, these
were just dreams. I had to return the bill to its rightful owner. I sighed. Sometimes it’s not such fun to be one of the good
guys.