Trolley to Yesterday Read Free Page A

the furnace and a littered tool bench, and finally came to a dark corner where a stone archway loomed. The professor shone the beam of his flashlight down a dank, moldy-smelling tunnel of mortared stones, and at the far end the boys saw another gaping black arch. Just outside the arch bricks were stacked, and a pickaxe leaned nearby.
    "As you can see," said the professor as he motioned for the boys to come closer, "I have unblocked that doorway. Come with me, but I warn you: If you feel a bit queasy, there's good reason—this is the gateway to yesterday."
    After a brief hesitation the boys followed the professor through the second archway. Somewhere in the gloom the professor found a switch, and when he clicked it, three bare bulbs near the ceiling came on. The boys gasped. They were standing in what looked for all the world like an old-fashioned subway station. On the right was a raised platform with a funny little wooden ticket booth, and directly before them, mounted on a pair of rusty tracks, was a green-and-red trolley car. The railing on the rear platform still glimmered faintly with gold paint, and on the side of the car was a rusting metal sign. The flaking silver letters said ALL OUR YESTERDAYS.
    "Oh my gosh!" said Johnny, and his hand flew to his mouth. Then, as he looked beyond the car, his awe gave way to disappointment. The tracks ran a little way and ended at a blank wall of granite blocks.
    The professor grinned. "Doesn't look like the trolley is going anywhere, does it?" he said, walking over to the car and running a finger along the dusty rail. "That, however, is where you're wrong. The man who lived here before me used the trolley to go to— but I'll tell you about that in a minute. First I just want you two to have a look around. Enjoy yourselves."
    Johnny climbed into the car and walked up and down the narrow, aisle. He sat on the wicker seats and tried to read the dusky advertisements that were mounted above the windows. Meanwhile Fergie vaulted onto the platform and peered into the ticket booth. He saw a roll of faded pink tickets and a conductor's metal punch. Gritty dust lay over everything, and the shells of dead insects were curled here and there on the shelf inside the booth. As the boys poked and peered, the professor hummed and lit another cigarette. He seemed to be perfectly relaxed and at home in this strange place.
    Fergie turned and stared at him. "Did... did the guy who lived here before you build this whole shebang?" he asked in an awestruck tone.
    The professor shook his head. "No," he said. "He did not. Back around 1892 there was a plan to build a subway in Duston Heights. It was a pretty crackbrained idea, because the city doesn't need such a thing, and never did. However, the contractors did build a few hundred yards of tunnel and this charming station, but after a while the money ran out and they walled up the thing and forgot about it. Later when my friend the old historian moved into this house, he knocked down the wall between his cellar and this station, and then he decided to do a few, ah, alterations on the trolley car."
    "Alterations?" asked Fergie. "What do you mean?"
    The professor looked very smug, as he always did when he knew something that others didn't know. "Come down here, Byron," he said, motioning toward the trolley car, "and I'll show you what I mean."
    Fergie jumped down off the platform and followed the professor up the steel steps into the little car. They walked to the front, where they found Johnny poring over a very strange set of controls. There were brass leversand knobs and wheels, and set in the leather-covered dashboard of the car were four tiny fan-shaped windows. Over one window the word day was stamped in gilt letters. Another was labeled MONTH, and still another said YEAR. The farthest window on the right was labeled place. All the little windows were white and blank. Mounted before the controls was a metal swivel chair upholstered in tufted