Similar to shadows of a dirty shirt, black cumulus clouds, abounding with rain, hangs fat across land and final hours of this train trip. An old match with a long history is playing out.

Clickity-clack. Clickity-clack. Clickity-clack. Clickity-clack. Clickity-clack. Clickity-clack.

“Boy! Good pumpkin tart!” Al said, wolfing it down.

“Cocky isn’t your suit, Al. Tummy happy now? Play your knight!” Don said.

“Oooh! Touchy. How did you know I was go...