Red Hart Magic Read Free

If he could just—
    The taxi pulled to a stop, though the meter still clicked busily. Aunt Elizabeth opened the door with one hand and shoved the tickets at Chris with the other.
    â€œGo right in. It must be just starting, so hurry. Remember, stay in the lobby until you see me.”
    â€œSure,” he agreed. Then he was standing next to Nan, and the taxi had again swung from the curb.
    Chris held out one of the tickets in her direction.
    â€œHere,” he said shortly, “you go on in.”
    â€œAren't you coming?”
    To Chris this was too good a chance to miss. There was no telling when he might be able to get out alone again.
    â€œNot now,” he answered curtly. “You go in.”
    Nan made no move to take the ticket though he tried to press it into her hand.

    â€œWhat are you going to do?” she demanded.
    â€œDon't be so stupid.” His temper flared for an instant. “You go in. It's none of your business. Now is it?”
    Slowly she shook her head. “But Aunt Elizabeth—”
    â€œGo on!” He wanted to push her through the door. Throwing Aunt Elizabeth at him that way—
    â€œAll right!” Nan took the ticket.
    Chris waited only long enough to see her reach the outer door of the lobby; then he turned and was gone, back up the street. Nan opened the door and let it close again, with her still outside. Chris was up to something. She had no intention of meekly going in to watch Disney, not now. She was going to see where he went and learn why.

2
    Bargain Counter
    Luckily Chris did not look back, so Nan did not have to dodge into any shop doorways but could trail him openly. Then he did turn to look into a big window. She caught a glimpse of the sign up above: “Salvation Army.” What in the world was Chris doing going in there? She scuttled ahead, not really understanding why she must follow him, but knowing that somehow it was important.
    As she, in turn, peered through the big window she could only see the mass of things on display: furniture, a baby crib, a lamp. What did Chris want with old things like these?
    Nan's curiosity was so aroused that, in turn, she dared to go inside. It was rather like a discount store, only a lot more crowded. There were three women by one counter. One of them kept reaching down to measure dresses against a little girl with a runny nose, who whined she wanted to go home. Another woman was pushing and pulling apart coats hungalong a big rack, fingering their material and looking at the tickets pinned to their sleeves.
    But where was Chris, and what had he come here for?
    No one seemed to be paying any attention to her. Nan sidled by the women at the dress counter, moving toward the back of the store where Chris must have gone.
    There were counters here like in a real shop—cases with transistors, and toasters, a couple of boxes with jewelry lying on dark cloth in them, while on the tops of the cases balanced some handbags, beyond them some cups and saucers, each with a different flower pattern, a number of belts. Then she caught sight of him and stopped by the belts.
    Chris was busy at a big table where there were piles of old books and magazines. Some of those were tied up in bundles with price tags stuck under the twine which held them together. Those he pushed aside to look at the books.
    He thumbed down the line of volumes. There were some how-to-do-it books, but just about gardening and stuff like that. Nothing really useful. Old story books with the lettering on their backs so dim you had to look really close to read the titles—nothing but Hardy Boys and things he had already read, like Tarzan and Huckleberry Finn. Somehow Chris felt a strong disappointment. It had been so easy getting here, as if he were meant to find something really good. He pushed another pile of National Geographies to one side. There was only a battered Tom Swift —kid stuff.
    As he worked his way around the table, Chris's frustration