Before they left the barn, Clickety Clack reached into one of his many pockets and pulled out a scrap of paper and the stub of a pencil. “What are you doing?” Henry asked. “Basic courtesy, boy.” Clickety Clack licked the end of the pencil and hastily scribbled a thank-you note. When he’d finished, he placed the paper beside the box where the biscuits had been. Henry looked at the note, then rummaged in his book bag. He pulled out a small blue ball and placed it on the note. “It’s my never-miss metal marble shooter. I thought Johnny might like it.” Clickety Clack patted him on the shoulder. “Now you’re getting the hang of this, Hank.” Henry felt good as they headed out into the rosy morning light. Several hot hours later they came to a fence with scrub pasture on the other side. Clickety Clack surveyed the barbed wire with disgust. “We have to cross this field. Stand on the bottom strand and pull up the top one, will you, Hank? I don’t bend like I used to.” Henry did as he was told, and the hobo ducked through the fence.
