Mr. Ackerman cleared his throat; it was plain that the simple eloquence of the request had touched him deeply.

"With your permission, officer, I am going to withdraw my charge," he said, with a tremor 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 fumbling awkwardly with the brass buttons adorning 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 crimson 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 hops 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 astonishment the boy regarded his benefactor.

There was something very appealing in the little sharp-featured face which had now lost much of its pallor and softened into friendliness.

"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 blessing that the sky could rain, and it was only after her breath had become quite exhausted 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 adage will prove true in our case. Accept my invitation and let us try it out."

"You are very kind," murmured Mr. Tolman vaguely, "but I—"

"Help me to persuade your father to be generous, Stephen," interposed Mr. Ackerman. "We must not let a miserable affair like this break up what might, perhaps, have been a delightful 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 scrawled 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 housekeepers 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 imposing apartment house of cream brick overlooking the Hudson; and the view from the fifth floor, where their host lived, was such a fascinating one that the boy could hardly be persuaded to leave the bay window that fronted the shifting panorama before him.

"So you like my moving picture, do you, Steve?" inquired the New Yorker merrily.

"It is great! If I lived here I shouldn't do a bit of studying," was the lad's answer.

"You think the influence of the place bad, then."

"It would be for me," Stephen chuckled.

Both Mr. Tolman and Mr. Ackerman laughed.

"I will own," the latter confessed, "that at first those front windows demoralized me not a little. They had the same lure for me as they have for you. But by and by I gained the strength of mind to turn my back and let the Hudson River traffic look out for itself."

"You might try that remedy, son," suggested Steve's father.

"No, no, Tolman! Let the boy alone. If he is enjoying the ferries and steamboats so much the better."

"But there seem to be plenty of steamboats here in the room to enjoy," was Mr. Tolman's quick retort.

"Steamboats?" repeated Steve vaguely, turning and looking about him.

Sure enough, there were steamboats galore! Wherever he looked he saw them. Not only were the walls covered with pictures of every imaginable type of steamer, but wherever there was space enough there were tiers of little ship models in glass cases. There were side-wheelers, awkwardly constructed boats with sprawling paddles, screw propellers, and twin-screw craft; ferryboats, tugs, steam yachts, and ocean liners. Every known variety of sea-going contrivance was represented. The large room was like a museum of ships and the boy gave an involuntary exclamation of delight.

"Jove!"

It was a laconic tribute to the marvels about him but it was uttered with so much vehemence that there was no mistaking its sincerity. Evidently, terse as it was, its ring of fervor satisfied Mr. Ackerman for he smiled to himself.

"I never saw so many boats in all my life!" burst out Steve.

"I told you I was in the steamboat business," put in Mr. Ackerman mischievously.

"I should think you were!" was the lad's comment.

"This is a wonderful collection, Ackerman," Mr. Tolman asserted, as he rose and began to walk about the room. "How did you ever get it together? Many of these prints are priceless."

"Oh, I have been years doing it," Mr. Ackerman said. "It has been my hobby. I have chosen to sink my money in these toys instead of in an abandoned farm or antique furniture. It is just a matter of taste, you see."

"You must have done some scouring of the country to make your collection so complete. I don't see how you ever succeeded in finding these old pictures and models. It is a genuine history lesson."

"I do not deserve all the credit, by any means," the capitalist protested with modesty. "My grandfather, who was one of the owners of the first of the Hudson River steamers, began collecting pictures and drawings; and at his death they came to my father who added to them. Afterward, when the collection descended to me, I tried to fill in the gaps in order to make the sequence complete. Of course in many cases I have not been able to find what I wanted, for neither prints nor models of some of the ships I desired were to be had. Either there were no copies of them in existence, or if there were no money could tempt their owners to part with them. Still I have a well enough graded lot to show the progression."

"I should think you had!" said Mr. Tolman heartily. "You have arranged them beautifully, too, from the old whalers and early American coasting ships to the clippers. Then come the first steam packets, I see, and then the development of the steamboat through its successive steps up to our present-day floating palace. It tells its own story, doesn't it?"

"In certain fashion, yes," Mr. Ackerman agreed. "But the real romance of it will never be fully told, I suppose. What an era of progress through which to have lived!"

"And shared in, as your family evidently did," interposed Mr. Tolman quickly.

His host nodded.

"Yes," he answered, "I am quite proud to think that both my father and my grandfather had their humble part in the story."

"And well you may be. They were makers of history."

Both men were silent an instant, each occupied with his own thoughts.

Mr. Tolman moved reflectively toward the mantelpiece before which Steve was standing, gazing intently at a significant quartette of tiny models under glass. First came a ship of graceful outline, having a miniature figurehead of an angel at its prow and every sail set. Beside this was an ungainly side-wheeler with scarce a line of beauty to commend it. Next in order came an exquisite, up-to-date ocean liner; and the last in the group was a modern battleship with guns, wireless, and every detail cunningly reproduced.

Stephen stood speechless before them.

"What are you thinking of, son?" his father asked.

"Why, I—" the boy hesitated.

"Come, tell us! I'd like to know, too," echoed Mr. Ackerman.

"Why, to be honest I was wondering how you happened to pick these particular four for your mantel," replied the lad with confusion.

The steamboat man smiled kindly.

"You think there are handsomer boats in the room than these, do you?"

"Certainly there are better looking steamships than this one," Steve returned, pointing with a shrug of his shoulders at the clumsy side-wheeler.

"But that rather ugly craft is the most important one of the lot, my boy," Mr. Tolman declared.

"I suppose that is true," Mr. Ackerman agreed. "The fate of all the others hung on that ship."

"Why?" was the boy's prompt question.

"Oh, it is much too long a yarn to tell you now," laughed his host. "Were we to begin that tale we should not get to the theater to-night, say nothing of having any dinner."

"I'd like to hear the story," persisted Stephen.

"You will be reading it from a book some day."

"I'd rather hear you tell it."

"If that isn't a spontaneous compliment, Ackerman, I don't know what is," laughed Mr. Tolman.

The steamboat man did not reply but he could not quite disguise his pleasure, although he said a bit gruffly:

"We shall have to leave the story and go to the show to-night. I've bought the tickets and there is no escape," added he humorously. "But perhaps before you leave New York there will be some other chance for me to spin my yarn for you, and put your father's railroad romances entirely in the shade."

The butler announced dinner and they passed into the dining room.

If, however, Stephen thought that he was now to leave ships behind him he was mistaken, for the dining room proved to be quite as much of a museum as the library had been. Against the dull blue paper hung pictures of racing yachts, early American fighting ships, and nautical encounters on the high seas. The house was a veritable wonderland, and so distracted was the lad that he could scarcely eat.

"Come, come, son," objected Mr. Tolman at last, "you will not be ready in time to go to any show unless you turn your attention to your dinner."

"That's right," Mr. Ackerman said. "Fall to and eat your roast beef. We are none too early as it is."

Accordingly Stephen fixed his eyes on his plate with resolution and tried his best to think no more of his alluring surroundings. With the coming of the ice-cream he had almost forgotten there were such things as ships, and when he rose from the table he found himself quite as eager to set forth to the theater as any other healthy-minded lad of his age would have been.

The "show" Mr. Ackerman had selected had been chosen with much care and was one any boy would have delighted to see. The great stage had, for the time being, been transformed to a western prairie and across it came a group of canvas-covered wagons, or prairie schooners, such as were used in the early days by the first settlers of the West. Women and children were huddled beneath the arched canopy of coarse cloth and inside this shelter they passed the weary days and nights of travel. Through sun and storm the wagons rumbled on; jogging across the rough, uncharted country and jolting over rocks, sagebrush, and sand. There were streams to ford, mountains to climb on the long trip westward, but undaunted by obstacles the heroic little band of settlers who had with such determination left kin and comfort behind them passed on to that new land toward which their faces were set.

It was such a company as this that Stephen now saw pictured before him. Perched on the front seat of the wagon driving the horses was the father of the family, rugged, alert, and of the woodsman type characteristic of the New England pioneer. The cavalcade halted. A fire was built and the travelers cooked their supper. Across the valley one could see the fading sunset deepen into twilight. From a little stream near-by the men brought water for the tired horses. Then the women and children clambered into the "ship of the desert" and prepared for a night's rest.

In the meantime the men lingered about the dying fire and one of them, a gun in his hand, paced back and forth as if on guard. Then suddenly he turned excitedly to his comrades with his finger on his lips. He had heard a sound, the sound they all dreaded,—the cry of an Indian.

Presently over the crest of the hill came stealing a stealthy band of savages. On they came, crouching against the rocks and moving forward with the lithe, gliding motion of serpents. The men sank down behind the brush, weapons in hand, and waited. On came the bloodthirsty Indians. Then, just when the destruction of the travelers seemed certain, onto the stage galloped a company of cowboys. Immediately there was a flashing of rifles and a din of battle. First it seemed as if the heroic rescuers would surely be slaughtered. But they fought bravely and soon the Indians were either killed or captured. Amid the confusion the owners of the prairie schooners leaped to the seats of their wagons, lashed forward their tired horses, and disappeared in safety with the terrified women and children.

It was not until the curtain fell upon this thrilling adventure that Stephen sank back into his chair and drew a long breath.

"Some show, eh, son?" said Mr. Tolman, as they put on their overcoats to leave the theater after the three long acts were over.

The boy looked up, his eyes wide with excitement.

"I should say!" he managed to gasp.

"Did you like it, sonny?" Mr. Ackerman inquired.

"You bet I did!"

"Think you would have preferred to cross the continent by wagon rather than by train?"

Steve hesitated.

"I guess a train would have been good enough for me," he replied. "Was it really as bad as that before the railroads were built?"

"Quite as bad, I'm afraid," was his father's answer. "Sometimes it was even worse, for the unfortunate settlers did not always contrive to escape. It took courage to be a pioneer and travel the country in those days. Undoubtedly there was much romance in the adventure but hand in hand with it went no little peril and discomfort. We owe a great deal to the men who settled the West; and, I sometimes think, even more to the dauntless women."

Stephen did not reply. Very quietly he walked down the aisle between his father and Mr. Ackerman, and when he gave his hand to the latter and said good-night he was still thoughtful. It was evident that the scenes he had witnessed had made a profound impression on him and that he was still immersed in the atmosphere of prairie schooners, lurking Indians, and desert hold-ups. Even when he reached the hotel he was too tense and broad awake to go to bed.

"I wish you'd tell me, Dad, how the first railroad across the country was built," he said. "I don't see how any track was ever laid through such a wilderness. Didn't the Indians attack the workmen? I should think they would have."

His father placed a hand kindly on his shoulder.

"To-morrow we'll talk trans-continental railroads, son, if by that time you still wish to," said he. "But to-night we'll go to bed and think no more about them. I am tired and am sure you must be."

"I'm not!" was the prompt retort.

"I rather fancy you will discover you are after you have undressed," smiled his father. "At any rate we'll have to call off railroading for to-night, for if you are not sleepy, I am."

"But you won't have time to tell me anything to-morrow," grumbled Steve, rising unwillingly from his chair. "You will be busy and forget all about it and—"

"I have nothing to do until eleven o'clock," interrupted Mr. Tolman, "when I have a business meeting to attend. Up to that time I shall be free. And as for forgetting it—well, you might possibly remind me if the promise passes out of my mind."

In spite of himself the boy grinned.

"You can bank on my reminding you all right!" he said, yawning.

"Very well. Then it is a bargain. You do the reminding and I will do the story-telling. Are you satisfied and ready to go to bed and to sleep now?"

"I guess so, yes."

"Good-night then."

"Good-night, Dad. I—I've had a bully day."



CHAPTER XI

THE CROSSING OF THE COUNTRY

In spite of the many excitements crowded into his first day in New York Stephen found that when his head actually touched the pillow sleep was not long in coming and he awoke the next morning refreshed by a heavy and dreamless slumber. He was even dressed and ready for breakfast before his father and a-tiptoe to attack whatever program the day might present.

Fortunately Mr. Tolman was of a sufficiently sympathetic nature to remember how he had felt when a boy, and with generous appreciation for the lad's impatience he scrambled up and made himself ready for a breakfast that was earlier, perhaps, than he would have preferred.

"Well, son," said he, as they took their places in the large dining room, "what is the prospect for to-day? Are you feeling fit for more adventures?"

"I'm primed for whatever comes," smiled the boy.

"That's the proper spirit! Indians, bandits and cowboys did not haunt your pillow then."

"I didn't stay awake to see."

"You are a model traveler! Now we must plan something pleasant for you to do to-day. I am not sure that we can keep up the pace yesterday set us, for it was a pretty thrilling one. Robberies and arrests do not come every day, to say nothing of flotillas of ships and Wild West shows. However, we will do the best we can not to let the day go stale by contrast. But first I must dictate a few letters and glance over the morning paper. This won't take me long and while I am doing it I would suggest that you go into the writing room and send a letter to your mother. I will join you there in half an hour and we will do whatever you like before I go to my meeting. How is that?"

"Righto!"

Accordingly, after breakfast was finished, Steve wandered off by himself in search of paper and ink, and so sumptuous did he find the writing appointments that he not only dashed off a letter to his mother recounting some of the happenings of the previous day, but on discovering a rack of post cards he mailed to Jack Curtis, Tim Barclay, Bud Taylor and some of the other boys patronizing messages informing them that New York was "great" and he was sorry they were not there. In fact, it seemed at the moment that all those unfortunate persons who could not visit this magic city were to be profoundly pitied.

In the purchase of stamps for these egoistic missives the remainder of the time passed, and before he realized the half-hour was gone, he saw his father standing in the doorway.

"I am going up to the room now to hunt up some cigars, Steve," announced the elder man. "Do you want to come along or stay here?"

"I'll come with you, Dad," was the quick reply.

The elevator shot them to the ninth floor in no time and soon they were in their room looking down on the turmoil in the street below.

"Some city, isn't it?" commented Mr. Tolman, turning away from the busy scene to rummage through his suit case.

"It's a corker!"

"I thought you would like to go out to the Zoo this morning while I am busy. What do you say?"

"That would be bully."

"It is a simple trip which you can easily make alone. If you like, you can start along now," Mr. Tolman suggested.

"But you said last night that if I would hurry to bed, to-day you would tell me about the Western railroads," objected Stephen.

He saw his father's eyes twinkle.

"You have a remarkable memory," replied he. "I recall now that I did say something of the sort. But surely you do not mean that you would prefer to remain here and talk railroads than to go to the Zoo."

"I can go to the Zoo after you have gone out," maintained Steve, standing his ground valiantly.

"You are a merciless young beggar," grinned his father. "I plainly see that like Shylock you are determined to have your pound of flesh. Well, sit down. We will talk while I smoke."

As the boy settled contentedly into one of the comfortable chintz-covered chairs, Mr. Tolman blew a series of delicate rings of smoke toward the ceiling and wrinkled his brow thoughtfully.

"You got a pretty good idea at the theater last night what America was before we had trans-continental railroads," began he slowly. "You know enough of geography too, I hope, to imagine to some extent what it must have meant to hew a path across such an immense country as ours; lay a roadbed with its wooden ties; and transport all this material as well as the heavy rails necessary for the project. We all think we can picture to ourselves the enormity of the undertaking; but actually we have almost no conception of the difficulties such a mammoth work represented."

He paused, half closing his eyes amid the cloud of smoke.

"To begin with, the promoters of the enterprise received scant encouragement to attack the problem, for few persons of that day had much faith in the undertaking. In place of help, ridicule cropped up from many sources. It was absurd, the public said, to expect such a wild-cat scheme to succeed. Why, over six hundred miles of the area to be covered did not contain a tree and in consequence there would be nothing from which to make cross-ties. And where was the workmen's food to come from if they were plunged into a wilderness beyond the reach of civilization? The thing couldn't be done. It was impossible. Of course it was a wonderful idea. But it never could be carried out. Where were the men to be found who would be willing to take their lives in their hands and set forth to work where Indians or wild beasts were liable to devour them at any moment? Moreover, to build a railroad of such length would take a lifetime and where was the money coming from? For you must remember that the men of that period had no such vast fortunes as many of them have now, and it was no easy task to finance a scheme where the outlay was so tremendous and the probability of success so shadowy. Even as late as 1856 the whole notion was considered visionary by the greater part of the populace."

"But the fun of doing it, Dad!" ejaculated Stephen, with sparkling eyes.

"The fun of it!" repeated his father with a shrug. "Yes, there was fun in the adventure, there is no denying that; and fortunately for the dreamers who saw the vision, men were found who felt precisely as you do. Youth always puts romance above danger, and had there not been these romance lovers it would have gone hard with the trans-continental railroads. We might never have had them. As it was, even the men who ventured to cast in their lot with the promoters had the caution to demand their pay in advance. They had no mind to be deluded into working for a precarious wage. At length enough toilers from the east and from the west were found who were willing to take a chance with their physical safety, and the enterprise was begun."

Stephen straightened up in his chair.

"Had the only obstacle confronting them been the reach of uncharted country ahead that would have been discouraging enough. Fancy pushing your way through eight hundred miles of territory that had never been touched by civilization! And while you are imagining that, do not forget that the slender ribbon of track left behind was your only link with home; and your only hope of getting food, materials, and sometimes water. Ah, you would have had excitement enough to satisfy you had you been one of that company of workmen! On improvised trucks they put up bunks and here they took turns in sleeping while some of their party stood guard to warn them of night raids from Indians and wild beasts. Even in the daytime outposts had to be stationed; and more than once, in spite of every precaution, savages descended on the little groups of builders, overpowered them, and slaughtered many of the number or carried away their provisions and left them to starve. Sometimes marauders tore up the tracks, thereby breaking the connection with the camps in the rear from which aid could be summoned; and in early railroad literature we find many a tale of heroic engineers who ran their locomotives back through almost certain destruction in order to procure help for their comrades. Supply trains were held up and swept clean of their stores; paymasters were robbed, and sometimes murdered, so no money reached the employees; every sort of calamity befell the men. Hundreds of the ten thousand Chinese imported to work at a microscopic wage died of sickness or exposure to the extreme heat or cold."

"Gee!" gasped Stephen, "I'd no idea it was so bad as all that!"

"Most persons have but a faint conception of the price paid for our railways—paid not alone in money but in human life," answered Mr. Tolman. "The route of the western railroads, you see, did not lie solely through flat, thickly wooded country. Our great land, you must remember, is made up of a variety of natural formations, and in crossing from the Atlantic coast to that of the Pacific we get them one after another. In contrast to the forests of mighty trees, with their tangled undergrowth, there were stretches of prairie where no hills broke the level ground; another region contained miles and miles of alkali desert, dry and scorching, where the sun blazed so fiercely down on the steel rails that they became too hot to touch. Here men died of sunstroke and of fever; and some died for want of water. Then directly in the railroad's path arose the towering peaks of the Sierras and Rockies whose snowy crests must be crossed, and whose cold, storms and gales must be endured. Battling with these hardships the workmen were forced to drill holes in the rocky summits and bolt their rough huts down to the earth to prevent them from being blown away."

"I don't see how the thing could have been done!" Steve exclaimed, with growing wonder.

"And you must not forget to add to the chapter of tribulations the rivers that barred the way; the ravines that must either be filled in or bridged; the rocks that had to be blasted out; and the mountains that must be climbed or tunneled."

"I don't see how they ever turned the trick!" the boy repeated.

"It is the same old tale of progress," mused his father. "Over and over again, since time began, men have given their lives that the world might move forward and you and I enjoy the benefits of civilization. Remember it and be grateful to the past and to that vast army of toilers who offered up their all that you might, without effort, profit by the things it took their blood to procure. There is scarcely a comfort you have about you that has not cost myriad men labor, weariness, and perhaps life itself. Therefore value highly your heritage and treat the fruits of all hard work with respect; and whenever you can fit your own small stone into the structure, or advance any good thing that shall smooth the path of those who are to follow you, do it as your sacred duty to those who have so unselfishly builded for you."

There was a moment of silence and the rumble of the busy street rose to their ears.

"I never shall build anything that will help the men of the future," observed Stephen, in a low tone.

"Every human being is building all the time," replied his father. "He is building a strong body that shall mean a better race; a clean mind that shall mean a purer race; a loyalty to country that will result in finer citizenship; and a life of service to his fellows that will bring in time a broader Christianity. Will not the world be the better for all these things? It lies with us to carry forward the good and lessen the evil of the universe, or tear down the splendid ideals for which our fathers struggled and retard the upward march of the universe. If everybody put his shoulder to the wheel and helped the forward spin of our old world, how quickly it would become a better place!"

As he concluded his remarks Mr. Tolman took out his watch.

"Well, well!" said he. "I had no idea it was so late. I must hurry or I shall not finish my story."

"As I told you the men from the east and those from the west worked toward each other from opposite ends of the country. As soon as short lengths of track were finished they were joined together. Near the great Salt Lake of Utah a tie of polished laurel wood banded with silver marked the successful crossing of Utah's territory. Five years later Nevada contributed some large silver spikes to join her length of track to the rest. California sent spikes of solid gold, symbolic both of her cooperation and her mineral wealth; Arizona one of gold, one of silver, and one of iron. Many other States offered significant tributes of similar nature. And when at last the great day came when all the short lines were connected in one whole, what a celebration there was from sea to sea! Wires had been laid so that the hammer that drove the last spike sent the news to cities all over the land. Bells rang, whistles blew, fire alarms sounded. The cost of the Union Pacific was about thirty-nine million dollars and that of the Central Pacific about one hundred and forty million dollars. The construction of the Southern Pacific presented a different set of problems from those of the Northern, but many of the difficulties encountered were the same. Bands of robbers and Indians beset the workmen and either cut the ties and spread the rails, or tore the track up altogether for long distances. Forest fires often overtook the men before they could escape, although trains sometimes contrived to get through the burning areas by drenching their roofs and were able to bring succor to those in peril. Then there were washouts and snowstorms quite as severe as any experienced in the northern country."

"I'm afraid I should have given the whole thing up!" interrupted Steve.

"Many another was of your mind," returned Mr. Tolman. "The frightful heat encountered when crossing the deserts was, as I have said, the greatest handicap. Frequently the work was at a standstill for months because all the metal—rails and tools—became too hot to handle. The difficulty of getting water to the men in order to keep them alive in this arid waste was in itself colossal. Tank cars were sent forward constantly on all the railroads, northern as well as southern, and the suffering experienced when such cars were for various reasons stalled was tremendous. The sand storms along the Southern Pacific route were yet another menace. So you see an eagerness for adventure had to be balanced by a corresponding measure of bravery. Those early days of railroad building were not all romance and picturesqueness."

Stephen nodded as his father rose and took up his hat and coat.

"I'd like to hear Mr. Ackerman tell of the early steamboating," remarked the lad. "I'll bet the story couldn't match the one you have just told."

"Perhaps not," his father replied. "Nevertheless the steamships had their full share of exciting history and you must not be positive in your opinion until you have heard both tales. Now come along, son, if you are going with me, for I must be off."

Obediently Stephen slipped into his ulster and tagged at his father's heels along the corridor.

What a magic country he lived in! And how had it happened that it had been his luck to be born now rather than in the pioneer days when there were not only no railroads but no great hotels like this one, and no elevators?

"I suppose," observed Mr. Tolman, as they went along, "we can hardly estimate what the coming of these railroads meant to the country. All the isolated sections were now blended into one vast territory which brought the dwellers of each into a common brotherhood. It was no small matter to make a unit of a great republic like ours. The seafarer and the woodsman; easterner, westerner, northerner, and southerner exchanged visits and became more intelligently sympathetic. Rural districts were opened up and made possible for habitation. The products of the seacoast and the interior were interchanged. Crops could now be transported; material for clothing distributed; and coal, steel, and iron—on which our industries were dependent—carried wherever they were needed. Commerce took a leap forward and with it national prosperity. From now on we were no longer hampered in our inventions or industries and forced to send to England for machinery. We could make our own engines, manufacture our own rails, coal our own boilers. Distance was diminished until it was no longer a barrier. Letters that it previously took days and even weeks to get came in hours, and the cost and time for freight transportation was revolutionized. In 1804, for example, it took four days to get a letter from New York to Boston; and even as late as 1817 it cost a hundred dollars to move a ton of freight from Buffalo to New York and took twenty days to do it. In every direction the railroads made for national advancement and a more solid United States. No soldiers, no statesmen of our land deserve greater honor as useful citizens than do these men who braved every danger to build across the country our trans-continental railways."



CHAPTER XII

NEW PROBLEMS

"I have been thinking, Dad," said Steve that evening, while they sat at dinner, "of the railroad story you told me this morning. It was some yarn." His father laughed over the top of his coffee cup.

"It was, wasn't it?" replied he. "And the half was not told then. I was in too much of a hurry to give you an idea of all the trials the poor railroad builders encountered. Did it occur to you, for example, that after the roads to the Pacific coast were laid their managers were confronted by another great difficulty,—the difference in time between the east and the west?"

"I never thought of that," was Steve's answer. "Of course the time must have differed a lot."

"Indeed it did! Every little branch road followed the time peculiar to its own section of the country, and the task of unifying this so that a basis for a common time-table could be adopted was tremendous. A convention of scientists from every section of the country was called to see what could be done about the fifty-three different times in use by the various railroads."

"Fifty-three!" ejaculated Stephen, with a grin. "Why, that was almost as many as Heinz pickles."

"In this case the results of the fifty-three varieties were far more menacing, I am afraid, than those of the fifty-seven," said his father, with a smile, "for travel under such a regime was positively unsafe."

"I can see that it would be. What did they do?"

"Well, after every sort of suggestion had been presented it was decided to divide the country up into four immense parts, separated from one another by imaginary lines running north and south."

"Degrees of longitude?"

"Precisely!" returned Mr. Tolman, gratified that the boy had caught the point so intelligently. "The time of each of these sections jumped fifteen degrees, or one hour, and the railroads lying in each district were obliged to conform to the standard time of their locality. Until this movement went into effect there had been, for example, six so-called standard times to reckon with in going from Boston to Washington."

"I don't see why everybody didn't get smashed up!"

"I don't either; and I fancy the passengers and the railroad people didn't," declared Mr. Tolman. "But with the new state of things the snarl was successfully untangled and the roads began to be operated on a more scientific basis. Then followed gradual improvements in cars which as time went on were made more comfortable and convenient. The invention of the steam engine and the development of our steel products were the two great factors that made our American railroads possible. With the trans-continental roads to carry materials and the opening up of our coal, iron and copper mines we were at last in a position to make our railroads successful. Then science began to evolve wonderful labor-saving machinery which did away with the slow, primitive methods our pioneer engineers had been obliged to employ. The steam shovel was invented, the traveling crane, the gigantic derrick, the pile driver. The early railroad builders had few if any of these devices and were forced to do by hand the work that machinery could have performed in much less time. When one thinks back it is pathetic to consider the number of lives that were sacrificed which under present-day conditions might have been saved. Yet every great movement goes forward over the dead bodies of unnamed heroes. To an extent this is unavoidable and one of the enigmas of life. If every generation were as wise at the beginning as it is at the end there would be no progress. Nevertheless, when you reflect that ten thousand Chinese and Chilean laborers died while building one of the South American railroads it does make us wonder why we should be the ones to reap the benefits of so much that others sowed, doesn't it?" mused the boy's father.

"Do you mean to say that ten thousand persons were killed while that railroad was being built?" questioned Stephen, aghast.

"They were not all killed," was the reply. "Many of them died of exposure to cold, and many from the effects of the climate. Epidemics swept away hundreds of lives. This particular railroad was one of the mightiest engineering feats the world had seen for in its path lay the Andes Mountains, and there was no escape from either crossing or tunneling them. The great tunnel that pierces them at a height of 15,645 feet above sea level is one of the marvels of science. In various parts of the world there are other such monuments to man's conquest of the opposing forces of nature. Honeycombing the Alps are spiral tunnels that curve round and round like corkscrews inside the mountains, rising slowly to the peaks and making it possible to reach the heights that must be traversed. Among these marvels is the Simplon Tunnel, famous the world over. The road that crosses the Semmering Pass from Trieste to Vienna is another example of what man can do if he must. By means of a series of covered galleries it makes its way through the mountains that stretch like a wall between Italy and Austria. In the early days this territory with its many ravines and almost impassable heights would have been considered too difficult to cross. The railroad over the Brenner Pass between Innsbruck and Botzen penetrates the mountains of the Tyrol by means of twenty-three tunnels."

"I learned about the St. Gothard tunnel in school," Steve interrupted eagerly.

"Yes, that is yet another of the celebrated ones," his father rejoined. "In fact, there are now so many of these miracles of skilful railroading that we have almost ceased to wonder at them. Railroads thread their way up Mt. Washington, Mt. Rigi, and many another dizzy altitude; to say nothing of the cable-cars and funicular roads that take our breath away when they whirl us to the top of some mountain, either in Europe or in our own land. Man has left scarce a corner of our planet inaccessible, until now, not content with scaling the highest peaks by train, he has progressed still another stage and is flying over them. Thus do the marvels of one age become the commonplace happenings of the next. Our ancestors doubtless thought, when they had accomplished the miracles of their generation, that nothing could surpass them. In the same spirit we regard our aeroplanes and submarines with triumphant pride. But probably the time will come when those who follow us will look back on what we have done and laugh at our attempts just as you laughed when I told you of the first railroad."

Stephen was thoughtful for a moment.

"It's a great game—living—isn't it, Dad?"

"It is a great game if you make yourself one of the team and pull on the side of the world's betterment," nodded his father. "Think what such a thing as the railroad has meant to millions and millions of people. Not only has it opened up a country which might have been shut away from civilization for centuries; but it has brought men all over the world closer together and made it possible for those of one land to visit those of another and come into sympathy with them. Japan, China, and India, to say nothing of the peoples of Europe, are almost our neighbors in these days of ships and railroads."

"I suppose we should not have known much about those places, should we," reflected the boy.

"Certainly not so much as we do now," was his father's answer. "Of course, travelers did go to those countries now and then; but to get far into their interior in a palanquin carried by coolies, for example, was a pretty slow business."

"And uncomfortable, too," Stephen decided. "I guess the natives were mighty glad to see the railroads coming."

To the lad's surprise his father shook his head.

"I am afraid they weren't," observed he ruefully. "You recall how even the more civilized and better educated English and French opposed the first railroads? Well, the ignorant orientals, who were a hundred times more superstitious, objected very vehemently. The Chinese in particular feared that the innovation would put to flight the spirits which they believed inhabited the earth, air, and water. Surely, they argued, if these gods were disturbed, disaster to the nation must inevitably follow. It was almost impossible to convince even the more intelligent leaders that the railroad would be a benefit instead of a menace for before the ancient beliefs argument was helpless."

"Well, the railroads were built just the same, weren't they?"

"Yes. Fortunately some of the more enlightened were led to see the wisdom of the enterprise, and they converted the others to their views or else overrode their protests. They were like a lot of children who did not know what was best for them and as such they had to be treated. Nevertheless, you may be quite certain that the pioneer days of railroad building in the East were not pleasant ones. Materials had to be carried for great distances both by water and by land. In 1864, when the first locomotive was taken to Ceylon, it had to be transported on a raft of bamboo and drawn from the landing place to the track by elephants."

"Humph!" chuckled Steve. "It's funny to think of, isn't it?"

"More funny to think of than to do, I guess," asserted his father. "Still it is the battle against obstacles that makes life interesting, and in spite of all the hardships I doubt if those first railroad men would have missed the adventure of it all. Out of their resolution, fearlessness and vision came a wonderful fulfillment, and it must have been some satisfaction to know that they had done their share in bringing it about."

"I suppose that is what Mr. Ackerman meant when he spoke of the history of steamboating," said the boy slowly.

"Yes. He and his family had a hand in that great game and I do not wonder he is proud of it. And speaking of Mr. Ackerman reminds me that he called up this afternoon to ask if you would like to take a motor-ride with him to-morrow morning while I am busy."

"You bet I would!" was the fervent reply.

"I thought as much, so I made the engagement for you. He is coming for you at ten o'clock. And he will have quite a surprise for you, too."

"What is it?" the boy asked eagerly.

"It is not my secret to tell," was the provoking answer. "You will know it in good time."

"To-morrow?"

"I think so, yes."

"Can't you tell me anything about it?"

"Nothing but that you were indirectly responsible for it."

"I!" gasped Stephen.

Mr. Tolman laughed.

"That will give you something to wonder and to dream about," he responded, rising from the table. "Let us see how much of a Sherlock Holmes you are."

Steve's mind immediately began to speculate rapidly on his father's enigmatic remark. All the way up in the elevator he pondered over the conundrum; and all the evening he turned it over in his mind. At last, tired with the day's activities, he went to bed, hoping that dreams might furnish him with a solution of the riddle. But although he slept hard no dreams came and morning found him no nearer the answer than he had been before.

He must wait patiently for Mr. Ackerman to solve the puzzle.



CHAPTER XIII

DICK MAKES HIS SECOND APPEARANCE

When Mr. Ackerman's car rolled up to the hotel later in the morning the puzzle no longer lacked a solution for in the automobile beside the steamboat magnate sat Dick Martin, the lad of the pocketbook adventure. At first glance Steve scarcely recognized the boy, such a transformation had taken place in his appearance. He wore a new suit of blue serge, a smartly cut reefer, shiny shoes, a fresh cap, and immaculate linen. Soap and water, as well as a proper style of haircut had added their part to the miracle until now, with face glowing and eyes alight with pleasure, Dick was as attractive a boy as one would care to see.

"I have brought Dick along with me, you see," the New Yorker explained, when the three were in the car and speeding up Fifth Avenue. "He and I have been shopping and now he is coming home to stay with me until we hear from one of the schools to which I have written. If they can find a place for him he will start at once. Then he is going to study hard and see what sort of a man he can make of himself. I expect to be very proud of him some day."

The lad flushed.

"I am going to do my best," said he, in a low tone.

"That is all any one can do, sonny," declared Mr. Ackerman kindly. "You'll win out. Don't you worry! I'm not."

He smiled and Dick smiled back timidly.

"Have you been up to Mr. Ackerman's house yet and seen the boats?" Stephen asked, to break the pause that fell between them.

"His collection, you mean? Sure! I'm—staying there."

"Living there, sonny," put in the financier.

"Then I suppose he's told you all about them," went on Stephen, a hint of envy in his tone.

"I haven't yet," laughed their host, "for there hasn't been time. Dick only left the hotel yesterday and we have had a great deal to do since. We had to go to his lodgings and say good-by to the people there who have been kind to him and tell them why he was not coming back. And then there were errands and many other things to see to. So he has not been at home much yet," concluded Mr. Ackerman, with a kindly emphasis on the final sentence.

Dick beamed but it was evident that the magnitude of his good fortune had left him too overwhelmed for words.

Perhaps neither of the boys minded that there was little conversation during the drive for there was plenty to see and to Dick Martin, at least, an automobile ride was such an uncommon experience that it needed no embellishments. They rode up Morningside Drive and back again, looking down on the river as they went, and exclaiming when some unusual craft passed them. Evidently Mr. Ackerman was quite content to let matters take their natural course; but he was not unmindful of his guests and when at last he saw a shadow of fatigue circle Dick's eyes and give place to the glow of excitement that had lighted them he said:

"Now suppose we go back to the house for a while. We have an hour or more before Stephen has to rejoin his father and you two chaps can poke about the suite. What do you say?"

Steve was all enthusiasm. He had been quietly hoping there would be a chance for him to have another peep at the wonderful steamboats.

"I'd like nothing better!" was his instant reply. "I did not see half I wanted to when I was there before, and we go home to-morrow, you know. If I don't see your ships and things to-day I never shall."

"Oh, don't say that!" Mr. Ackerman said quickly. "You and Dick and I are going to be great friends. We are not going to say good-by and never see one another any more. Sometime you will be coming to New York again, I hope. However, if he wants to have a second glimpse of our boats now we'll let him, won't we, Dick?"

Again the boy smiled a timid smile into his benefactor's face.



It did not take long to reach the house and soon the three were in the wonderful room with its panorama of ships moving past the windows and its flotilla of still more ships decorating the walls.

"Now you boys go ahead and entertain yourselves as you please," Mr. Ackerman said. "I am going to sit here and read the paper; but if there is anything you want to ask me you are welcome to do so."

Stephen strolled over to the mantelpiece and stood before the model of the quaint side-wheeler that had held his attention at the time of his first visit; then he stole a furtive glance at the man in the big chair.

"Did you really mean, Mr. Ackerman," he faltered, "that we could ask you questions?"

"Certainly."

"Then I wish you'd tell me about this queer little old-fashioned boat, and how you happened to put it between this up-to-date ocean liner and this battleship."

The elder man looked up.

"That boat that interests you is a model of Fulton's steamboat—or at least as near a model as I could get," explained he. "I put it there to show the progress we have made in shipbuilding since that day."

Steve laughed.

"I see the progress all right," replied he, "but I am afraid I do not know much about Fulton and his side-wheeler."

Mr. Ackerman let the paper slip into his lap.

"I assumed every boy who went to school learned about Robert Fulton," answered he, half teasingly and yet with real surprise.

"I suppose I ought to have learned about him," retorted Stephen, with ingratiating honesty, "and maybe I did once. But if I did I seem to have forgotten about it. You see there are such a lot of those old chaps who did things that I get them all mixed up."

Apparently the sincerity of the confession pleased the capitalist for he laughed.

"I know!" returned he sympathetically. "Every year more and more things roll up to remember, don't they? Had we lived long ago, before so many battles and discoveries had taken place, and so many books been written, life would have been much simpler. Now the learning of all the ages comes piling down on our heads. But at least you can congratulate yourself that you are not so badly off as the boys will be a hundred years hence; they, poor things, will have to learn all about what we have been doing, and if the world progresses as rapidly in history and in science as it is doing now, I pity them. Not only will they have to go back to Fulton but to him they will probably have to add a score of other inventors."

Both boys joined in the steamboat man's hearty laugh.

"Well, who was Fulton, anyway, Mr. Ackerman?" Stephen persisted.

"If you want me to tell you that Robert Fulton was the first American to make a successful steamboat I can give you that information in a second," was the reply. "But if you wish to hear how he did it that is a much longer story."

"I like stories," piped Dick from the corner of the couch where he was sitting.

"So do I," echoed Steve.

"Then I see there is no help for me!" Mr. Ackerman answered, taking off his spectacles and putting them into the case.

With an anticipatory smile Stephen seated himself on the great leather divan beside the other boy.

"Before the steamboat came," began Mr. Ackerman, "you must remember that paddle wheels had long been used, for both the Egyptians and the Romans had built galleys with oars that moved by a windlass turned by the hands of slaves or by oxen. Later there were smaller boats whose paddle wheels were driven by horses. So you see paddle wheels were nothing new; the world was just waiting for something that would turn them around. After the Marquis of Worcester had made his steam fountain he suggested that perhaps this power might be used to propel a boat but unfortunately he died before any experiments with the idea could be made. Various scientists, however, in Spain, France, England and Scotland caught up the plan but after struggling unsuccessfully with it for a time abandoned it as impractical. In 1802 Lord Dundas, a proprietor in one of the English canals, made an encouraging start by using a tow-boat with a paddle wheel at its stern. But alas, this contrivance kicked up such a fuss in the narrow stream that it threatened to tear the banks along the edge all to pieces and therefore it was given up and for ten years afterward there was no more steamboating in England."

The boys on the couch chuckled.

"In the meantime in America thoughtful men were mulling over the problem of steam navigation. Watt's engine had opened to the minds of inventors endless possibilities; and the success of the early railroads made many persons feel that a new era of science, whose wonders had only begun to unfold, was at hand. In Connecticut there lived a watchmaker by the name of John Fitch, who, although he knew little of the use of steam, knew much about machinery. Through the aid of a company that furnished him with the necessary money he built a steamboat which was tried out in 1787 and made three miles an hour. Of course it was not a boat like any of ours for it was propelled by twelve oars, or paddles, operated by a very primitive steam engine. Nevertheless, it was the forerunner of later and better devices of a similar nature, and therefore Fitch is often credited with being the inventor of the steamboat. Perhaps, had he been able to go on with his schemes, he might have given the world something really significant in this direction; but as it was he simply pointed the way. His money gave out, the company would do nothing further for him, and after building a second boat that could go eight miles an hour instead of three he became discouraged and intemperate and let his genius go to ruin, dying later in poverty—a sad end to a life that might well have been a brilliant one. After Fitch came other experimenters, among them Oliver Evans of Philadelphia who seems to have been a man of no end of inventive vision."

"Wasn't he the one who tried sails on a railroad train?" inquired Steve, noting with pleasure the familiar name.

"He was that very person," nodded Mr. Ackerman. "He evidently had plenty of ideas; the only trouble was that they did not work very well. He had already applied steam to mills and wagons, and now he wanted to see what he could do with it aboard a boat. Either he was very impractical or else hard luck pursued his undertakings. At any rate, he had a boat built in Kentucky, an engine installed on it, and then he had the craft floated to New Orleans from which point he planned to make a trip up the Mississippi. But alas, before his boat was fully ready, there was a drop in the river and the vessel was left high and dry on the shore."

"Jove!" exclaimed Dick involuntarily.

"Pretty tough, wasn't it?" remarked Mr. Ackerman.

"What did he do then?" demanded Stephen. "Did he resurrect the boat?"

"No, it did not seem to be any use; instead he had the engine and boiler taken out and put into a saw mill where once again hard luck pursued him, for the mill was burned not long after. That was the end of Oliver Evans's steamboating."

Mr. Ackerman paused thoughtfully.

"Now while Fitch and those following him were working at the steamboat idea here in America, Robert Fulton, also a native of this country, was turning the notion over in his mind. Strangely enough, he had not intended to be an inventor for he was in France, studying to be a painter. During a visit to England he had already met several men who were interested in the steam engine and through them had informed himself pretty thoroughly about the uses and action of steam. In Paris he made the acquaintance of a Mr. Barlow and the two decided to raise funds and build a steamboat to run on the Rhone. This they did, but unfortunately the boat sank before any degree of success had been achieved. Then Fulton, not a whit discouraged, told the French Government that if they would furnish the money he would build a similar boat to navigate the Seine. The French, however, had no faith in the plan and promptly refused to back it."

"I'll bet they wished afterward they had!" interrupted Dick.

"I presume they did," agreed Mr. Ackerman. "It is very easy to see one's mistakes after a thing is all over. Anyway, Mr. Barlow came back to America, where Fulton joined him, and immediately the latter went to building a steamboat that should be practical. On his way home he had stopped in England and purchased various parts for his engine and when he got to New York he had these set up in an American boat. You must not for a moment imagine that everything about this first steamboat of Fulton's was original. On the contrary he combined what was best in the experiments of previous inventors. He adopted the English type of engine, the side paddle, everything that seemed to him workable. Barlow and a rich New Yorker named Livingston backed the enterprise. Now some time before the State of New York, half in jest and half in irony, had granted to Livingston the sole right to navigate the New York waters by means of ships driven by steam or fire engines. At the time the privilege had caused much mirth for there were nothing but sailing ships in existence, and there was no prospect of there ever being any other kind of vessel. Hence the honor was a very empty one and nobody expected a time would arrive when it would ever be of any value to its owner. But Livingston was a shrewder and more far-seeing man than were the old legislators at Albany, and to Fulton he was an indispensable ally."

The boy listened breathlessly.

"How these three men managed to keep their secret so well is a mystery; but apparently they did, and when Fulton suddenly appeared on the Hudson with a steamboat named the Clermont for Mr. Livingston's country seat on the Palisades, the public was amazed. A model of the boat with a miniature engine had previously been tried out so the three promoters had little doubt that their project would work, and it did. As the new craft moved along without any sails to propel it the sensation it made was tremendous. People were divided as to whether to flee from it in terror or linger and marvel at it. It is a pity that the newspapers of the period did not take the advent of this remarkable invention more seriously for it would have been interesting to know more of the impression it created. As it was little is recorded about it. Probably the very silence of the press is significant of the fact that there was scant faith in the invention, and that it was considered too visionary a scheme to dignify with any notice. However that may be, the newspapers passed this wonderful event by with almost no comment. History, however, is more generous and several amusing stories have come down to us of the fright the Clermont caused as she crept along the river at dusk with a shower of vermilion sparks rising from her funnel. One man who came around a bend of the stream in his boat and encountered the strange apparition for the first time told his wife afterward that he had met the devil traveling the river in a sawmill."

There was a shout of laughter from the boys.

"The trial trip, to which many distinguished guests were invited, took place a few days later, and after improving some of the defects that cropped up the steamboat was advertised to run regularly between New York and Albany. Now if you think this announcement was hailed with joy you are much mistaken," continued Mr. Ackerman, smiling to himself at some memory that evidently amused him. "On the contrary the owners of the sailing ships which up to this time had had the monopoly of traffic were furious with rage. So vehemently did they maintain that the river belonged to them that at last the matter went to the courts and Daniel Webster was retained as Fulton's counsel. The case attracted wide attention throughout the country, and when it was decided in Fulton's favor there was great excitement. Every sort of force was brought to bear to thwart the new steamboat company. Angry opponents tried to blow up the boat as it lay at the dock; attempts were made to burn it. At length affairs became so serious that a clause was appended to the court's decree which made it a public crime punishable by fine or imprisonment to attempt to injure the Clermont."

Mr. Ackerman paused to light a fresh cigar.

"From the moment the law took this stand the success of the undertaking became assured and it is interesting to see how quickly the very men who jeered loudest at the enterprise now came fawning and begging to have a part in it. Other steamboats were added to the line and soon rival firms began to construct steamboats of their own and try to break up Fulton's monopoly of the waters of the State. For years costly lawsuits raged, and in defiance of the right the New York legislature had granted to Livingston, the fiercest competition took place. Sometime I should like to tell you more of this phase of the story for it is a very exciting and interesting yarn. Yet in spite of all the strife and hatred that pursued him Fulton's river-boats and ferries continued to run."

"The State stuck to its bargain, then," murmured Steve, "and left Livingston the rights awarded him?"

"No," replied Mr. Ackerman. "For a time they clung to their agreement; but at last the courts withdrew the right as illegal, and poor Livingston, who had sunk the greater part of his fortune in the steamboat business, lived to see the fruit of his toil wrested from him. In point of fact, I believe the decision of the courts to have been a just one for no one person or group of persons should control the waterways of the country. You can see the wisdom of this yourself. Nevertheless, the decree hit Livingston pretty hard. It was the first step in the destruction of a monopoly," added Mr. Ackerman whimsically. "Since then such decrees have become common happenings in America, monopolies being considered a menace to national prosperity. Certainly in this case it was well that the Supreme Court of the United States decided that all waters of the country should be free to navigators, no matter in what kind of vessel they chose to sail."

"It was tough on Fulton and his friends, though, wasn't it?" observed Dick, who was plainly unconvinced as many another had been of the justice of the arguments.

"Yes," agreed Mr. Ackerman, smiling into his troubled eyes, "I grant you it was tough on them."



CHAPTER XIV

A STEAMBOAT TRIP BY RAIL

It was with a sense of deep regret that Stephen bade good-by to Mr. Ackerman and Dick and returned to the hotel to join his father. For the steamboat financier he had established one of those ardent admirations which a boy frequently cherishes toward a man of attractive personality who is older than himself; and for Dick he had a genuine liking. There was a quality very winning in the youthful East-sider and now that the chance for betterment had come his way Steve felt sure that the boy would make good. There was a lot of pluck and grit in that wiry little frame; a lot of honesty too, Stephen reflected, with a blush. He was not at all sure but that in the matter of fearlessness and moral courage the New York lad had the lead of him. Certainly he was not one who shrank from confessing when he had been at fault which, Steve owned with shame, could not be said of himself.

For several days he had not thought of his automobile escapade but now once more it came to his mind, causing a cloud to chase the joyousness from his face. Alas, was he never to be free of the nagging mortification that had followed that single act? Was it always to lurk in the background and make him ashamed to confront the world squarely? Well, it was no use regretting it now. He had made his choice and he must abide by it.

Nevertheless he was not quite so spontaneously happy when he met his father at luncheon and recounted to him the happenings of the morning.

"Mr. Ackerman is taking a big chance with that boy," was Mr. Tolman's comment, when a pause came in the narrative. "I only hope he will not disappoint him. There must be a great difference between the standards of the two. However, Dick has some fine characteristics to build on—honesty and manliness. I think the fact that he showed no coward blood and was ready to stand by what he had done appealed to Ackerman. It proved that although they had not had the same opportunity in life they at least had some good stuff in common. You can't do much with a boy who isn't honest."

Stephen felt the blood beating in his cheeks.

Fortunately his father did not notice his embarrassment and as they soon were on their way to a picture show the memory that had so importunately raised its unwelcome head was banished by the stirring story of a Californian gold mine. Therefore by the time Stephen was ready to go to bed the ghost that haunted him was once more thrust into the background and he had gained his serenity. No, he was not troubled that night by dreams of his folly nor did he awaken with any remembrance of it. Instead he and his father chatted as they packed quite as pleasantly as if no specter stood between them.

"Well, son, have you enjoyed your holiday?" inquired Mr. Tolman, as they settled themselves in the great plush chairs of the parlor car and waited for the train to start.

"Yes, I've had a bully time, Dad."

"I'm glad of that," was the kind reply. "It was unlucky that my business took up so much more of my time than I had expected and that I had to leave you to amuse yourself instead of going about with you, as I had planned. It was too bad. However, if you have managed to get some fun out of your visit that is the main thing. In fact, I am not sure but that you rather enjoyed going about alone," concluded he mischievously.

Stephen smiled but did not reply. There was no denying that he had found being his own master a pleasant experience which had furnished him with a gratifying sense of freedom and belief in his own importance. What a tale he would have to tell the fellows at home! And how shocked his mother would be to hear that he had been turned loose in a great city in this unceremonious fashion! He could hear her now saying to his father:

"I don't see what you were thinking of, Henry, to let Stephen tear about all alone in a city like New York. I should have worried every instant if I had known what he was doing. Suppose anything had happened to him!"

Well, mercifully, nothing had happened,—that is, nothing worse than his falling into the hands of a detective and being almost arrested for robbery, reflected the boy with a grin.

Perhaps Mr. Tolman interpreted his thoughts for presently he observed with a smile:

"It is time you were branching out some for yourself, anyway, son. You are old enough now to be treated like a man, not like a little boy."

As he spoke he looked toward Stephen with an expression of such pride and affection that the force of it swept over the lad as it never had done before. What a bully sort his father was, he suddenly thought; and how genuinely he believed in him! Why not speak out now and clear up the wretched deception he had practiced, and start afresh with a clean conscience? With impulsive resolve he gripped the arms of the chair and pulled himself together for his confession. But just at the crucial moment there was a stir in the aisle and a porter followed by two belated passengers hurried into the train which was on the brink of departure. That they had made their connection by a very narrow margin was evident in their appearance, for both were hot and out of breath, and the stout colored porter puffed under the stress of his haste and the heavy luggage which weighed him down.

"It's these two chairs, sir," he gasped, as he tossed the new leather suit case into the rack. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"

"No," replied the traveler, thrusting a bill into the darkey's hand. Already the train was moving. "Keep the change," he added quickly.

"Thank you, sir! Thank you!" stammered the vanishing negro.

"Well, we caught it, didn't we, Dick? It didn't look at one time as if it were possible. That block of cars on the avenue was terrible. But we are off now! It was about the closest shave I ever made." Then he turned around. "Hullo!" he cried. "Who's this? Bless my soul!"

Both Mr. Tolman and Steve joined in the laugh of amazement.

"Well, if this isn't a great note!" went on Mr. Ackerman, still beaming with surprise. "I thought you people were not going until the afternoon train."

"I managed to finish up my business yesterday and get off earlier than I planned," Mr. Tolman explained. "But I did not know you had any intention of going in this direction."

"I hadn't until this morning," laughed the financier. "Then a telegram arrived saying they could take Dick at the New Haven school to which I had written if he entered right away, at the beginning of the term. So I dropped everything and here we are en route. It was rather short notice and things were a bit hectic; but by turning the whole apartment upside down, rushing our packing, and keeping the telephone wire hot we contrived to make the train."

"It is mighty nice for us," put in Mr. Tolman cordially. "So Dick is setting forth on his education, is he?"

"Yes, he is starting out to make of himself a good scholar, a good sport, a good athlete, and I hope a good man," returned the New Yorker.

"A pretty big order, isn't it, Dick?" laughed Mr. Tolman.

"It seems so," returned the boy.

"It is not a bit too big," interrupted Mr. Ackerman. "Dick knows he hasn't got to turn the trick all in a minute. He and I understand such things take time. But they can be done and we expect we are going to do them."

He flashed one of his rare smiles toward his protege and the lad smiled back frankly.

"I expect so, too," echoed Mr. Tolman. "You've got plenty of backers behind you, Dick, and you have a clear path ahead. That is all any boy needs."

"You're going back to school, aren't you, youngster?" Mr. Ackerman suddenly inquired of Stephen.

"Yes, sir. I start in next week."

"Decided yet whether you will be a railroad man like your Dad, or a steamboat man like me?" went on the New Yorker facetiously.

"Not yet."

"Oh, for shame! It should not take you any time at all to decide a question like that," the capitalist asserted teasingly. "What's hindering you?"

Stephen gave a mischievous chuckle.

"I can't decide until I have heard both sides," said he. "So far I know only half the steamboat story."

"I see! In other words you think that between here and New Haven I might beguile the time by going on with the yarn I began yesterday."

"That thought crossed my mind, sir,—yes."

"You should go into the diplomatic service, young man. Your talents are being wasted," observed Mr. Ackerman good-humoredly. "Well, I suppose I could romance for the benefit of you two boys for part of the way, at least. It will give your father, Steve, a chance to go into the other car and smoke. Where did we break off our story? Do you remember?"

"Where the United States said anybody had the right to sail anywhere he wanted to, in any kind of a boat he chose," piped Dick with promptness.

"Yes, yes. I recall it all now," said Mr. Ackerman. "The courts withdrew the grant giving Livingston the sole right to navigate the waters of New York State by means of steamboats. So you want to hear more about it, do you?"

"Yes!" came simultaneously from both the boys.

"Then all aboard! Tolman, you can read, or run off and enjoy your cigar. We are going on a steamboat cruise."

"Push off! You won't bother me," was the tolerant retort, as the elder man unfolded the morning paper.

Mr. Ackerman cleared his throat.

"Before this decree to give everybody an equal chance in navigating the waters of the country was handed down by the courts," he began, "various companies, in defiance of Livingston's contract, began building and running steamboats on the Hudson. Two rival boats were speedily in operation and it was only after a three years' lawsuit that they were legally condemned and handed over to Fulton to be broken up. Then the ferryboat people got busy and petitioned the New York Legislature for the right to run their boats to and fro between the New York and New Jersey sides of the river, and it is interesting to remember that it was on one of these ferry routes that Cornelius Vanderbilt, the great American financier, began his career."

"I never knew that!" ejaculated Dick, intent on the story.

"After the ruling of the Supreme Court in 1818 that all the waters of the country were free there was a rush to construct and launch steamers on the Hudson. The route was, you see, not only the most direct one between Albany and New York but it also lay in the line of travel between the eastern States and those of the west which were just being opened to traffic by the railroads and ships of the Great Lakes. Now you must not for a moment imagine that in those days there were any such vast numbers of persons traversing the country as there are now. Our early Americans worked hard and possessed only comparatively small fortunes so they had little money to throw away on travel simply for its own sake; moreover the War of 1812 had left the country poor. Nevertheless there were a good many persons who were obliged to travel, and it followed that each of the Hudson River lines of steamers was eager to secure their patronage. Hence a bitter competition arose between the rival steamboat companies."

He paused and smiled whimsically at some memory that amused him.

"Every inducement was offered the public by these battling forces. The older vessels were scrapped or reduced to tug service and finer steamboats were built; and once upon the water the engines were driven at full speed that quicker trips might lure passengers to patronize the swifter boats. Captains and firemen pitted their energies against one another and without scruple raced their ships, with the result that there were many accidents. In spite of this, however, the rivalry grew rather than diminished."

"It must have been great sport," remarked Stephen.

"Oh, there was sport in plenty," nodded Mr. Ackerman. "Had you lived during those first days of Hudson River transportation you would have seen all the sport you wanted to see, for the steamboat feud raged with fury, the several companies trying their uttermost to get the trade away from the Fulton people and from one another. Money became no object, the only aim being to win in the game. Fares were reduced from ten dollars to one, and frequently passengers were carried for nothing simply for the sheer spite of getting them away from other lines. Vanderbilt was in the thick of the fray, having now accumulated sufficient fortune to operate no less than fifty boats. Among the finest vessels were those of the Emerald Line; and the Swallow and the Rochester, two of the speediest rivals, were continually racing each other. The devices resorted to in order to ensnare passengers were very amusing: some boats carried bands; others served free meals; and because there were few newspapers in those days, and only limited means for advertising, runners were hired to go about the city or waylay prospective travelers at the docks and try to coax them into making their trip by some particular steamer."

"That was one way of getting business!" laughed Steve.

"And often a very effective way, too," rejoined Mr. Ackerman. "In June of 1847 a tremendously exciting race took place between the Oregon and the Vanderbilt, then a new boat, for a thousand dollars a side. The steamers left the Battery at eleven o'clock in the morning and a dense crowd turned out to see them start. For thirty miles they kept abreast; then the Oregon gained half a length and in passing the other boat bumped into her, damaging her wheelhouse. It was said at the time that the disaster was not wholly an accident. Certainly there were grounds for suspicion. As you may imagine, the calamity roused the rage of the competing boat. But the commander of the Oregon was undaunted by what he had done. All he wished was to win the race and that he was determined to do. He got up a higher and higher pressure of steam, and used more and more coal until, when it was time to return to New York, he discovered that his supply had given out and that he had no more fuel."

"And he had to give up the race?" queried Dick breathlessly.

"Not he! He wasn't the giving-up kind," said Mr. Ackerman. "Finding nothing at hand to run his boilers with he ordered all the expensive fittings of the boat to be torn up and cast into the fire—woodwork, furniture, carvings; anything that would burn. In that way he kept up his furious rate of speed and came in victorious by the rather close margin of twelve hundred feet."

"Bully for him!" cried Dick.

But Stephen did not echo the applause.

"It was not a square race," he said, "and he had no right to win. Anyway, his steamboat must have been pretty well ruined."

"I fancy it was an expensive triumph," owned Mr. Ackerman. "Without doubt it cost much more than the thousand dollars he won to repair the vessel. Still, he had the glory, and perhaps it was worth it to the company."

"Were there other races like that?" Dick asked.

"Yes, for years the racing went on until there were so many fires, explosions and collisions, that the steamer inspection law was put through to regulate the conditions of travel. It certainly was high time that something was done to protect the public, too, for such universal recklessness prevailed that everybody was in danger. Boats were overloaded; safety valves were plugged; boilers carried several times as much steam as they had any right to do, and many lives had been sacrificed before the government stepped in and put a stop to this strife for fame and money. Since then the traffic on the Hudson has dropped to a plane of sanity and is now carried on by fine lines of boats that conform to the rules for safety and efficient service."

"And what became of Mr. Vanderbilt?" interrogated Dick, who was a New Yorker to the core and had no mind to lose sight of the name with which he was familiar.

"Oh, Mr. Vanderbilt was a man who had many irons in the fire," replied Mr. Ackerman, smiling at the boy's eagerness. "He did not need to be pitied for just about this time gold was discovered in California and as the interest of the country swung in that direction Vanderbilt, ever quick to seize an opening wherever it presented itself, withdrew some of his steamers from the Hudson and headed them around to the Pacific coast instead."

"And your family, Mr. Ackerman, were mixed up in all this steamboat rumpus?" commented Steve suddenly.

"Yes, my grandfather was one of the Hudson River racers and quite as bad as the rest of them," the man replied. "Nevertheless he was a stanch, clever old fellow, and because he did his part toward building up the commerce and prosperity of the nation I have always regarded him with the warmest respect. I do not approve of all his methods, however, any more than I approve of many of the cut-throat business methods of to-day which sometime will be looked back upon with as much shame as these have been. There are moments, I must confess, when I wonder if we, with all our supposed enlightenment, have made any very appreciable advance over the frank and open racing done by our forefathers on the Hudson," reflected he half-humorously. "Perhaps we are a trifle more humane; and yet there is certainly much to be desired in the way we still sacrifice the public to our greed for money. An evil sometimes has to come to a climax to make us conscious of our injustice. Let us hope that our generation will not be so blind that it will not heed the warnings of its conscience, and instead delay until some such catastrophe comes upon it as pursued the racing boats of the Hudson River."



CHAPTER XV

THE ROMANCE OF THE CLIPPER SHIP

It was with genuine regret that Mr. Tolman and Stephen parted from Mr. Ackerman and Dick when the train reached New Haven.

"We shall not say good-by to Dick," Mr. Tolman declared, "for he is not to be very far away and I hope sometime he will come to Coventry and spend a holiday with us. Why don't you plan to do that too, Ackerman? Run over from New York for Thanksgiving and bring the boy with you. Why not?"

"That is very kind of you."

"But I mean it," persisted Mr. Tolman. "It is no perfunctory invitation. Plan to do it. We should all be delighted to have you. There is nothing in the world Mrs. Tolman loves better than a houseful of guests. Doris will be home from college and I should like you to see what a fine big daughter I have. As for Steve—"

"I wish you would come, Mr. Ackerman," interrupted the boy.

Mr. Ackerman hesitated.

"I tell you what we'll do," replied he at length. "We'll leave it to Dick. If he makes a good record at school and earns the holiday we will accept your invitation. If he doesn't we won't come. Is that a bargain, youngster?" he concluded, turning to the lad at his side.