Ch8-A Terrible Story

CHAPTER EIGHT A Terrible Story "What do you think is wrong with him?" said Annie. "I don't know," said Jack. He put the wallet in his bag. "But so far our mission's been a disaster." "Well, we can't give up now," said Annie. "Come on, let's follow him."

As Jack and Annie started after Charles, the street was quiet and empty. It seemed the blinding fog and damp drizzle had driven everyone inside. They hadn't gone far before Charles looked back and saw them. "Don't follow me, children!" he called. "Please! I want to be alone now! I must be alone." Jack and Annie watched Charles vanish into the mist. "Maybe we should go back," Jack said. "We could find our way to his house and wait for him there." "Something tells me he's not going home soon," said Annie. "I feel like he really needs our help now."

Jack sighed. "Yeah, I feel that way, too," he said. "So let's follow him. But we'd better keep a safe distance from him, so he doesn't see us." As Jack and Annie followed Charles through the fog, they could hear the tapping of his walking stick on the cobblestones. They followed the sound down a sloping street lined with shacks. In the dingy light of the gas streetlamps, Jack could see garbage in the gutters—cabbage leaves, moldy bread, rotten fish. The poor neighborhood frightened him. But he and Annie kept going, following the sounds of Charles's footsteps and the tapping of his walking stick. Then the sounds stopped. "Wait," Jack whispered.

Jack and Annie froze. They couldn't see Charles through the fog, but they could hear the sound of sobbing. "Oh, no!" whispered Annie. Jack and Annie moved closer to the sound. Charles was sitting under a streetlamp at the bottom of the hill. His head was resting in the crook of his arm. "Charles?" said Annie. She stepped closer to Charles. "Are you okay?" Annie sat on the curb next to him. Jack sat on the other side of Charles. "You want to talk about it?" he asked. Charles lifted his head. "I'm sorry. I've never told anyone this story before," he said. "Not even

my wife or my closest friends." "You can tell us," said Jack. Charles looked at Jack, then at Annie. He stood and motioned for them to join him. Then he pointed into the fog. "Over there, near the river, was once a shoe polish factory. It was a tumbledown old building, filled with river rats. I went to work there when I was twelve. I sat at a table, pasting labels onto pots of black polish. I worked eleven hours a day, six days a week, yet I barely earned enough to keep alive." "You were only twelve?" said Jack.

"Yes. And I lived alone. I had lost everything— my family, my school, my dignity," said Charles. "Were you an orphan?" asked Annie. "No. I had parents," said Charles. "Why did they make you work in such a bad place?" asked Jack.