The boxcar which arrived in Bayou City via the Southbound 6:25 that July morning was an oddity. According to the manifest, it contained one hundred wish suppliers—station agent Jeb Collins checked this twice to make sure his bifocals were not playing him tricks—and was consigned to the Standard Chair Factory.
There was no Standard Chair Factory in Bayou City. Twenty years ago the old Latham place had housed for a brief time such a concern. But the company had gone out of business and the house had been abandoned for as long as the station agent could remember.
Collins, however, was not an imaginative man. If the manifest said “chair factory,” his not to reason why. He watched the brakeman oil the rusted switch and a moment later saw the car creak slowly down the w**d overgrown spur.
The
