“How am I supposed to get there?” Harvard had said.

“Scam your way through, Harv,” Pa had said. “Scam your way through.”

Harvard had taken those words and made them real in his trek so far. A few card tricks on the waterfront rubes earned enough to take a trolley to the train station. A lonely-looking older cashier had provided a ticket to the next town over on credit in exchange for a date. Harvard embraced a dizzying number of aliases, a multitude of lies, and even a touch of the old grifting slight-of-hand Pa had tried–and largely failed–to pass on.

It took nearly six months, but Harvard eventually found himself on a train platform in Chicago, ticket to Manhattan in hand.

It was only the beginning.