AN EVENING OF ADVENTURE
That evening Steve and his father took a taxi-cab and drove to the
number Mr. Ackerman had given them. It proved to be an imposing
apartment house of cream brick overlooking the Hudson; and the view from
the fifth floor, where their host lived, was such a fascinating one that
the boy could hardly be persuaded to leave the bay window that fronted
the shifting panorama before him.
"So you like my moving picture, do you, Steve?" inquired the New Yorker
merrily.
"It is great! If I lived here I shouldn't do a bit of studying," was the
lad'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 windows
demoralized me not a little. They had the same lure for me as they have
for you. But by and by I gained the strength of mind to turn my back and
let 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 and
steamboats 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 saw
them. Not only were the walls covered with pictures of every imaginable
type of steamer, but wherever there was space enough there were tiers of
little ship models in glass cases. There were side-wheelers, awkwardly
constructed boats with sprawling paddles, screw propellers, and
twin-screw craft; ferryboats, tugs, steam yachts, and ocean liners.
Every known variety of sea-going contrivance was represented. The large
room was like a museum of ships and the boy gave an involuntary
exclamation of delight.
"Jove!"
It was a laconic tribute to the marvels about him but it was uttered
with so much vehemence that there was no mistaking its sincerity.
Evidently, terse as it was, its ring of fervor satisfied Mr. Ackerman
for 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. Ackerman
mischievously.
"I should think you were!" was the lad's comment.
"This is a wonderful collection, Ackerman," Mr. Tolman asserted, as he
rose and began to walk about the room. "How did you ever get it
together? Many of these prints are priceless."
"Oh, I have been years doing it," Mr. Ackerman said. "It has been my
hobby. I have chosen to sink my money in these toys instead of in an
abandoned farm or antique furniture. It is just a matter of taste, you
see."
"You must have done some scouring of the country to make your collection
so complete. I don't see how you ever succeeded in finding these old
pictures and models. It is a genuine history lesson."
"I do not deserve all the credit, by any means," the capitalist
protested with modesty. "My grandfather, who was one of the owners of
the first of the Hudson River steamers, began collecting pictures and
drawings; 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 the
gaps in order to make the sequence complete. Of course in many cases I
have not been able to find what I wanted, for neither prints nor models
of some of the ships I desired were to be had. Either there were no
copies of them in existence, or if there were no money could tempt their
owners to part with them. Still I have a well enough graded lot to show
the progression."
"I should think you had!" said Mr. Tolman heartily. "You have arranged
them beautifully, too, from the old whalers and early American coasting
ships to the clippers. Then come the first steam packets, I see, and
then the development of the steamboat through its successive steps up to
our present-day floating palace. It tells its own story, doesn't it?"
"In certain fashion, yes," Mr. Ackerman agreed. "But the real romance of
it will never be fully told, I suppose. What an era of progress through
which to have lived!"
"And shared in, as your family evidently did," interposed Mr. Tolman
quickly.
His host nodded.
"Yes," he answered, "I am quite proud to think that both my father and
my 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 Steve
was standing, gazing intently at a significant quartette of tiny models
under glass. First came a ship of graceful outline, having a miniature
figurehead of an angel at its prow and every sail set. Beside this was
an 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 in
the group was a modern battleship with guns, wireless, and every detail
cunningly 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 these
particular 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," Steve
returned, pointing with a shrug of his shoulders at the clumsy
side-wheeler.
"But that rather ugly craft is the most important one of the lot, my
boy," Mr. Tolman declared.
"I suppose that is true," Mr. Ackerman agreed. "The fate of all the
others 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 what
is," laughed Mr. Tolman.
The steamboat man did not reply but he could not quite disguise his
pleasure, although he said a bit gruffly:
"We shall have to leave the story and go to the show to-night. I've
bought the tickets and there is no escape," added he humorously. "But
perhaps before you leave New York there will be some other chance for me
to spin my yarn for you, and put your father's railroad romances
entirely 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 him
he was mistaken, for the dining room proved to be quite as much of a
museum as the library had been. Against the dull blue paper hung
pictures of racing yachts, early American fighting ships, and nautical
encounters on the high seas. The house was a veritable wonderland, and
so distracted was the lad that he could scarcely eat.
"Come, come, son," objected Mr. Tolman at last, "you will not be ready
in time to go to any show unless you turn your attention to your
dinner."
"That's right," Mr. Ackerman said. "Fall to and eat your roast beef. We
are none too early as it is."
Accordingly Stephen fixed his eyes on his plate with resolution and
tried his best to think no more of his alluring surroundings. With the
coming of the ice-cream he had almost forgotten there were such things
as ships, and when he rose from the table he found himself quite as
eager to set forth to the theater as any other healthy-minded lad of his
age would have been.
The "show" Mr. Ackerman had selected had been chosen with much care and
was one any boy would have delighted to see. The great stage had, for
the time being, been transformed to a western prairie and across it came
a group of canvas-covered wagons, or prairie schooners, such as were
used in the early days by the first settlers of the West. Women and
children were huddled beneath the arched canopy of coarse cloth and
inside 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. There
were streams to ford, mountains to climb on the long trip westward, but
undaunted by obstacles the heroic little band of settlers who had with
such determination left kin and comfort behind them passed on to that
new 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 father
of the family, rugged, alert, and of the woodsman type characteristic of
the New England pioneer. The cavalcade halted. A fire was built and the
travelers cooked their supper. Across the valley one could see the
fading sunset deepen into twilight. From a little stream near-by the men
brought water for the tired horses. Then the women and children
clambered 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, a
gun in his hand, paced back and forth as if on guard. Then suddenly he
turned excitedly to his comrades with his finger on his lips. He had
heard a sound, the sound they all dreaded,--the cry of an Indian.
Presently over the crest of the hill came stealing a stealthy band of
savages. On they came, crouching against the rocks and moving forward
with the lithe, gliding motion of serpents. The men sank down behind the
brush, weapons in hand, and waited. On came the bloodthirsty Indians.
Then, just when the destruction of the travelers seemed certain, onto
the stage galloped a company of cowboys. Immediately there was a
flashing of rifles and a din of battle. First it seemed as if the heroic
rescuers would surely be slaughtered. But they fought bravely and soon
the Indians were either killed or captured. Amid the confusion the
owners of the prairie schooners leaped to the seats of their wagons,
lashed forward their tired horses, and disappeared in safety with the
terrified women and children.
It was not until the curtain fell upon this thrilling adventure that
Stephen sank back into his chair and drew a long breath.
"Some show, eh, son?" said Mr. Tolman, as they put on their overcoats to
leave 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 rather
than by train?"
Steve hesitated.
"I guess a train would have been good enough for me," he replied. "Was
it really as bad as that before the railroads were built?"
"Quite as bad, I'm afraid," was his father's answer. "Sometimes it was
even worse, for the unfortunate settlers did not always contrive to
escape. It took courage to be a pioneer and travel the country in those
days. Undoubtedly there was much romance in the adventure but hand in
hand with it went no little peril and discomfort. We owe a great deal to
the men who settled the West; and, I sometimes think, even more to the
dauntless women."
Stephen did not reply. Very quietly he walked down the aisle between his
father and Mr. Ackerman, and when he gave his hand to the latter and
said good-night he was still thoughtful. It was evident that the scenes
he had witnessed had made a profound impression on him and that he was
still immersed in the atmosphere of prairie schooners, lurking Indians,
and desert hold-ups. Even when he reached the hotel he was too tense and
broad awake to go to bed.
"I wish you'd tell me, Dad, how the first railroad across the country
was built," he said. "I don't see how any track was ever laid through
such a wilderness. Didn't the Indians attack the workmen? I should think
they would have."
His father placed a hand kindly on his shoulder.
"To-morrow we'll talk trans-continental railroads, son, if by that time
you still wish to," said he. "But to-night we'll go to bed and think no
more 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 for
to-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 all
about 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 be
free. And as for forgetting it--well, you might possibly remind me if
the 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 the
story-telling. Are you satisfied and ready to go to bed and to sleep
now?"
"I guess so, yes."
"Good-night then."
"Good-night, Dad. I--I've had a bully day."