A Good Night for Ghosts

didn’t come to New Orleans to look for ghosts. We came here to look for Louis Armstrong, the King of Jazz.”

T he streetcar turned onto a crowded, busy street. Lively music blared from restaurants and dance halls.
    “We’re in the French Quarter now, and you’re the next stop,” the conductor said to Jack and Annie. “Head down St. Peter Street toward the Mississippi River. You’ll run right into Jackson Square.”
    “Thanks!” Jack put the research book back in his bag. Annie tucked the trumpet under her arm. When the streetcar came to a stop, they hopped off.

    “Good luck playing that horn, missy!” said the conductor.
    “Thanks, I’ll need it!” said Annie.
    As the streetcar pulled away, Jack and Annie looked around. “Hey, this is Bourbon Street,” said Annie, pointing to a street sign. “Isn’t that the street with the haunted blacksmith shop?”
    “Don’t think about that,” said Jack. “Let’s head down St. Peter.”
    Jack and Annie left Bourbon Street and started down St. Peter Street. They passed tall, narrow houses painted pale green, yellow, and pink. Vines grew up walls and twined around iron balconies. Alleys led to courtyards with trickling fountains.
    “I like the buildings in New Orleans,” said Annie.
    “Yeah, and it smells good, too,” said Jack.
    Delicious food smells filled the air. From a mule-drawn cart, an old woman cried out, “Waffles! Get your waffles here! Yes sir, fresh, hot waffles!”
    Jack was getting hungry. Outside a restaurant was a sign that read:
    Special! Dinner 10 cents .
    “Gosh, things are cheap in 1915,” said Jack. “Too bad we don’t even have a dime.”
    “Yeah,” said Annie. “Oh, look!” She pointed to a grand cathedral with soaring spires. “A cathedral! That must be the place with the ghost of the Spanish priest.”
    “Why do you like ghosts so much?” said Jack.
    “I don’t like ghosts so much,” said Annie.
    “Well, you keep talking about them,” said Jack.
    “I’m just pointing things out,” said Annie. “You’re the one who brought up ghosts in the first place.”
    “Well, let’s forget them,” said Jack. He didn’t like ghosts. He didn’t even like thinking about them.
    Soon Jack and Annie came to a huge green park with an iron fence around it. A sign at the entrance read: JACKSON SQUARE .
    “We found it!” said Jack.
    Outside the iron fence, in the hot afternoon sunlight, small bands of barefoot kids were playing music. Some strummed banjos. Others played harmonicas or long tin horns. Three boys sang in harmony. A couple of the smallest kids passed around hats, collecting money for the different bands.
    “Where’s Louis Armstrong?” Annie asked Jack. “No one here looks like the picture in our book.”
    “Of course not,” said Jack. “The picture shows him as a grown-up. He wouldn’t look the same when he’s fourteen.”
    “I’ll ask,” said Annie. She went up to a small girl passing a hat. “Excuse me, is there a musician here named Louis Armstrong?”
    “Louis Armstrong? You mean Dipper?” asked the girl.
    “I guess…,” said Annie.
    “Hey, Little Mack!” the girl shouted to the biggest kid in the singing trio. “Where’s Dipper Armstrong?”
    “Just saw him—he’s at the River Café!” shouted Little Mack.
    “Where’s that?” Annie asked.
    “Down by the river,” said the small girl. She pointed beyond the square. “Walk down Decatur Street and you’ll see it.” The girl held up the hat, as if asking for a donation.
    “Sorry, no money,” said Jack.
    “But thanks for your help,” said Annie. She and Jack left the square. They hurried along Decatur Street.
    “So Dipper must be a nickname for Louis Armstrong,” said Jack.
    “Yeah,” said Annie. “And Dipper must be playing music at the café.”
    “There it is,” said Jack. He pointed to a red sign on a slanted rooftop.

    “Doughnuts, yum,” said Annie.
    Jack and Annie walked under a striped red awning. Waiters in white jackets were running around with trays of coffee and delicious-smelling doughnuts. Jack’s mouth watered.
    “That’s funny. There’s no music here,” said Annie. “Excuse us,” she called to one of the waiters. “Have you seen Louis Armstrong? Or Dip—”
    “Did you come here to buy something, kids?” the waiter interrupted rudely.
    “No, we don’t have any money—” started Jack.
    “Then out, boy!” the waiter shouted. “No begging in here!”
    “He’s not begging!” said