The Magical Carpetbag
It was June, 1938. Eight-year old Maxwell Smart woke up inside a boxcar. He had boarded the train earlier in the day after determining that running away from home was what he wanted to do. It was really what he needed to do. There was nothing for him in Washington, DC anymore.
Now it was dark and he started to have second thoughts. He looked out between the slats in the boxcar and saw a few lights here and there, but it was mostly darkness, except for the burgundy glow in the western sky.
Max had brought his flashlight, his penknife, some jerky and a biscuit that his friend Mickey's mother had baked fresh that morning. He also had brought a dollar that he had found on the street some time ago and had hidden for a "rainy" day. Well, it looked like "rain" now.
Max knew the train was headed southwest, but he didn't know where. It hadn't mattered before, but now he was getting a little scared. He didn't like being alone in the dark. He didn't like to admit that he was scared of the dark either. He went to the other side of the boxcar to see if he could make out anything in the waning western glow. He tripped over something soft and fell into the sweet-smelling hay that was still covering the floor.
Max pulled out his flashlight and turned it on to see what he had fallen over. It was a large carpetbag. Next to the bag lay a small man in a derby hat sleeping on the floor. As soon as Max shone the light in his face, he sat up startled. His hat tumbled off. "What d' y' want?" demanded the man, in an accent unfamiliar to Max.
Seeing someone in the boxcar with him startled Max too. Max thought the man must be a tramp. "Sorry, Mister."
When the man heard the boy's voice, he calmed down. He held his arms over his face. "Put the torch away, lad, Yer shoinin' it in me oyes…" he said. "Who are y'?"
Max turned off the light. "My name is Maxwell Smart, Mister," said Max.
The man laughed softly. "I thought y' was the bulls."
"What's the bulls, Mister?"
"That's the rail police. We're breakin' th' law, y'know. Ow old are y', lad?" The tramp had a pleasant, soft, tenor speaking voice.
"Eight years old on my last birthday, Mister."
The man pulled his carpetbag out of Max's way. "Y' c'n call me Charlie," said the tramp. "C'n I call y' Maxie? Maxwell seems too fancy a nyme fer a young lad..."
"Sure," said Max.
"Sit down, Maxie. So we c'n talk." The man paused, trying to make out Max's features in the dark. "So where are y' goin'?"
"I'm running away from home," said Max, defiantly.
"Oh, I see," said Charlie. "and why are y' doin' tha'?"
"Don't want to talk about it, Mister."
"I said y' c'n call me Charlie…tha's me nyme," said the tramp. "and what plyce are y' goin' to, me lad?"
"Don't know, Charlie."
"Well, I shall be leavin' this luxury compartm'nt soon…y' feel loike some companionship, Maxie?"
Max wondered. The tramp seemed nice enough. And Max didn't really want to be alone in the dark, not knowing where he was. "Sure, Charlie," he answered.
"The train ain't gonna stop, lad, so we mus' jump…are y' up t' tha'?"
"Yeah, Charlie, I am."
Soon the train slowed. Charlie put his derby on his head and shoved it down firmly. Then he took hold of his carpetbag and a walking stick that Max hadn't seen before. He pulled open the door on the side of the boxcar and asked, "Are y' ready, lad?"
"Yes, sir," said Max.
"Jump now!" yelled the tramp. They both jumped in unison and landed softly in a haystack.
Max landed on his head in the soft hay and the tramp had to pull him out by his feet.
The tramp led the way to a clearing not far from the tracks. There was evidence of people having made campfires in this area, but it was deserted at the present time, except for some campfires flickering in the far distance. Charlie gathered a bit of wood and made his own campfire.
"Are y' 'ungry, lad?" asked the tramp.
"Sure am, Charlie," said Max.
"See tha' stream t'other soide o' th' tracks? I sh'll bring wat'er from there…it's a runnin' stream, so's th' wat'er will be clean. Y' sty 'ere." The tramp pulled out a canteen and a large tin can from his carpetbag. He went over to the stream.
Max wasn't frightened to be alone; the crackling fire was warm but the tramp was taking a while coming back. He was becoming a bit concerned when he finally heard Charlie returning.
"Thought you left me, Charlie."
"I would neveh do tha', Maxie," said Charlie, in a serious tone. He smiled at the boy. He put the large tin of water on the campfire and pulled out some dried beans and some vegetables from a sack in his carpetbag. He cut them up with a hunting knife and sprinkled some salt on them which he procured from a vest pocket. From the other pocket, he sprinkled a pinch of pepper into the soup.
"Sorry we don't 'ave no meat. Maybe tomorra we'll 'ave some."
Max offered the tramp his jerky and the biscuit. "Y' keep th' jerky, Maxie; moigh' come in 'andy sometoime. But I suggest y' should be eatin' th' biscuit…it'll go bad fast, won't do y' no good tha' wye."
Max gave the tramp half his biscuit, which he accepted graciously.
"Maxie, I 'ave t' apologise, I only 'ave one set o' dishes…y' don' moind sharin' do y'?"
"No, I don't mind! Now, my Mom, she wouldn't like it at all, sharing with a stranger…" his voice trailed off.
"Tell me 'bout yer Mum, Maxie."
"No, don't want to talk about it."
"A'roigh'. I respec' yer wishes. So, y' bein' me guest, y' mus' eat first."
The soup took a while to cook, and the tramp dished it out with a wooden spoon into a metal bowl. Max thought the soup was very tasty. Or maybe he was just very hungry. But it was filling and there was plenty for both the boy and the tramp. They finished every bit.
Charlie had filled the canteen with cold water and they shared that also. "Don't 'ave no milk for y', lad, but maybe we will 'ave some tomorra."
The tramp rinsed the dishes in water and dried them with his handkerchief before returning them to his carpetbag.
"I wan'a early start on sleepin' t' noigh', Maxie. We sh'll be walkin' some tomorra. Y' c'n sleep when y' want, but I recommend early more than lyt'er. Keep close t' th' foire. Keeps th' animals awye."
"Animals?" Max looked startled.
"Said it keeps 'em awye. Don't be froighten'd if y' 'ear some 'owlin' in th' distance."
Charlie pulled a ragged blanket from the carpetbag. He held it out to Max. ""Ere, lad, take this. It c'n be a bi' chill during th' noigh'."
"What about you, Charlie, this is your blanket…"
"I 'ave me coat. Keeps me noice 'n warm."
Charlie curled up on the ground and put his hat over his face. Max put the blanket around him and fell asleep quickly.