THE JOURNEY.
The train was now increasing its speed and swept swiftly past the city
blocks, and then with a groan darted into the long tunnel. The rumble
became a roar, and as the boys were convinced that the missing Bob had
been left behind, they glanced about the car at their travelling
companions.
Apparently every berth had been taken, and it was evident from the
fishing rods that could be seen that many besides themselves had
started for the great river. There were young people and old, and
little children who already were rubbing their sleepy eyes, unable to
remain awake longer, in spite of the noise of the fast-flying cars and
the roar of the train in the tunnel.
Soon the sounds changed, and all knew that they had passed through the
underground way, and the scattered lights of the streets could be seen
again. As the boys turned once more to glance behind them, Jock
emitted a shout; for there, standing quietly in the aisle, was the
missing member of the band, Bob Darnell himself.
"Where did you come from, Bob?" shouted Jock, delightedly, as he
grasped his friend's hand. "We thought we'd lost you."
"It's mighty easy to get lost in this town of yours. Who would want to
live in such a place?" replied Bob, quietly.
"But where were you? How did you get aboard? We waited and waited for
you, but you didn't come. Tell us about it," exclaimed the eager boys,
as they made room for their friend to take the vacant seat.
"You might have known I'd be here. You needn't have wasted your
precious thoughts on me."
"I know it, Bob, but I don't see how you got here," said Jock.
"You city chaps don't understand, and you never will," replied Bob.
"You always rush around as if you hadn't a minute to spare. What's the
good of it, I'd like to know?"
"Not much good, if we could only be as sure of being on time as you
are, Bob," said Bert. "Why don't you tell us how you did it?"
"There isn't anything to tell. My train got in about an hour ago, and
I went up on Madison Avenue to Jock's house. They told me he'd gone to
the station with you fellows, and they all seemed to be very much
excited about it, too. All they could say to me was: 'Hurry up. Make
haste, or you'll be left.' Queer folks, these New Yorkers."
"Well, you did almost get left, didn't you?"
"Left? Not a bit of it. It's true they had closed the door, and the
gateman didn't want to let me pass, especially when I didn't have any
ticket. But after a little argument he relented, and I went down to
the platform. There I had a tussle with the porter, for he was just
getting aboard the train, and had taken in his steps. He, too, wanted
to see my ticket, but I didn't have time to stop and talk much with
him, so I just climbed in after him. I found I was on the last car, so
I had to travel all through the train to find you. You ought not to
have made me do that, fellows; it's too much of an exertion," he added
regretfully.
The boys all laughed, and their evident unconsciousness of the
presence of the others in the car, and their light-hearted and merry
voices, soon drew the attention of their travelling companions. Old
men glanced at them with a softened expression on their countenances,
as if the sight of young life and care-free lads reminded them of days
in their own lives now far away and dim in the years that were gone.
Old ladies watched them and smiled, without understanding what it was
that made their eyes light up as they listened to the contagious
laughter of the happy-hearted boys. Little children came tottering and
staggering down the swaying aisle, and stopped before them, peering
wonderingly at the band as if they knew they must be having a good
time, and would like to join in it themselves. Jock passed pieces of
candy to the little ones, and the enjoyment of the boys became keener
as they watched the children thrust the sweetmeats into their mouths,
and then go staggering back to their mothers, and, climbing into their
laps, point gleefully to the group which had treated them so well.
Indeed, the very presence of the boys seemed to create a different
atmosphere in the car, and in whatever direction they looked, they
were sure to be met with smiling glances. Certainly, thoughts of
possible evil days to come did not disturb them; the burdens of life
were all for others, and as far as our four friends were concerned,
life itself was colored with a halo of the brightness which not only
was theirs by right, but was increased by the anticipation of days
that were soon to come in the camp on Pine Tree Island.
"I haven't bothered my head much about the details of this thing,"
said Bob, "but I'd like to know how much work we've got to do
to-morrow."
"No work at all, Bob," said Jock, laughing. "I wouldn't dare lay such
a contract as that on your delicate shoulders."
"That's kind of you," replied Bob, shrugging those same shoulders,
which certainly to the ordinary observer gave no symptoms of delicacy.
"But I was thinking about the camp, you know. Some tent or some thing
or other has to be set up, I suppose. Who's to do that, I'd like to
know?"
"That's all been done," said Jock, laughingly. "My father wrote Ethan
Barnes last week--he's to be our guide, you know, or rather one of
them, for his son is to be there too. Everything has been sent on
ahead and probably by this time Ethan's got everything all ready for
us. You see, my father used to live in that part of the world when he
was a boy, and he and Ethan were old school friends. They used to sit
together on the same bench, I believe. Father says the old red
schoolhouse is still standing, and he'd like to have me go over there
some day. He says I'd find his initials cut in the seat with the first
jack-knife he ever owned. There's one thing you'll have to do though,
Bob."
"What's that?"
"You'll have to reel in your own fish when you get a strike."
"Strike? What's a strike? Do I have to do the striking?"
"No, no. When a bass swallows your hook they call it a 'strike.'"
"Who calls it a strike, the bass?"
"No, everybody calls it that."
"Well, all I can say, I don't blame a bass for striking then. I'd
strike, too, if I was in his place."
"You? not much, you'd never strike. You'd just wait till somebody came
along and took the hook out of your mouth," was Ben's merry comment.
"How do you do the fishing?" inquired Bob, apparently unmoved.
"Why, we go out in boats, you know. Skiffs. Those St. Lawrence skiffs
are beauties too, let me tell you," said Jock.
"But how do the skiffs go?" persisted Bob. "By steam?"
"No, no. We'll have boatmen. Ethan will pull one and his son the
other, and two of us will go in each. It's great sport."
"It must be. You don't know what a load you've lifted from me. I
almost gave up when I thought I'd have to work. It doesn't agree with
me. Never did. My mother has noticed it ever since I was born. But
she's the only one who understands me. Hello, here's the mogul!"
The boys looked up as he spoke, and saw the conductor and the porter
near them. As their tickets were taken and the berths assigned, Bob
said:--
"Jock, you say you'll take the berth in the next section. There won't
be any room left for you, I'm thinking. That's all spoken for now."
For the first time Jock noticed who was seated in the adjoining
section. A woman was there, but never in all his life had he seen one
so stout. It almost seemed as if she completely filled the seat, and
it was evident from her manner that she was far from feeling at her
ease. She glanced nervously about the car, and not for a moment
relaxed her grasp on the seat. Her eyes, too, betrayed her alarm, and
it was plain that the experience she was then undergoing was a new and
not altogether pleasurable one.
As the boys glanced at her, her fear seemed to increase. She rose from
the seat, but a sudden lurch of the car sent her back again with an
exclamation of anger which could be heard by all.
"Here, you!" she called. "I say, mister, come here!"
It was the colored porter to whom she was speaking, and as he turned
back respectfully to listen to what she had to say, his face beamed
with good nature and amusement.
"What is it, madam?" he said kindly.
"I thought they told me this was a sleepin' car."
"So it is."
"It is, is it? Well, where do folks sleep, I'd like to know?"
"Why, in the beds."
"I don't see no beds," she replied angrily, as she looked about the
car.
"Why, madam, these seats are the beds."
"The seats are the beds? Humph, pretty beds they are! Do you expect
_me_ to lie down on 'em?"
"They are changed and made up. I'm the porter and I'll make up your
berth whenever you want it."
"You're the porter, be ye? Well, I thought you was one o' the
Vanderbilts, with all yer gold buttons and fine clothes. Well, ye jest
make up mine now."
"I'll be back in a minute and fix you up all right, madam. You're
going to Philadelphia, aren't you?"
"Yes, I am. I'm goin' to Philadelphy, an' the sooner I get there the
better."
As the porter turned away to complete his collection of tickets, Jock
turned to his companions and said: "That woman has made a mistake. She
says she's going to Philadelphia, and she's got on the wrong train, as
sure's you live. I'm going to tell her."
Leaving his seat, Jock approached the troubled passenger and said,
"Did I understand you to say you were going to Philadelphia?"
"Hey? Yes, I'm goin' to Philadelphy, but I don't see how that concerns
you, Bub," and as she spoke she hurriedly felt in her pocket as if she
expected the stranger who had dared to address her was one of the
light-fingered gentry who she had been informed infested the city and
were wont to take advantage of innocent and unsuspecting strangers.
Jock's face flushed as he heard himself addressed as "Bub," and his
confusion was increased as he saw an expression of amusement creep
over the faces of his companions; but he was too polite to heed now,
and was determined to assist the old lady in what was her evident
confusion and mistake.
"All I wanted to say, madam," he continued, again speaking to the
troubled woman, "was that I fear you have made a mistake. If you
wanted to go to Philadelphia you ought to have gone on the
Pennsylvania road, not on the New York Central; this train doesn't go
to Philadelphia."
"Hey? What's that ye say?" exclaimed the startled woman. "Got the
wrong keers, have I? Here you, Mr. Porter," she shouted, standing with
difficulty and shaking a huge cotton umbrella at that officer. "Come
here, come here!" she called in increasing excitement.
As the porter hastened toward her, the eyes of all in the car were
turned upon her. Some of the passengers were evidently amused, and
some were sympathizing with her in her trouble.
"What is it, madam, what is it?" inquired the colored man, politely.
"This boy says this isn't the train for Philadelphy," she exclaimed
wrathfully. "What d'ye put me on this keer for, I'd like to know?" She
was grasping her pocket with one hand and waving her cotton umbrella
frantically in her excitement with the other. "Ye jest meant to rob
me!" she continued. "I know ye. Ye knew I had six dollars and
seventeen cents in my pocket. Ye shan't get it, that's what ye
shan't!"
"But, madam, this train does go to Philadelphia."
"Hey? it does, does it? What d'ye mean, then?" she demanded, turning
again upon Jock. "Then it was you that wanted to rob me! I'll turn
you over to the police, I vum I will!"
It was some time before it was explained that there was a little
junction not far from the St. Lawrence which rejoiced in the same name
as its larger sister in the adjacent state; but at last all was made
plain, and covered with confusion Jock took his seat once more, hardly
daring to look around upon his fellow-travellers, who evidently had
been hugely enjoying the scene.
But the troubles were not yet ended. As the porter volunteered to make
ready the old lady's berth at once, the boys vacated their seats for
their neighbor, who watched with evident consternation the
preparations for the night.
The berths were speedily prepared, and then the porter said, "I'll
take your tickets, madam, and you can retire when you please." As he
took the slip the porter glanced once more at her in amusement as he
said: "Yours is the upper berth, madam. Wait a moment and I'll get the
steps for you."
"What!" exclaimed the excited woman. "Up there in that garret? Me?
well, I guess not. Jerushy Jenkins don't climb up into any sech hole
as that! Not much; I'll ride on yer old cow-catcher afore I'll do
that."
"You may have the lower berth, madam," said Jock, quickly. "I'll be
glad to give it up to you."
"Ye will, will ye?" said Jerusha, suspiciously. "Well, I don't know
whether ye will or not. Do ye think it's safe, perfectly safe?" she
inquired of the porter.
"Yes, madam."
At last the trembling traveller was mollified, and soon afterward all
in the car were asleep. With the coming of the dawn our boys hastily
dressed and soon were gazing out of the windows at the silver-like
strips which here and there could be seen in the distance, and in a
moment knew that they were drawing near to the waters of the majestic
river, which already were reflecting the light of the coming day.