Secret Signs Read Online Free Page A

wearing a voluminous raggedy coat, purple plaid vest, tweed pants and long green striped scarf with a fringe on the bottom. The wispy gray hair sticking out from under his battered felt hat looked like it hadn’t seen a comb in a long time, and the man’s scruffy beard would have made Henry’s mother frown. She would have called him grizzled. Henry thought he was disgusting.
    â€œWhat do you want?” the old man growled as Henry walked up.
    Henry held out his father’s picture. “My name’s Henry Dafoe, and I was wondering when this man came through here?”
    The hobo screwed up his face and spata wad of chewing tobacco into the dirt at Henry’s feet. “Never did.”
    This wasn’t what Henry wanted to hear. “Are you sure, mister? His name is Michael Dafoe. Could you look again?”
    â€œAre you deaf, boy? I said he was never here.” The old man spat again, then started rolling up a well-used blanket.
    Henry felt anger welling up inside him. What did this old coot know anyway? He looked around at the sprawling hobo jungle. “Just because you never saw him doesn’t mean he wasn’t here. You could have missed him. My father came here to work on the Glenmore Dam and Reservoir Relief Project, and I intend to find him.”
    The old hobo looked at him with stone gray eyes. “Did you say the Glenmore Dam Project?”
    â€œYes, that’s right,” Henry said with confidence. “He’s there right now!”
    Clickety Clack shook his head. “Young pup. You don’t know a dang thing.”
    â€œI don’t have time for this, old man.”Henry had never been much good at controlling his temper, and he was getting desperate.
    Clickety Clack coughed—a wet, gooey sound. “Let me finish tying up my old turkey here and maybe I’ll tell you something about the Glenmore Dam Project.” The tramp calmly went back to rolling his blanket and securing it with a worn belt.
    Henry’s limited patience was gone and his temper fast taking over. Finally Clickety Clack stood and stretched his back lazily.
    â€œWell now, if you’re headin’ to the Glenmore Dam, you’re a might east of where you want to be.” Clickety Clack’s lip twisted into a crooked half smile. His teeth were stained yellow.
    Henry wished he had a big stick so he could poke the aggravating old derelict. “How far? One block, ten blocks, a mile?”
    Clickety Clack looked to the west as though he could see the dam right up the road. “Oh, a little farther than that.”
    The hobo paused again. Henry was about to blow a gasket.
    Clickety Clack went on in his slow, aggravating way. “Not a block… not a mile…” He scratched absently under his arm. “More like two…
provinces
.”
    Henry didn’t understand. “What?”
    â€œYou need to head two provinces to the west, boy. The Glenmore Dam is in Calgary,
Alberta
. It’ll probably take you a while, especially as I don’t think you’ve ever ridden the rods before.”
    Henry swallowed. Alberta! His parents had never said anything about his father leaving Manitoba. One thing was certain; he wasn’t going to let Clickety Clack know how shocked and scared he was. No sir. He’d do what Tom or Huck would do. He’d find a way to get there by himself.
    â€œOf course I’ve ridden the rods,” he blustered, not knowing what the rods were, let alone how to ride them. “It’s been a while, that’s all.”
    â€œIs that a fact?” The hobo stuck a fresh plug of chewing tobacco in his cheek.
    Henry felt a little foolish, but it was too late now. “I used to ride all the time, but that was ages ago, when I was just a kid. Remind me again how it’s done?”
    Clickety Clack roared with laughter, almost spewing his tobacco into the dirt. “You forget, do you? Well now, don’t that beat all.