Weeks passed, and Junius Cobb still remained the guest of the
President. He investigated the many marvelous subjects which presented
themselves to his view. He studied and learned, and became familiar
with his new life. He visited New York and other large cities in his
vicinity, and noted their growth and progress. He was astonished to
find New York a city of over four millions of people, and covering
nearly two hundred square miles of territory.
He visited the great tunnels which connect East and West New York to
the city proper, Brooklyn and Jersey City having become a corporate
part of New York City. The double streets of the city were a wonderful
realization of what the needs of a great commercial center will demand
of its people. From One Hundredth street south, and over the whole
island from the East to the North River, was a double street--a city
on top of a city. The lower streets were the originals, and were paved
with roughened glass. On one side, covered, and just below the street
level, were the great sewers of the city. The height from lower to
upper street was twenty feet. In the center of Lower Broadway, Lower
Fourth, Sixth, and Ninth Avenues (for such the under streets were
designated), and below the level of the pavement, was a double tunnel
carrying the rapid-transit electric trains. These trains were composed
of light, cylindrical cars, about ten feet in diameter; they had no
windows, light being obtained from electricity. The air was received
through ventilators, a steady stream of pure, fresh air being kept
circulating through the tunnels by immense fans. Automatic indices gave
warning of the different stations. The normal speed of these trains was
forty miles per hour, and stops were made at every half-mile between
Three Hundred and Fifty-third street and the Battery, East New York
(Brooklyn); and West New York (Jersey City). Handsome stations along
the line, connected by hydraulic lifts with the upper-street stations,
enabled the passengers to quickly take the surface lines to all parts
of the city. All vehicles devoted to business purposes were confined
to the lower streets, and all merchandise, also, was here received
and shipped. In the roof of the street were the water-pipes, electric
light, telephone, power, and other wires--all easy of access. Like
the lower, the upper streets and sidewalks were of glass, which was
molded into huge blocks, these resting on steel girders running across
and down the streets. The sidewalks were light gray, and the street
light steel-color. The thickness of these blocks of glass was four
inches, and the light transmitted to the under-street had nearly its
natural intensity. On the upper streets, light electric cars ran in
every direction, stopping whenever desired. These surface trains were
peculiar in that they sat two feet above the pavement, held aloft and
in position by two wide but thin rods of steel passing through a slot
in the street, the trucks for the cars running upon a roadbed just
under the center of the street, or in the roof of the lower street.
Upon inquiry, he was informed that the reasons for the elevation of the
cars and the subterranean roadway were to avoid accidents; as a person
who was so unfortunate as to be struck by a train would be knocked down
but passed over by the elevated car without much injury, the steel bars
having rounded guards in front to push any object aside. Cobb observed
that the entrances to all of the houses, stores, theatres, churches,
hotels, etc., were on the upper streets; and also, that access to the
lower streets was obtained at every street-corner by flights of broad
steps. He noticed that the streets and sidewalks were perfectly clean,
and that an air of care, attention, and good order seemed to prevail.
Light carriages to horses, electric drags, and such lighter vehicles as
are used for transportation of persons only, were alone permitted upon
the upper streets. At short distances upon either side of the street
were electric lamps, while at one of the corners of each cross-street
was a combination post of fine and handsome make. At the base it was
about two feet square, decreasing in size to about eight inches at
a height of six feet, the whole surmounted by a white glass shaft,
twenty-five feet in length. These posts were for a variety of purposes.
The lower part contained the carbons, materials, etc., for the electric
lights which were placed upon the top; the next compartment was for
the reception of mail matter; above these two were the fire-alarm and
police boxes, while on either side were the hydrant nozzles. Just
under the lamp were the names of the two streets and the ward of the
city. The street name was also set into the sidewalk under foot, in
different colors--two names on each corner. Red names indicated a north
direction; white, east; blue, south; and green, west.
Asking Hugh, who was with him, if they had any improved method of
removing the snow during the winter--for he remembered with what
difficulty the streets of New York had been cleared of their snow in
his time--he was informed that very little snow fell in New York, or,
in fact, along the coast as far north as Maine.
"How is that?" exclaimed Cobb, in surprise. "You haven't changed the
seasons, have you?"
"Yes," nonchalantly.
"What!"
"We have changed the possibility of a frightful winter into the reality
of a very even and uniform temperature," he continued.
"What haven't you done?"
"Well, we haven't made a California climate by our work, but we have
vastly decreased the severity of our Eastern winters," he laughingly
replied.
"And how have you accomplished this great change?" Cobb asked.
"Here is the Metropolitan Club," as they came to a grand edifice near
Union Square; "let us go in, have a bottle of wine, and I will explain
the methods pursued to work this beneficial change of climate."
"Do you know," asked Hugh, as he filled two glasses with champagne,
after they had become seated in one of the reception-rooms of the club;
"do you know why New York and the coast to Nova Scotia is so much
colder than the Pacific coast of equal latitude?"
"Certainly. On the Pacific, we have the Kuro Sivo, or Japanese current,
touching the coast; while on the Atlantic the Gulf Stream is driven off
the coast from about the mouth of the James River, by an arctic current
coming around Newfoundland and flowing close to the coast."
"Exactly. And if this arctic current could be checked, or driven off,
then what?"
"Why, the Gulf Stream would bring its waters close to the shore, and
the temperature would be raised."
"That's it, precisely. And that is just what we have done."
"How have you done this, pray?"
"The waters of the arctic current," said Hugh, as he lighted a fresh
cigar, and settled himself back in his chair, "come down Davis Strait
with icy chillness and sweep around Newfoundland, over the banks and
along the eastern coast. This is the main current. By the northerly
point of Newfoundland projecting, as it does, into the Atlantic, a
second or minor current is evolved which passes through the Straits
of Belle Isle. This current, three miles wide by twenty-five fathoms
deep, flows at a rapid pace through the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and turns
sharp around Cape Breton and flows south. Its icy waters, as they reach
the Gulf Stream, chill the latter for miles along the coast, finally
disappearing under the stream about the mouth of the James River. If it
was not for this minor current, the Gulf Stream would touch our eastern
shores to the banks of Newfoundland; of course, more or less chilled by
the arctic current, which would impinge upon and sink under the Gulf
Stream off the southwest extremity of the banks. Knowing this, we have
closed up Belle Isle Strait, save a ship passage."
"That must have been a huge undertaking," remarked Cobb.
"Yes, it was. But it was done, nevertheless."
"How?"
"By very hard and costly work, and very little science. On the southern
coast of Labrador, near the straits, are large and vast quarries of
granite. Thousands upon thousands of tons of this were quarried out,
and when winter came and Belle Isle Straits were frozen over, a double
track was laid across the straits, on the ice; large holes cut through,
and the granite blocks brought and thrown into the water. Accurate
charts were made of each year's work, so that the material should
always fall upon the same line. In four years the work was finished.
The sediment brought down by the arctic current soon filled all the
interstices, and to-day the dam is perfect, preventing any entrance
of the waters of Davis Strait into the Gulf of St. Lawrence, except
through a narrow channel for the passage of vessels. Four hundred
million cubic feet of material was used in this work."
Thus, little by little, did Cobb learn of the reasons and wherefores
of the many innovations and changes which he constantly saw about him.
The days came and passed; Cobb finding delight in the society of Mollie
Craft, and pleasure and instruction in that of Hugh, her brother.
And then, when alone, came the dream wherein the angel had led Marie
Colchis to him and had spoken the prophetic words. Words prophetic of
what? he asked himself. Long and long did he ponder over the vision.
His was a nature to love and to desire love in return. To him, woman
was an angel, a being divine. Desolate and alone, his heart demanded
a companion. He admired Mollie Craft; did he love her? And when he
asked the question of himself, he could give no satisfactory reply.
But of one fact he felt assured: if he loved her, he loved his lost
Marie more. Yet she, his Marie, was dead: was it wrong for him to seek
for a companion to soothe the desolation of his heart, especially one
embodying such virtues as Mollie Craft? May not the vision have been
given for such an interpretation? he argued: he did not know.
One day in the latter part of November, as he and Mollie were sitting
by the cheerful fire in the private parlor of the executive mansion, he
looked intently into her eyes, and sadly asked:
"Do you not think me sad at times, Mollie?"
He called her Mollie, and she called him Junius; such was the
President's request, as he considered Junius Cobb his adopted son.
"Yes, Junius; and it often pains me to think that, perhaps, we are not
doing all that we ought to make your life happy."
"Would you do more if you could?" and he fixed his eyes with a loving
expression upon hers, which fell at his glance.
"I am sure, Junius, that never was a sister--" and she emphasized the
word--"more ready and willing to make a brother happy, than I."
"Were you ever in love, Mollie?" He jerked the words out as if fearful
of the answer she might give.
"Why! what a question!"
"But were you?" he persisted.
"Now, Junius, that is not fair, to ask a girl such a question. Were you
ever in love?" She laughed, but anxiously awaited his answer.
"Yes." He spoke slowly and with an absent air. "Twice have I known what
it was to love a woman."
A tear seemed to glisten in his eye as his memory carried him back a
hundred years.
"Twice?" inquiringly.
"Yes; or rather might I say, once to love a woman, and once to love a
child."
"You surprise me greatly, Junius. Will you not make a confidant of
me and tell me all about your loves?" and she put her hand upon his
shoulder.
That touch, so gentle and light, sent a thrill of pleasure through
his heart. He turned and seized her hands in his, and looked long and
lovingly into her eyes.
"Can man forswear his soul?" he cried, harshly, while his tight grasp
of her hands gave her pain.
"Do not hurt me, Junius!" she cried, trying to free her hands. He
released her, and sat down in his chair.
"I did not mean to hurt you, Mollie. I am torn by contending passions
of right and wrong. My soul is athirst. I long to quench its burning
fires, but dare not speak my thoughts. Alone in a new world, I am
barren of kith or kin to fill the aching void in my heart. And, though
knowing this, yet am I bound by chains of honor, respect and manly
devotion from speaking the words which might, perchance, secure me that
greatest of God's blessings to man, a woman's love."
He bowed his head, and remained silent.
Mollie Craft was no child, no affected school-girl, nor hardened
society woman. She was a true, noble-hearted being, and read this man's
secret without his lips framing its confession: he loved her.
With sorrow in her voice, she said:
"Junius, you are not alone in the world. You have a father, mother,
brother, and sister, though not of the same blood, yet are they as
loving as your own relatives could be."
"I know," he returned; "but my heart craves more--a being like you,
Mollie, to love me and be loved by me in return."
It was out. He had avowed his love, but not in such passionate terms as
one would have used if a reply had been expected. He meant not to ask
her heart and hand; he merely told her what his heart craved.
She made no answer; gave no reply.
Then, with a burst of increased sadness, Cobb continued:
"I crave this love, Mollie, but cannot ask for it. I have already given
my pledge to a woman--have promised to marry none but her."
"Then, Junius, you should not break that promise," and a relieved
expression came over the fair face.
"But she can never be mine; she is dead!" and the strong man bowed his
head and wept like a child.
Going up to him, she put her arms about his neck, and kissed him on the
forehead, then silently left the room.
As the dial in the executive mansion sounded the hour of 22 that night,
a figure wrapped in a black cloak stole silently from the rear entrance
of the building, through the gardener's gate and into the conservatory.
An instant later and a tall man had clasped her in his arms, and
lovingly pressed her to his heart.
"Ah, Lester, you are waiting for me," looking up into his manly face.
"Yes, dearest; waiting and watching. These moments by your side, stolen
though they are, become the happiest in my life. Ah, Mollie! would that
you could be with me forever. Why must I thus always beat about the
bush to seek your society?"
Reluctantly he released her, but held one dainty hand in his, as he led
her to a wicker seat just beside the daisy rows at the lower end of the
conservatory and seated himself by her side.
Throwing her large black cloak over the back of the seat, Mollie turned
her great blue eyes toward her lover.
"Why must you seek me thus stealthily, Lester, you ask? You know."
Her eyes dropped, and a shade of shame overspread her fair face.
"Yes, I know. For you have told me that your father has taken a
dislike to me in particular, and against all army officers as suitors
for your hand in general. But he can find no cause to be prejudiced
against me--at least, none that I am aware of," looking into her eyes
inquiringly.
"No, Lester," quickly returned the girl, "he can certainly find no
stain upon your character, else his daughter would not have entered
here to-night to meet you." This with a proud knowledge that, wrong as
she was in disobeying her father's wishes, she was conscious of the
nobleness of her lover's character.
"'Tis the old story, Lester," she continued, after a moment--"a
father's ambition. Papa _is_ ambitious, but his ambition no longer
centers in himself, but in his children. Reaching, as he has, to the
highest position within the gift of the nation, he hopes to see his
children, when he descends from his station, still moving onward and
upward toward renown, popularity, and--and--O Lester, I hate to say
it--wealth."
She hung her head as if ashamed to confess that her father for a moment
considered pecuniary matters in connection with the disposal of her
hand.
Taking her hand in his, he calmly said:
"Mollie, I blame him not. 'Tis a father's first duty to seek the
welfare of his children. But, darling," drawing her toward him,
"though I have not wealth, yet have I my pay as a Captain in the army,
a sum sufficient to enable me to provide a cozy, happy home for us. Do
you not think it would be cozy and happy?" looking tenderly into her
eyes, which had been raised and turned upon him as he spoke.
"Ah, Lester, to me, yes," she returned, petting the hand that held
hers. "I am your promised wife, Lester--promised by me, but not by my
father. Let us hope, dearest, that time will make some change in his
determination to find a suitor of greater wealth; he could _not_ find
one more noble," blushing sweetly at the confession.
Lester Hathaway drew her closer to him, and kissed her rich, red lips
in appreciation of her kind and loving words.
"We will hope," he said, as she modestly drew away. "I dislike,
dearest, as much as you, to have our meetings clandestine, but I could
not live throughout the day without at least a moment of your sweet
society. You do not blame me, Mollie, do you?" lovingly pressing the
hand that lay in his.
"Of course not, Lester, if you say so; for I believe you to be the very
soul of truth," she returned, smiling archly.
"And when I avow that no fairer woman ever lived, that my heart beats
but in love for you, that I adore you, Mollie, you believe me sincere,
do you not, dearest?" and his arm stole gently about her slender
waist, drawing her unresisting form closer to his heart.
"Lester, my own, I do; and your love is reciprocated with all the depth
of my heart." She spoke with truth and pathos.
Raising her face to his, he looked into her eyes.
"You will marry none other than me? You will wait until I can claim you
from your father? Speak, dearest."
"I will," came the words, lowly but lovingly spoken.
He kissed her lips even as the words were uttered.
"Now, Lester, I have something to communicate to you," continued
Mollie, as Hathaway finally released her. "Mr. Cobb half proposed to
me to-day," and she related the whole conversation. "Now, Lester; I
could not tell him I was engaged. He loves me, I can see it; but he is
laboring under the restrictions which an honorable heart has imposed.
If he succeeds in holding to his sense of duty, he will never ask me
to be his wife; if he wavers, I may expect an open declaration. Be not
angry with him, Lester. He knows not our relations; for if he did, his
lips would be sealed forever. I know the honorable and true heart that
beats within his breast."
"What will you do? You should not have encouraged his love,"
reprovingly said Hathaway.
"I, Lester? I did not encourage it. I tried from the first to teach
him that I could be only a sister to him. I know not what to do! If
I had a handsome, jolly girl friend to come and remain with me for a
month or two, perhaps his thoughts and love might be transferred to
her."
"You have never seen my sister, dearest; but I think she would meet all
the requirements, exactly," with an air of pride.
"O Lester! papa wouldn't like to have your sister come as a guest at
the house, and be compelled to keep the brother out; and, besides, he
might fear her influence in your behalf; and she might help your case,
too," with a sly glance.
"That would be terrible intriguing, wouldn't it?" laughing. "But
couldn't she come as somebody else? your friend, for instance, at
school?"
"Capital! That's it! I will introduce her as Miss Marie Colchester, my
old chum at Weldon. Send for her, Lester; and when she comes I will
meet her at the hotel and instruct her in her duties."
"I will send for her to-morrow."
"But I had forgotten; is she engaged, or in love?"
"Neither; I am positive of it."
"And you will send for her to-morrow?"
"Yes, my darling. She will be here by the 20th of the month."
"Good! And now, Lester, you may have just one kiss, and I must go."
She put up her lips, and raised on the tips of her toes to meet his
kiss.
"Oh!--oh!--don't smother me, Lester," disengaging herself.
"Will I see you here to-morrow evening?" he anxiously asked.
"I don't know; but you can come," laughing as she passed through the
door.