"Well, my boy, I am glad to see you again," said he, a ring of heartiness2 in his voice.
"And I am glad to see you, too, Mr. Ackerman," Steve replied, returning the hand-clasp with fervor3. "This is my father, sir; and this"—for a second he hesitated, then continued, "is our friend, Mr. Donovan."
With cordiality the New Yorker acknowledged the introductions.
"Mr. Donovan," explained Mr. Tolman, scanning Mr. Ackerman's countenance4 with a keen, half-quizzical expression, "is from headquarters."
The steamboat magnate started and shot a quick glance at those present. It was plain he was disconcerted and uncertain as to how to proceed.
Mr. Donovan, however, came to his rescue, stepping tactfully into the breach6:
"I was not needed for anything but to supply your address, sir; but I was able to do that, so between us all we have contrived7 to return your pocketbook to you as good as before it left your possession."
As he spoke9 Mr. Tolman drew forth10 the missing bill book and held it toward its owner.
"That looks pretty good to me!" Mr. Ackerman exclaimed, as he took the article from Mr. Tolman's outstretched hand and regarded it reflectively. "I don't know when I have ever done anything so careless and stupid. You see I had got part way to the bank before I remembered that I had left my glasses, on which I am absolutely dependent, at home. Therefore, there being no taxi in sight, I hailed a passing bus and climbed up beside this youngster. How the bill book happened to slip out of my pocket I cannot explain. It seemed to me it would be safer to have the securities upon my person than in a bag that might be snatched from me; but apparently11 my logic12 was at fault. I was, however, so certain of my wisdom that I never thought to question it until I had reached the sidewalk and the bus had gone.
"Your boy, Mr. Tolman, confided13 while we rode along this morning that he was visiting in New York for a few days; but of course I did not ask his name or address and so when I wanted his help in tracing the missing pocketbook I had no way of
locating him beyond assuming that he must be staying at one of the hotels. Therefore when the omnibus company could furnish no clue, I got into touch with an agency whose business it is to hunt people up. If the pocketbook had been dropped on the bus I felt sure your boy, who was almost the only other person on top of the coach, would know about it; if, on the other hand, it had been dropped in the street, my problem would be a different one. In either case the sooner I knew my course of action the better. I hope you will believe, Mr. Tolman, that when I called in the aid of detectives I had no suspicions against your son's honesty."
Mr. Tolman waved the final remark aside good-humoredly.
"We have not taken the affair as a personal matter at all," he declared. "We fully5 appreciate your difficulty in finding Stephen, for he was also up against the problem of finding you. New York is a rather large city anyway, and for two people who do not even know one another's names to get together is like hunting a needle in a haystack. Our only recourse to discovering the owner of the pocketbook would be through the advertising15 columns of the papers and that is the method we should have followed had not Donovan appeared and saved us the trouble."
He exchanged a smile with the detective.
"The advertising column was my one hope," Mr. Ackerman replied. "I felt sure that any honest person who picked up the purse would advertise it.
It was not the honest people I was worrying about. It was the thought that I had dropped the bill book in the street where any Tom-Dick-and-Harry could run away with it that concerned me. Moreover, even if your boy had found it on the bus, he might have turned it in to an employee of the coach line who was not honest enough to give it in turn to his superiors. So I wanted to know where I stood; and now that I do I cannot tell you how grateful I am both to Stephen and to this officer here for the service they have rendered me." Then, turning toward Mr. Tolman, he added in an undertone, "I hope neither you nor your son have suffered any annoyance16 through this unfortunate incident."
"Not in the least," was the prompt response. "I confess we were a trifle disconcerted at first; but Mr. Donovan has performed his duty with such courtesy that we entertain toward him nothing but gratitude17."
"I am glad of that," Mr. Ackerman replied, "for I should deeply regret placing either you or your boy, even for a moment, in an uncomfortable position, or one where it might appear that I—"
But Mr. Tolman cut him short.
"You took the quickest, most sensible course, Ackerman," said he. "Too much was at stake for you to risk delay. When a pocketbook filled with negotiable securities disappears one must of necessity act with speed. Neither Stephen nor I cherish the least ill-will about the affair; do we, son?"
"No, indeed."
Then smiling ingenuously18 up into the face of the New York man, he said:
"Don't you want to look in your pocketbook and see if everything is all right, sir?"
The steamboat financier laughed.
"You are a prudent19 young man," declared he. "No, I am quite willing to risk that the property you have so kindly20 guarded is intact."
"It ought to be," the boy said. "I haven't even opened the pocketbook."
"A better proof still that everything is safe within it," chuckled22 Mr. Ackerman. "No, sonny, I am not worrying. I should not worry even if you had ransacked23 the bill book from one end to the other. I'd take a chance on the honesty of a boy like you."
Mr. Tolman, however, who had been listening, now came forward and broke into the conversation:
"Stephen's suggestion is a good, businesslike one, Ackerman," he declared. "As a mere24 matter of form—not as a slam against our morals—I am sure that both he and I would prefer that you examined your property while we are all here together and assure yourself that it is all right."
"Pooh! Pooh! Nonsense!" objected the financier.
"It is a wise notion, Mr. Ackerman," rejoined Mr. Donovan. "Business is business. None of us questions the honor of Mr. Tolman or his son. They know that. Nevertheless I am sure we should
all feel better satisfied if you went through the formality of an investigation25."
"Very well, just as you say. But I want it understood that I do it at their and your request. I am perfectly26 satisfied to leave things as they are."
Taking the now familiar red pocketbook from his coat he opened it unconcernedly; then the three persons watching him saw a look of consternation27 banish28 the smile from his face.
"What's wrong, Ackerman?" inquired the plain-clothes man quickly.
Without a word the other held the bill book toward him. It was empty. Bonds, securities, money were gone! A gasp29 of incredulity came from Stephen.
"I didn't open it—truly I didn't!" exclaimed he, in a terror-stricken voice.
But Mr. Ackerman did not heed30 the remark.
"I am afraid this looks pretty black for us, Ackerman," said Mr. Tolman slowly. "We have nothing to give you but the boy's word."
Mr. Donovan, however, who had been studying the group with a hawklike31 scrutiny32 now sprang to his feet and caught up his hat.
"I don't see how they dared put it over!" he exclaimed excitedly. "But they almost got away with it. Even I was fooled."
"You don't mean to insinuate," Mr. Tolman burst out, "that you think we—"
"Good heavens, no!" replied the detective with his hand on the door knob. "Don't go getting hot
under the collar, Mr. Tolman. Nobody is slamming you. I have been pretty stupid about this affair, I'm afraid; but give me credit for recognizing honest people when I see them. No, somebody has tricked you—tricked you all. But the game isn't up yet. If you gentlemen will just wait here—"
The sentence was cut short by the banging of the door. The detective was gone. His departure was followed by an awkward silence.
Mr. Ackerman's face clouded into a frown of disappointment and anxiety; Mr. Tolman paced the floor and puffed33 viciously at a cigar; and Steve, his heart cold within him, looked from one to the other, chagrin34, mortification35 and terror in his eyes.
"I didn't open the pocketbook, Mr. Ackerman," he reiterated36 for the twentieth time. "I truly didn't."
But the steamboat magnate was too deeply absorbed in his own thoughts and speculations37 to notice the high-pitched voice with its intonation38 of distress39.
At last Mr. Tolman could endure the situation no longer.
"This is a most unfortunate happening, Ackerman," he burst out. "I am more concerned about it than I can express. My boy and I are utter strangers to you and we have no way of proving our honesty. All I can say is that we are as much amazed at the turn affairs have taken as yourself, and we regret it with quite as much poignancy—perhaps
more since it reflects directly upon us. If there is anything we can do—"
He stopped, awaiting a reply from the other man, but none came.
"Good heavens, Ackerman," he cried. "You don't mean to say you do not believe my son and me—that you suspect us of double-dealing!"
"I don't know what to believe, Tolman," owned Mr. Ackerman with candor41. "I want very much to credit your story; in my heart, I do credit it. But head and heart seem to be at variance42 in this matter. Frankly43 I am puzzled to know where the contents of that pocketbook have gone. Were the things taken out before the bill book fell into your son's hands or afterward44? And if afterward, who took them? Who had the chance? Donovan seems to think he has a clue, but I confess I have none."
"Hadn't you looked over the bonds and stuff since you took them home?"
"No," Mr. Ackerman admitted. "I got them from the broker45 yesterday and as it was too late to put them into the safe-deposit vault46, I took them home with me instead of putting them in our office safe as I should have done. I thought it would be easier for me to stop at the bank with them this morning on my way to business. It was foolish planning but I aimed to save time."
"So the pocketbook was at your house over night?"
Mr. Ackerman nodded.
"Yes," confessed he. "Nevertheless it did not
go out of my possession. I had it in the inner pocket of my coat all the time."
"You are sure no one took the things out while you were asleep last night?"
"Why—I—I don't see how they could," faltered47 Mr. Ackerman. "My servants are honest—at least, they always have been. I have had them for years. Moreover, none of them knew I had valuable papers about me. How could they?" was the reply.
Once more silence fell upon the room.
"Come, Tolman," ejaculated the steamboat man presently, "you are a level-headed person. What is your theory?"
"If I did not know my son and myself as well as I do," Mr. Tolman answered with deliberation, "my theory would be precisely48 what I fancy yours is. I should reason that during the interval49 between the finding of the purse and its return the contents had been extracted."
He saw the New Yorker color.
"That, I admit, is my logical theory," Mr. Ackerman owned with a blush, "but it is not my intuitive one. My brain tells me one thing and my heart another; and in spite of the fact that the arguments of my brain seem correct I find myself believing my heart and in consequence cherishing a groundless faith in you and your boy," concluded he, with a faint smile.
"That is certainly generous of you, Ackerman!" Mr. Tolman returned, much moved by the other's
confidence. "Stephen and I are in a very compromising situation with nothing but your belief between us and a great deal of unpleasantness. We appreciate your attitude of mind more than we can express. The only other explanation I can offer, and in the face of the difficulties it would involve it hardly seems a possible one, is that while the coat was hanging in the lobby—"
There was a sound outside and a sharp knock at the door, and an instant later Mr. Donovan entered, his face wreathed in smiles. Following him was the woman who had checked the coats, a much frightened bell boy, and a blue-uniformed policeman.
The woman was sobbing50.
"Indeed, sir," she wailed51, approaching Steve, "I never meant to keep the pocketbook and make trouble for you. I have a boy of my own at home, a lad about your age. What is to become of him now? Oh, dear; oh, dear!"
She burst into passionate52 weeping.
"Now see here, my good woman, stop all this crying and talk quietly," cut in the policeman in a curt53 but not unkind tone. "If you will tell us the truth, perhaps we can help you. In any case we must know exactly what happened."
"She must understand that anything she says can be used against her," cautioned the detective, who in spite of his eagerness to solve the mystery was determined54 the culprit should have fair play.
"Indeed, I don't care, sir," protested the maid,
wiping her eyes on her ridiculously small apron55. "I can't be any worse off than I am now with a policeman taking me to the lock-up. I'll tell the gentlemen the truth, I swear I will."
With a courtesy he habitually56 displayed toward all womanhood Mr. Tolman drew forward a chair and she sank gratefully into it.
"I spied the bill book in the young gentleman's pocket the minute he took off his coat," began she in a low tone. "It was bright colored and as it was sticking part way out I couldn't help seeing it. Of course, I expected he would take it with him into the dining room but when he didn't I came to the conclusion that there couldn't be anything of value in it. But by and by I had more coats to hang up and one of them, a big, heavy, fur-lined one, brushed against the young gentleman's ulster and knocked the pocketbook out on to the floor so that it lay open under the coat rack. It was then that I saw it was stuffed full of papers and things."
She stopped a moment to catch her breath and then went resolutely57 on:
"It seemed to me it was no sort of a plan to put the wallet back into the lad's pocket, for when I wasn't looking somebody might take it. So I decided58 I much better keep it safe for him, and maybe," she owned with a blush, "get a good-sized tip for doing it. I have a big pocket in my underskirt where I carry my own money and I slipped it right in there, meaning to hand it to the young man when he came out from lunch."
The corners of her mouth twitched59 and her tears began to fall again, but she wiped them away with her apron and proceeded steadily60:
"But nothing turned out as I planned, for no sooner was the bill book in my pocket than I was called away to help about the wraps at a lady's luncheon61 upstairs. There were so many people about the hall that I had no chance to restore the bill book to the lad's pocket without some one seeing me and thinking, perhaps, that I was stealing. There was no help but to take it with me, trusting they would not keep me long upstairs and that I would get back to my regular place before the young gentleman came out of the dining room. It was when I got out of the elevator in the upper hall that I spied Dick, one of the bell boys I knew, and I called to him; and after explaining that I couldn't get away to go downstairs I asked him to take the wallet and put it in 47's pocket. He's a good-natured little chap and always ready to do an errand, and more than that he's an honest boy. So I felt quite safe and went to work, supposing the young man had his pocketbook long ago."
All eyes were turned upon the unlucky bell boy who hung his head and colored uncomfortably.
"So it was the boy who took the contents of the pocketbook!" was Mr. Ackerman's comment.
"Speak up, boy," commanded the officer. "The gentleman is talking to you." The lad looked up with a frightened start.
He might have been sixteen years of age but he
did not look it for he was pale and underfed; nor was there anything in his bearing to indicate the poise62 and maturity63 of one who was master of the occasion. On the contrary, he was simply a boy who was frankly distressed64 and frightened, and as unfeignedly helpless in the present emergency as if he had been six years old and been caught stealing jam from the pantry shelf. It did not take more than a glance to convince the onlookers65 that he was no hardened criminal. If he had done wrong it had been the result either of impulse or mischief66, and the dire40 result of his deed was a thing he had been too unsophisticated to foresee. The plight67 in which he now found himself plainly amazed and overwhelmed him and he looked pleadingly at his captors.
"Well, my boy, what have you to say for yourself?" repeated Mr. Ackerman more gently.
"Nothin'."
"Nothing?"
"No, sir."
"You did take the things out of the pocketbook then."
"Yes, sir."
"But you are not a boy accustomed to taking what does not belong to you."
The culprit shot a glance of gratitude toward the speaker but made no reply.
"How did you happen to do it this time?" persisted Mr. Ackerman kindly. "Come, tell me all about it."
Perhaps it was the ring of sympathy in the elder man's voice that won the boy's heart. Whatever the charm, it conquered; and he met the eyes that scanned his countenance with a timid smile.
"I wanted to see what was in the pocketbook," said he with naïve honesty, "and so I took the things out to look at them. I wasn't goin' to keep 'em. I dodged68 into one of the little alcoves69 in the hall and had just pulled the papers out when I heard somebody comin'. So I crammed70 the whole wad of stuff into my pocket, waiting for a time when I could look it over and put it back. But I got held up just like Mrs. Nolan did," he pointed71 toward the woman in the chair. "Some man was sick and the clerk sent me to get a bottle of medicine the minute I got downstairs, and all I had the chance to do was to stick the empty wallet in 47's pocket and beat it for the drug store. I thought there would be letters or something among the papers that would give the name of the man they belonged to, and I'd take 'em to the clerk at the desk an' say I found 'em. But no sooner had I got the medicine up to room Number 792 than the policeman nabbed me with the papers an' things on me. That's all there is to it, sir."
"Have you the things now?" the officer put in quickly.
"Sure! Didn't I just tell you I hadn't had the chance to hand 'em over to the clerk," the boy reiterated, pulling a wad of crumpled72 Liberty
Bonds and documents out of his pocket, and tumbling them upon the table.
There was no doubting the lad's story. Truth spoke in every line of his face and in the frankness with which he met the scrutiny of those who listened to him. If one had questioned his uprightness the facts bore out his statements, for once out of the hotel on an errand he might easily have taken to his heels and never returned; or he might have disposed of his booty during his absence. But he had done neither. He had gone to the drug store and come back with every intention of making restitution73 for the result of his curiosity. That was perfectly evident.
"I'm sorry, sir," he declared, when no one spoke. "I know I shouldn't have looked in the pocketbook or touched the papers; but I meant no harm—honest I didn't."
"I'll be bound of that, sir," the woman interrupted. "Dick was ever a lad to be trusted. The hotel people will tell you that. He's been here several years and there's never been a thing against him. I blame myself for getting him into this trouble, for without meaning to I put temptation in his way. I know that what he's told you is the living truth, and I pray you'll try and believe him and let him go. If harm was to come to the lad through me I'd never forgive myself. Let the boy go free and put the blame on me, if you must arrest somebody. I'm older and it doesn't so much matter; but it's terrible to start a child of his age
in as a criminal. The name will follow him through life. He'll never get rid of it and have a fair chance. Punish me but let the little chap go, I beg of you," pleaded the woman, with streaming eyes.
Mr. Ackerman cleared his throat; it was plain that the simple eloquence75 of the request had touched him deeply.
"With your permission, officer, I am going to withdraw my charge," he said, with a tremor76 in his voice. "You are to let both these persons go scot free. You, my good woman, meant well but acted foolishly. As for the boy, Donovan, I will assume the responsibility for him."
"You are willing to stand behind him, Mr. Ackerman?"
"I am."
The detective turned toward the boy who had risen and was fumbling77 awkwardly with the brass78 buttons adorning79 his uniform.
"You hear, Dick Martin, what the gentleman says," began he impressively. "He believes you are a good boy, and as you have handed back the valuables in your possession he is going to take a chance on you and let you go."
A wave of crimson80 swept over the face of the boy and for the first time the tension in the youthful countenance relaxed.
"But Mr. Ackerman," Donovan continued, "expects you are going to behave yourself in future and never do such a thing again."
"I am going to see your father, Dick," broke in Mr. Ackerman's kindly voice, "and talk with him and—"
"I haven't any father," declared the lad.
"Your mother then."
"I've no mother either."
"Who do you live with?"
"Mr. Aronson."
"Is he a relative?"
"Oh, no, sir! I haven't any relatives. There's nobody belongin' to me. Mr. Aronson is the tailor downstairs where I sleep. When I ain't working here I do errands for him and he lets me have a cot in a room with four other boys—newsboys, bell hops81 and the like. We pay two dollars between us for the room and sometimes when I carry a lot of boxes round for Mr. Aronson he gives me my breakfast."
"Nobody else is responsible for you?"
"Nop!" returned the boy with emphasis. "No, sir, I mean."
"I'll attend to all this, Donovan," murmured Mr. Ackerman in an undertone to the detective. "The lad shall not remain there. I don't know yet just what I'll do with him but I will plan something." Then addressing the lad, he continued, "In the meantime, Dick, you are to consider me your relative. Later I shall hunt you up and we will get better acquainted. Be a good boy, for I expect some day you are going to make me very proud of you."
"What!"
In sheer astonishment82 the boy regarded his benefactor83.
There was something very appealing in the little sharp-featured face which had now lost much of its pallor and softened84 into friendliness85.
"Why shouldn't you make me proud of you?" inquired Mr. Ackerman softly. "You can, you know, if you do what is right."
"I'm goin' to try to, sir," burst out Dick with earnestness. "I'm goin' to try to with all my might."
"That is all any one can ask of you, sonny," replied the steamboat magnate. "Come, shake hands. Remember, I believe in you, and shall trust you to live up to your word. The officer is going to let you go and none of us is going to mention what has happened. I will fix up everything for you and Mrs. Nolan so you can both go back to your work without interference. Now bid Mr. Tolman and his son good-by and run along. Before I leave the hotel I will look you up and you can give me Mr. Aronson's address."
Master Richard Martin needed no second bidding. Eager to be gone he awkwardly put out his hand, first to Mr. Tolman and then to Steve; and afterward, with a shy smile to the detective and the policeman and a boyish duck of his head, he shot into the hall and they heard him rushing pell-mell down the corridor. Mrs. Nolan, however, was more self-controlled. She curtsied elaborately
to each of the men and called down upon their heads every blessing86 that the sky could rain, and it was only after her breath had become quite exhausted87 that she consented to retire from the room and in company with the policeman and the detective proceeded downstairs in the elevator.
"Well, Tolman," began the New Yorker when they were at last alone, "you see my heart was my best pilot. I put faith in it and it led me aright. Unfortunately it is now too late for the matinee but may I not renew my invitation and ask you and your son to dine with me this evening and conclude our eventful day by going to the theater afterward?"
Mr. Tolman hesitated.
"Don't refuse," pleaded the steamboat man. "Our acquaintance has, I confess, had an unfortunate beginning; but a bad beginning makes for a good ending, they say, and I feel sure the old adage88 will prove true in our case. Accept my invitation and let us try it out."
"You are very kind," murmured Mr. Tolman vaguely89, "but I—"
"Help me to persuade your father to be generous, Stephen," interposed Mr. Ackerman. "We must not let a miserable90 affair like this break up what might, perhaps, have been a delightful91 friendship."
"I don't need any further persuading, Ackerman," Mr. Tolman spoke quickly. "I accept your invitation with great pleasure."
"That's right!" cried Mr. Ackerman, with evident
gratification. "Suppose you come to my house at seven o'clock if that will be convenient for you. We will have a pleasant evening together and forget lost pocketbooks, detectives and policemen."
Taking out a small card, he hurriedly scrawled92 an address upon it.
"I keep a sort of bachelor's hall out on Riverside Drive," explained he, with a shade of wistfulness. "My butler looks out for me and sees that I do not starve to death. He and his son are really excellent housekeepers93 and make me very comfortable." He slipped into his overcoat. "At seven, then," he repeated. "Don't fail me for I should be much disappointed. Good-by!" and with a wave of his hand he departed, leaving Stephen and his father to themselves.
CHAPTER X
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 imposing94 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 panorama95 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 lure96 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 sprawling97 paddles, screw propellers98, and twin-screw craft; ferryboats, tugs99, 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 exclamation100 of delight.
"Jove!"
It was a laconic101 tribute to the marvels102 about him but it was uttered with so much vehemence103 that there was no mistaking its sincerity104. Evidently, terse105 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 mischievously106.
"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 scouring107 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 modesty108. "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 descended109 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 tempt74 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 heartily110. "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 humble111 part in the story."
"And well you may be. They were makers112 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 standing113, gazing intently at a significant quartette of tiny models under glass. First came a ship of graceful114 outline, having a miniature figurehead of an angel at its prow115 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 exquisite116, up-to-date ocean liner; and the last in the group
was a modern battleship with guns, wireless117, 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 steamships118 than this one," Steve returned, pointing with a shrug119 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 yarn120 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 entirely121 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 racing14 yachts, early American fighting ships, and nautical122 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 fixed123 his eyes on his plate with resolution and tried his best to think no more of his alluring124 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 wagons125, or prairie schooners127, such as were used in the early days by the first settlers of the West. Women and children were huddled128 beneath the arched canopy129 of coarse cloth and inside this shelter they passed the weary days and nights of travel. Through sun and storm the wagons rumbled130 on; jogging across the rough, uncharted country and jolting131 over rocks, sagebrush, and sand. There were streams to ford132, mountains to climb on the long trip westward133, but undaunted by obstacles the heroic little band of settlers who had with such determination left kin21 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 wagon126 driving the horses was the father of the family, rugged134, alert, and of the woodsman type characteristic of the New England pioneer. The cavalcade135 halted. A fire was built and the travelers cooked their supper. Across the valley
one could see the fading sunset deepen into twilight136. 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 crest137 of the hill came stealing a stealthy band of savages138. On they came, crouching139 against the rocks and moving forward with the lithe140, gliding141 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 galloped142 a company of cowboys. Immediately there was a flashing of rifles and a din1 of battle. First it seemed as if the heroic rescuers would surely be slaughtered143. 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, lashed144 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 contrive8 to escape. It took courage to be a pioneer and travel the country in those days. Undoubtedly145 there was much romance in the adventure but hand in hand with it went no little peril146 and discomfort147. 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 aisle148 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, lurking149 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 wilderness150. 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," grumbled151 Steve, rising unwillingly152 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 bully153 day."
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1
din
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| n.喧闹声，嘈杂声 | |
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heartiness
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| 诚实，热心 | |
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fervor
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| n.热诚；热心；炽热 | |
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4
countenance
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| n.脸色，面容；面部表情；vt.支持，赞同 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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breach
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| n.违反，不履行；破裂；vt.冲破，攻破 | |
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7
contrived
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| adj.不自然的，做作的；虚构的 | |
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contrive
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| vt.谋划，策划；设法做到；设计，想出 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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10
forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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apparently
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| adv.显然地；表面上，似乎 | |
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12
logic
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| n.逻辑(学)；逻辑性 | |
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confided
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| v.吐露（秘密，心事等）( confide的过去式和过去分词 )；（向某人）吐露（隐私、秘密等） | |
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14
racing
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| n.竞赛，赛马；adj.竞赛用的，赛马用的 | |
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15
advertising
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| n.广告业；广告活动 a.广告的；广告业务的 | |
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16
annoyance
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| n.恼怒，生气，烦恼 | |
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17
gratitude
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| adj.感激，感谢 | |
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18
ingenuously
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| adv.率直地，正直地 | |
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19
prudent
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| adj.谨慎的，有远见的，精打细算的 | |
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20
kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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21
kin
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| n.家族，亲属，血缘关系；adj.亲属关系的，同类的 | |
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22
chuckled
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| 轻声地笑( chuckle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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23
ransacked
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| v.彻底搜查( ransack的过去式和过去分词 )；抢劫，掠夺 | |
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24
mere
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| adj.纯粹的；仅仅，只不过 | |
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25
investigation
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| n.调查，调查研究 | |
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26
perfectly
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| adv.完美地，无可非议地，彻底地 | |
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27
consternation
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| n.大为吃惊，惊骇 | |
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28
banish
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| vt.放逐，驱逐；消除，排除 | |
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29
gasp
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| n.喘息，气喘；v.喘息；气吁吁他说 | |
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30
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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31
hawklike
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32
scrutiny
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| n.详细检查，仔细观察 | |
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33
puffed
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| adj.疏松的v.使喷出( puff的过去式和过去分词 )；喷着汽（或烟）移动；吹嘘；吹捧 | |
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34
chagrin
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| n.懊恼；气愤；委屈 | |
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35
mortification
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| n.耻辱，屈辱 | |
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36
reiterated
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| 反复地说，重申( reiterate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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37
speculations
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| n.投机买卖( speculation的名词复数 )；思考；投机活动；推断 | |
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38
intonation
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| n.语调，声调；发声 | |
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39
distress
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| n.苦恼，痛苦，不舒适；不幸；vt.使悲痛 | |
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40
dire
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| adj.可怕的，悲惨的，阴惨的，极端的 | |
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41
candor
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| n.坦白，率真 | |
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42
variance
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| n.矛盾，不同 | |
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43
frankly
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| adv.坦白地，直率地；坦率地说 | |
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44
afterward
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| adv.后来；以后 | |
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45
broker
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| n.中间人，经纪人；v.作为中间人来安排 | |
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46
vault
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| n.拱形圆顶，地窖，地下室 | |
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47
faltered
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| （嗓音）颤抖( falter的过去式和过去分词 )； 支吾其词； 蹒跚； 摇晃 | |
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48
precisely
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| adv.恰好，正好，精确地，细致地 | |
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49
interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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50
sobbing
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| <主方>Ⅰ adj.湿透的 | |
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51
wailed
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| v.哭叫，哀号( wail的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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52
passionate
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| adj.热情的，热烈的，激昂的，易动情的，易怒的，性情暴躁的 | |
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53
curt
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| adj.简短的，草率的 | |
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54
determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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55
apron
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| n.围裙；工作裙 | |
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56
habitually
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| ad.习惯地，通常地 | |
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57
resolutely
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| adj.坚决地，果断地 | |
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58
decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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59
twitched
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| vt.& vi.（使）抽动，（使）颤动（twitch的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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60
steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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61
luncheon
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| n.午宴，午餐，便宴 | |
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62
poise
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| vt./vi. 平衡，保持平衡；n.泰然自若，自信 | |
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63
maturity
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| n.成熟；完成；(支票、债券等)到期 | |
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64
distressed
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| 痛苦的 | |
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65
onlookers
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| n.旁观者，观看者( onlooker的名词复数 ) | |
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66
mischief
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| n.损害，伤害，危害；恶作剧，捣蛋，胡闹 | |
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67
plight
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| n.困境，境况，誓约，艰难；vt.宣誓，保证，约定 | |
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68
dodged
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| v.闪躲( dodge的过去式和过去分词 )；回避 | |
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69
alcoves
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| n.凹室( alcove的名词复数 )；（花园）凉亭；僻静处；壁龛 | |
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70
crammed
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| adj.塞满的，挤满的；大口地吃；快速贪婪地吃v.把…塞满；填入；临时抱佛脚( cram的过去式) | |
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71
pointed
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| adj.尖的，直截了当的 | |
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72
crumpled
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| adj. 弯扭的, 变皱的 动词crumple的过去式和过去分词形式 | |
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73
restitution
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| n.赔偿；恢复原状 | |
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74
tempt
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| vt.引诱，勾引，吸引，引起…的兴趣 | |
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75
eloquence
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| n.雄辩；口才，修辞 | |
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76
tremor
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| n.震动，颤动，战栗，兴奋，地震 | |
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77
fumbling
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| n. 摸索,漏接 v. 摸索,摸弄,笨拙的处理 | |
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78
brass
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| n.黄铜；黄铜器，铜管乐器 | |
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79
adorning
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| 修饰，装饰物 | |
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80
crimson
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| n./adj.深(绯)红色(的)；vi.脸变绯红色 | |
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81
hops
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| 跳上[下]( hop的第三人称单数 )； 单足蹦跳； 齐足（或双足）跳行； 摘葎草花 | |
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82
astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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83
benefactor
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| n. 恩人，行善的人，捐助人 | |
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84
softened
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| （使）变软( soften的过去式和过去分词 )； 缓解打击； 缓和； 安慰 | |
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85
friendliness
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| n.友谊，亲切，亲密 | |
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86
blessing
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| n.祈神赐福；祷告；祝福，祝愿 | |
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87
exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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88
adage
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| n.格言，古训 | |
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89
vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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90
miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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91
delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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92
scrawled
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| 乱涂，潦草地写( scrawl的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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93
housekeepers
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| n.（女）管家( housekeeper的名词复数 ) | |
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94
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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95
panorama
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| n.全景，全景画，全景摄影，全景照片[装置] | |
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96
lure
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| n.吸引人的东西，诱惑物；vt.引诱，吸引 | |
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97
sprawling
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| adj.蔓生的，不规则地伸展的v.伸开四肢坐[躺]( sprawl的现在分词 )；蔓延；杂乱无序地拓展；四肢伸展坐着（或躺着） | |
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98
propellers
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| n.螺旋桨，推进器( propeller的名词复数 ) | |
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99
tugs
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| n.猛拉( tug的名词复数 )；猛拖；拖船v.用力拉，使劲拉，猛扯( tug的第三人称单数 ) | |
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100
exclamation
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| n.感叹号，惊呼，惊叹词 | |
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101
laconic
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| adj.简洁的；精练的 | |
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102
marvels
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| n.奇迹( marvel的名词复数 )；令人惊奇的事物（或事例）；不平凡的成果；成就v.惊奇，对…感到惊奇( marvel的第三人称单数 ) | |
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103
vehemence
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| n.热切；激烈；愤怒 | |
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104
sincerity
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| n.真诚，诚意；真实 | |
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105
terse
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| adj.(说话，文笔)精炼的，简明的 | |
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106
mischievously
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| adv.有害地；淘气地 | |
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107
scouring
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| 擦[洗]净，冲刷，洗涤 | |
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108
modesty
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| n.谦逊，虚心，端庄，稳重，羞怯，朴素 | |
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109
descended
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| a.为...后裔的，出身于...的 | |
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110
heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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111
humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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112
makers
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| n.制造者，制造商（maker的复数形式） | |
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113
standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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114
graceful
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| adj.优美的，优雅的；得体的 | |
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115
prow
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| n.(飞机)机头，船头 | |
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116
exquisite
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| adj.精美的；敏锐的；剧烈的，感觉强烈的 | |
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117
wireless
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| adj.无线的；n.无线电 | |
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118
steamships
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| n.汽船，大轮船( steamship的名词复数 ) | |
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119
shrug
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| v.耸肩(表示怀疑、冷漠、不知等) | |
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120
yarn
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| n.纱，纱线，纺线；奇闻漫谈，旅行轶事 | |
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121
entirely
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| ad.全部地，完整地；完全地，彻底地 | |
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122
nautical
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| adj.海上的，航海的，船员的 | |
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123
fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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124
alluring
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| adj.吸引人的，迷人的 | |
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125
wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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126
wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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127
schooners
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| n.（有两个以上桅杆的）纵帆船( schooner的名词复数 ) | |
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128
huddled
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| 挤在一起（huddle的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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129
canopy
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| n.天篷，遮篷 | |
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130
rumbled
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| 发出隆隆声，发出辘辘声( rumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 轰鸣着缓慢行进； 发现…的真相； 看穿（阴谋） | |
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131
jolting
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| adj.令人震惊的 | |
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132
Ford
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| n.浅滩，水浅可涉处；v.涉水，涉过 | |
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133
westward
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| n.西方，西部；adj.西方的，向西的；adv.向西 | |
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134
rugged
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| adj.高低不平的，粗糙的，粗壮的，强健的 | |
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135
cavalcade
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| n.车队等的行列 | |
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136
twilight
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| n.暮光，黄昏；暮年，晚期，衰落时期 | |
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137
crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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138
savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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139
crouching
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| v.屈膝，蹲伏( crouch的现在分词 ) | |
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140
lithe
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| adj.(指人、身体)柔软的，易弯的 | |
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141
gliding
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| v. 滑翔 adj. 滑动的 | |
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142
galloped
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| （使马）飞奔，奔驰( gallop的过去式和过去分词 )； 快速做[说]某事 | |
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143
slaughtered
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| v.屠杀，杀戮，屠宰( slaughter的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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144
lashed
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| adj.具睫毛的v.鞭打( lash的过去式和过去分词 )；煽动；紧系；怒斥 | |
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145
undoubtedly
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| adv.确实地，无疑地 | |
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146
peril
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| n.(严重的)危险；危险的事物 | |
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147
discomfort
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| n.不舒服，不安，难过，困难，不方便 | |
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148
aisle
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| n.（教堂、教室、戏院等里的）过道，通道 | |
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149
lurking
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| 潜在 | |
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150
wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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151
grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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152
unwillingly
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| adv.不情愿地 | |
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153
bully
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| n.恃强欺弱者，小流氓；vt.威胁，欺侮 | |
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