Polly brought them back from her vacation."
"What did she think about Oregon? I hear it's a beautiful state."
"I doubt that she saw much of the landscape," Qwilleran said. "She was visiting a former college roommate, who's now a residential architect, and it seems they spent the whole time designing a house for Polly. She's going to build on a couple of acres at the east end of my orchard."
"I thought she wanted to keep her apartment on Goodwinter Boulevard."
"That was her original idea when they started converting the boulevard into a college campus. She thought she'd enjoy living among students. But when they began paving gardens for parking lots, she changed her mind."
"They should've made one large parking lot at the entrance and kept a grassy look on campus," Dwight said.
"God forbid anyone would have to walk a block from his car, Dwight. Rural communities live on wheels. Only city types like you and me know how to use their legs.... But tell me about the new job."
Dwight Somers, a publicity man from Down Below, had come north to work for a prosperous Moose County developer. Unfortunately the job fizzled, and the community that had benefited from his creativity and vitality was in fear of losing him.
"Okay," he began. "I told you I was having an interview with a PR firm in Lockmaster, didn't I? They want me to open a branch for them in Pickax, and we have a highly promising client for starters. Do you know Floyd Trevelyan in Sawdust City?"
He referred to an industrial town that was considered unprogressive and undesirable by Pickax standards, although it had a larger population and a thriving economy.
"I'm not acquainted with anyone in Sawdust City," Qwilleran said, "but I know the phone book is full of Trevelyans. This barn was part of the Trevelyan Apple Orchard a hundred years ago."
"Well, this guy is president of the Lumbertown Credit Union in Sawdust City - good name, what? - and it's a really going institution. He and his family have a big house in West Middle Hummock with acreage. He also happens to be a railroad nut, and he has a model train layout that's worth half a mil. That's not all! Now he's into rolling stock - a steam locomotive and some old passenger cars. He intends to use them for charter excursions."
" "What will he use for tracks?"
"The old SC&L Line still hauls slow freight up from Down Below. No problem there. Floyd's idea is to rent his train out for dinners, cocktail parties, business functions, weddings, tourist excursions - whatever. We're calling it the Lumbertown Party Train. The civic leaders in Sawdust City are hot for tourism, like everyone else around here, and they've given him a few perks - helped him get a liquor license, for one thing."
"Does he expect to make any money on this venture?" Qwilleran asked, remembering the dashed hopes of Dwight's previous employer.
"Well, in Floyd's case it's a hobby or maybe a calculated loss for tax purposes. He's spent a mint on equipment, but he seems to have it to spend, so why not? It all started when he stumbled across this SC&L engine in mothballs. Steam locomotives are almost impossible to find, he says, and here was one with local connections. A great find! He's spent hundreds of thousands to restore it, starting with the removal of pigeon droppings. After that he bought a dining car, and then an Art Deco club car, and then a private railcar that had belonged to a textile magnate. The PV had fabulous appointments, but everything was in bad shape, and he spent a fortune to renovate the three cars. Amanda's Studio of Design supervised the renovation. How's that for a plummy contract? Maybe Amanda will retire now, and Fran Brodie can take over."
"Is it old family money he's sinking into this project?" Qwilleran asked. "I know there are some well-heeled Trevelyans as well as some on public assistance."
"No way! Floyd came up from a working class branch of the Trevelyan clan, but he inherited upwardly mobile genes from his pioneer ancestors. He started out as a carpenter and parlayed his toolbox into the largest construction firm in the county. Luckily he got in on the ground floor of the Moose County revival when federal funds were pouring in."
"Do you mean to say that a builder in Sawdust City was doing more business than XYZ Enterprises?" Qwilleran asked in astonishment.
"Believe it or not, XYZ didn't even exist until Exbridge, Young and Zoller formed a syndicate and bought out Trevelyan Construction. Floyd took their millions and opened the Lumbertown Credit Union. He was tired of the blue-collar image, and this move made him a white- collar VIP in his hometown - sort of a local hero. For offices he built a building that looks like an old-fashioned depot. The interior is paneled with narrow boards, highly varnished, and he even got a couple of old, uncomfortable waiting-room benches. To cap it all, he has model trains running around the lobby. The depositors love it! They call it the Choo-Choo Credit Union, and the president is affectionately called F. T.... How do you feel about model trains, Qwill?"
"At the risk of sounding un-American, I must say I never caught the fever. As a kid I received an oval track and four cars for Christmas. What I really wanted was a baseball mitt. After the cars went around the track six or eight times, I was a very bored first baseman. Let's assume that my whole life has been colored by that one disappointment.... Still, I wouldn't object to writing a column on toy trains, if your client will cooperate."
"We call them model trains," Dwight informed him. "The adult hobbyists outnumber the kids, if my statistics are accurate."
"I stand corrected," said Qwilleran, who had a journalist's respect for the right word.
"Do you realize, Qwill, that serious collectors will fight for vintage models? Floyd paid over a thousand dollars for a ten-inch locomotive in the original box."
"Would he be interested in an interview?"
"Well, he's not exactly comfortable with the media, but I'll coach him. Give me a couple of days, and then you can call him at the Lumbertown office. His home in West Middle Hummock is called The Roundhouse, and it's two miles beyond the fork, where Hummock Road splits off from Ittibittiwassee. You can't miss it. His mailbox is a locomotive. Don't use his address; he's antsy about theft. You should see his security system!"
"When does the Party Train make its debut?"
"In a couple of weeks. Three weeks max.
What I'm planning is a blastoff that'll attract the best people in the county and get publicity around the state. How would you react to a trial run at $500 a ticket, with proceeds going to charity? Everything would be first-class: champagne dinner with Chateaubriand, fresh flowers, live music - "
Qwilleran interrupted. "Give the proceeds to the scholarship fund of the new college, and I'll buy two tickets. I'll also twist Arch's arm until he buys a couple... Refresh your drink, Dwight?"
"No, thanks. I'll coast along with what I have... Hey, these snacks are good! What are they? They look like dry dog food."
"A friend sent them from Down Below - her own invention. She calls them Kabibbles."
"She should package these and sell them."
As he spoke, two slinky fawn-colored bodies with brown extremities were creeping silently toward the coffee table and the bowl of Kabibbles. Eyes that were celestial blue in daytime glistened like jet in the artificial light. Their concentration on their goal was absolute.
"No!" Qwilleran thundered, and they rose vertically on legs like springs before running away to contemplate their next maneuver. Their names were Koko and Yum Yum. The male, whose real name was Kao K'o Kung, had a lean, strong body with musculature that rippled beneath his silky fur; he also had a determination that was invincible. Yum Yum was daintier in size and deportment, but she knew how to get what she wanted.
"How did the cats like Breakfast Island?" Dwight asked.
"They don't care where they are," Qwilleran replied, "long as they get three squares a day and a soft place to sleep."