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Slow Freight Tilly and Skinny were on their way to the baseball game—the Wed Rings were playing Cochese Dairy—and just as they approached the Glover Street railroad crossing, the gates came down and the lights began to flash and the bell began dinging. "Zip on through," Skinny said. "I don't want to miss batting practice." "That's too dangerous," Tilly said. "Besides, it's against the law." "The train is nowhere near yet," Skinny said. "You can make it easy." "Nope," Tilly said. "We'll wait. It won't take long." "Hrumph," Skinny growled. Finally the engine pulled into view, a big green locomotive. Then the second engine, and the third and the fourth. "Four engines," Skinny sighed. "That's not a good sign. You could have snuck through. Now we're stuck." "Better safe than sorry," Tilly said. "Why don't you count the cars? I guess there will be fifty." "Including the engines, or not?" Skinny asked. "Including," Tilly said. "I already lost count," Skinny said. Boxcar after boxcar rolled by. "We could guess what's inside of all these boxcars," Tilly suggested. "Boring," Skinny said. "Probably just boxes. Why else would they call them boxcars?" "We could guess what's in the boxes," Tilly said. "What do you think?" "What's the point?" Skinny said. "There's no way to find out. Unless there's a train wreck and everything spills out. Or unless the boxes are filled with hand grenades, and by accident one of them goes off because the train jiggles so much that the safety pin falls out. And that sets all the other ones off. Boom. Boom. Boom." "Okay, then we won't guess," Tilly said. "We'll just sit and watch." "Like we have a choice," Skinny said. "Hey, you could always take a nap," Tilly suggested. "That way you'll be rested up for the game." "Ha! The game will probably be over before we get to it," Skinny said. But he closed his eyes. "Wake me up if there's a train wreck or an explosion, okay?" "Right," Tilly said. "Anyway, I think it's almost over." Sure enough, right at that moment the train started slowing down. Soon it was creeping along. Soon Skinny was snoring. And the train was stopped. A flat car sat on the tracks. The flat car was empty. Tilly wished it had something interesting on it—maybe a giant piece of earth moving equipment, or part of a rocket ship, or even huge coils of shiny wire. The empty car just sat there, and Tilly just sat there watching it, and Skinny snored as he slept. Across the top of the flat car Tilly could see the first car in line on the opposite side of the railroad tracks. Tilly waved. The driver of the car on the opposite side waved back. Tilly and the other driver smiled at each other. The flat car just sat there. At last, with a jerking heave, the train began to move. But wait, it was going the wrong way. It was backing up. It was backing up slowly. At least it was moving. Tilly watched the cars go by. Boxcar after boxcar. At last the engines appeared. At last they cleared the tracks. But the gates didn't go up. "Ding ding ding ding," went the bell. Tilly was tempted to go around the gates. Only ten minutes until game time. "Ding ding ding ding." The driver in the car on the other side was starting to edge forward, to creep around the gates. The nose of his car was almost to the tracks when with a tremendous whooshing roar the Midnight Express shot across the crossing on track two. "BA-Wah-Wooooooooooooo. Rackety-click, rackety-click, rackety-click." Then the Midnight Express was gone. A long second passed. The gates went up. Tilly drove across. He glanced at the driver of the other car as they passed each other. The driver grinned sheepishly. Skinny woke up just as they were pulling into the ballpark parking lot. They were in plenty of time. "Did I miss anything?" Skinny asked. "Yeah," Tilly said. "The Midnight Express."
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