CHAPTER X
AN EVENING OF ADVENTURE
That evening Steve and his father took a taxi-cab and drove to thenumber Mr. Ackerman had given them. It proved to be an imposingapartment house of cream brick overlooking the Hudson; and the view fromthe fifth floor, where their host lived, was such a fascinating one thatthe boy could hardly be persuaded to leave the bay window that frontedthe shifting panorama before him.
"So you like my moving picture, do you, Steve?" inquired the New Yorkermerrily.
"It is great! If I lived here I shouldn't do a bit of studying," was thelad's answer.
"You think the influence of the place bad, then."
"It would be for me," Stephen chuckled.
Both Mr. Tolman and Mr. Ackerman laughed.
"I will own," the latter confessed, "that at first those front windowsdemoralized me not a little. They had the same lure for me as they havefor you. But by and by I gained the strength of mind to turn my back andlet the Hudson River traffic look out for itself."
"You might try that remedy, son," suggested Steve's father.
"No, no, Tolman! Let the boy alone. If he is enjoying the ferries andsteamboats so much the better."
"But there seem to be plenty of steamboats here in the room to enjoy,"was Mr. Tolman's quick retort.
"Steamboats?" repeated Steve vaguely, turning and looking about him.
Sure enough, there were steamboats galore! Wherever he looked he sawthem. Not only were the walls covered with pictures of every imaginabletype of steamer, but wherever there was space enough there were tiers oflittle ship models in glass cases. There were side-wheelers, awkwardlyconstructed boats with sprawling paddles, screw propellers, andtwin-screw craft; ferryboats, tugs, steam yachts, and ocean liners.Every known variety of sea-going contrivance was represented. The largeroom was like a museum of ships and the boy gave an involuntaryexclamation of delight.
"Jove!"
It was a laconic tribute to the marvels about him but it was utteredwith so much vehemence that there was no mistaking its sincerity.Evidently, terse as it was, its ring of fervor satisfied Mr. Ackermanfor he smiled to himself.
"I never saw so many boats in all my life!" burst out Steve.
"I told you I was in the steamboat business," put in Mr. Ackermanmischievously.
"I should think you were!" was the lad's comment.
"This is a wonderful collection, Ackerman," Mr. Tolman asserted, as herose and began to walk about the room. "How did you ever get ittogether? Many of these prints are priceless."
"Oh, I have been years doing it," Mr. Ackerman said. "It has been myhobby. I have chosen to sink my money in these toys instead of in anabandoned farm or antique furniture. It is just a matter of taste, yousee."
"You must have done some scouring of the country to make your collectionso complete. I don't see how you ever succeeded in finding these oldpictures and models. It is a genuine history lesson."
"I do not deserve all the credit, by any means," the capitalistprotested with modesty. "My grandfather, who was one of the owners ofthe first of the Hudson River steamers, began collecting pictures anddrawings; and at his death they came to my father who added to them.Afterward, when the collection descended to me, I tried to fill in thegaps in order to make the sequence complete. Of course in many cases Ihave not been able to find what I wanted, for neither prints nor modelsof some of the ships I desired were to be had. Either there were nocopies of them in existence, or if there were no money could tempt theirowners to part with them. Still I have a well enough graded lot to showthe progression."
"I should think you had!" said Mr. Tolman heartily. "You have arrangedthem beautifully, too, from the old whalers and early American coastingships to the clippers. Then come the first steam packets, I see, andthen the development of the steamboat through its successive steps up toour present-day floating palace. It tells its own story, doesn't it?"
"In certain fashion, yes," Mr. Ackerman agreed. "But the real romance ofit will never be fully told, I suppose. What an era of progress throughwhich to have lived!"
"And shared in, as your family evidently did," interposed Mr. Tolmanquickly.
His host nodded.
"Yes," he answered, "I am quite proud to think that both my father andmy grandfather had their humble part in the story."
"And well you may be. They were makers of history."
Both men were silent an instant, each occupied with his own thoughts.
Mr. Tolman moved reflectively toward the mantelpiece before which Stevewas standing, gazing intently at a significant quartette of tiny modelsunder glass. First came a ship of graceful outline, having a miniaturefigurehead of an angel at its prow and every sail set. Beside this wasan ungainly side-wheeler with scarce a line of beauty to commend it.Next in order came an exquisite, up-to-date ocean liner; and the last inthe group was a modern battleship with guns, wireless, and every detailcunningly reproduced.
Stephen stood speechless before them.
"What are you thinking of, son?" his father asked.
"Why, I--" the boy hesitated.
"Come, tell us! I'd like to know, too," echoed Mr. Ackerman.
"Why, to be honest I was wondering how you happened to pick theseparticular four for your mantel," replied the lad with confusion.
The steamboat man smiled kindly.
"You think there are handsomer boats in the room than these, do you?"
"Certainly there are better looking steamships than this one," Stevereturned, pointing with a shrug of his shoulders at the clumsyside-wheeler.
"But that rather ugly craft is the most important one of the lot, myboy," Mr. Tolman declared.
"I suppose that is true," Mr. Ackerman agreed. "The fate of all theothers hung on that ship."
"Why?" was the boy's prompt question.
"Oh, it is much too long a yarn to tell you now," laughed his host."Were we to begin that tale we should not get to the theater to-night,say nothing of having any dinner."
"I'd like to hear the story," persisted Stephen.
"You will be reading it from a book some day."
"I'd rather hear you tell it."
"If that isn't a spontaneous compliment, Ackerman, I don't know whatis," laughed Mr. Tolman.
The steamboat man did not reply but he could not quite disguise hispleasure, although he said a bit gruffly:
"We shall have to leave the story and go to the show to-night. I'vebought the tickets and there is no escape," added he humorously. "Butperhaps before you leave New York there will be some other chance for meto spin my yarn for you, and put your father's railroad romancesentirely in the shade."
The butler announced dinner and they passed into the dining room.
If, however, Stephen thought that he was now to leave ships behind himhe was mistaken, for the dining room proved to be quite as much of amuseum as the library had been. Against the dull blue paper hungpictures of racing yachts, early American fighting ships, and nauticalencounters on the high seas. The house was a veritable wonderland, andso distracted was the lad that he could scarcely eat.
"Come, come, son," objected Mr. Tolman at last, "you will not be readyin time to go to any show unless you turn your attention to yourdinner."
"That's right," Mr. Ackerman said. "Fall to and eat your roast beef. Weare none too early as it is."
Accordingly Stephen fixed his eyes on his plate with resolution andtried his best to think no more of his alluring surroundings. With thecoming of the ice-cream he had almost forgotten there were such thingsas ships, and when he rose from the table he found himself quite aseager to set forth to the theater as any other healthy-minded lad of hisage would have been.
The "show" Mr. Ackerman had selected had been chosen with much care andwas one any boy would have delighted to see. The great stage had, forthe time being, been transformed to a western prairie and across it camea group of canvas-covered wagons, or prairie schooners, such as wereused in the early days by the first settlers of the West
. Women andchildren were huddled beneath the arched canopy of coarse cloth andinside this shelter they passed the weary days and nights of travel.Through sun and storm the wagons rumbled on; jogging across the rough,uncharted country and jolting over rocks, sagebrush, and sand. Therewere streams to ford, mountains to climb on the long trip westward, butundaunted by obstacles the heroic little band of settlers who had withsuch determination left kin and comfort behind them passed on to thatnew land toward which their faces were set.
It was such a company as this that Stephen now saw pictured before him.Perched on the front seat of the wagon driving the horses was the fatherof the family, rugged, alert, and of the woodsman type characteristic ofthe New England pioneer. The cavalcade halted. A fire was built and thetravelers cooked their supper. Across the valley one could see thefading sunset deepen into twilight. From a little stream near-by the menbrought water for the tired horses. Then the women and childrenclambered into the "ship of the desert" and prepared for a night's rest.
In the meantime the men lingered about the dying fire and one of them, agun in his hand, paced back and forth as if on guard. Then suddenly heturned excitedly to his comrades with his finger on his lips. He hadheard a sound, the sound they all dreaded,--the cry of an Indian.
Presently over the crest of the hill came stealing a stealthy band ofsavages. On they came, crouching against the rocks and moving forwardwith the lithe, gliding motion of serpents. The men sank down behind thebrush, weapons in hand, and waited. On came the bloodthirsty Indians.Then, just when the destruction of the travelers seemed certain, ontothe stage galloped a company of cowboys. Immediately there was aflashing of rifles and a din of battle. First it seemed as if the heroicrescuers would surely be slaughtered. But they fought bravely and soonthe Indians were either killed or captured. Amid the confusion theowners of the prairie schooners leaped to the seats of their wagons,lashed forward their tired horses, and disappeared in safety with theterrified women and children.
It was not until the curtain fell upon this thrilling adventure thatStephen sank back into his chair and drew a long breath.
"Some show, eh, son?" said Mr. Tolman, as they put on their overcoats toleave the theater after the three long acts were over.
The boy looked up, his eyes wide with excitement.
"I should say!" he managed to gasp.
"Did you like it, sonny?" Mr. Ackerman inquired.
"You bet I did!"
"Think you would have preferred to cross the continent by wagon ratherthan by train?"
Steve hesitated.
"I guess a train would have been good enough for me," he replied. "Wasit really as bad as that before the railroads were built?"
"Quite as bad, I'm afraid," was his father's answer. "Sometimes it waseven worse, for the unfortunate settlers did not always contrive toescape. It took courage to be a pioneer and travel the country in thosedays. Undoubtedly there was much romance in the adventure but hand inhand with it went no little peril and discomfort. We owe a great deal tothe men who settled the West; and, I sometimes think, even more to thedauntless women."
Stephen did not reply. Very quietly he walked down the aisle between hisfather and Mr. Ackerman, and when he gave his hand to the latter andsaid good-night he was still thoughtful. It was evident that the sceneshe had witnessed had made a profound impression on him and that he wasstill immersed in the atmosphere of prairie schooners, lurking Indians,and desert hold-ups. Even when he reached the hotel he was too tense andbroad awake to go to bed.
"I wish you'd tell me, Dad, how the first railroad across the countrywas built," he said. "I don't see how any track was ever laid throughsuch a wilderness. Didn't the Indians attack the workmen? I should thinkthey would have."
His father placed a hand kindly on his shoulder.
"To-morrow we'll talk trans-continental railroads, son, if by that timeyou still wish to," said he. "But to-night we'll go to bed and think nomore about them. I am tired and am sure you must be."
"I'm not!" was the prompt retort.
"I rather fancy you will discover you are after you have undressed,"smiled his father. "At any rate we'll have to call off railroading forto-night, for if you are not sleepy, I am."
"But you won't have time to tell me anything to-morrow," grumbled Steve,rising unwillingly from his chair. "You will be busy and forget allabout it and--"
"I have nothing to do until eleven o'clock," interrupted Mr. Tolman,"when I have a business meeting to attend. Up to that time I shall befree. And as for forgetting it--well, you might possibly remind me ifthe promise passes out of my mind."
In spite of himself the boy grinned.
"You can bank on my reminding you all right!" he said, yawning.
"Very well. Then it is a bargain. You do the reminding and I will do thestory-telling. Are you satisfied and ready to go to bed and to sleepnow?"
"I guess so, yes."
"Good-night then."
"Good-night, Dad. I--I've had a bully day."
Steve and the Steam Engine Page 10
