The Rough Rider
“He was stunned by the grandeur and immensity of the place and paused for a moment to gaze across the rows and rows of tracks. They were filled, it seemed, with huge chuffing behemoths—steel locomotives that belched great billowing gusts of steam—that threatened to engulf the throngs of passengers. As crowded as the station was, it took some time to buy a ticket for the smaller commuter train that made its way to his uncle’s home. It was late afternoon and the shadows were long when he stepped o...ff the train at the small station. A short, stubby Irishman standing beside the entrance to the station called out cheerfully, “Cab, sir?”
“I’m looking for my uncle’s home—his name’s Mark Winslow.”
“Ah, yes, I know the place. Can I help you, sir, with your bag?”
Twenty minutes later, Aaron was walking up the tree-lined entrance to the Winslow residence. When he reached the door, it opened and his aunt Lola came out smiling.MoreLess
“I’m looking for my uncle’s home—his name’s Mark Winslow.”
“Ah, yes, I know the place. Can I help you, sir, with your bag?”
Twenty minutes later, Aaron was walking up the tree-lined entrance to the Winslow residence. When he reached the door, it opened and his aunt Lola came out smiling.MoreLess
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