Kitobni o'qish: «Dave Porter and His Double: or, The Disapperarance of the Basswood Fortune», sahifa 10

CHAPTER XIX
OFF FOR TEXAS

“Glorious news!”

“Oh, Dave! have you heard from Mr. Ramsdell?” cried his sister Laura.

“Yes, here is a letter. And it enclosed another from the Mentor Construction Company. They are going to give me an opening with that portion of the concern that is now operating in Texas, building railroad bridges.”

“Oh, Dave! then you will really have to go away down there?” burst out Jessie, her face falling a trifle. “It’s a dreadfully long way off!”

“Well, it’s what I expected,” he answered. “A fellow can’t expect to become a civil engineer and work in his own backyard,” and he grinned a trifle. “This letter from Mr. Ramsdell states that Roger will be given an opening also.”

“With you, of course?” queried Laura.

“He doesn’t state that. But he knew we wanted to stick together, so I suppose it’s all right.”

“When do you have to start?” questioned Jessie.

“Just as soon as we can get ready–according to Mr. Ramsdell’s letter. He says he is also sending word to Roger.”

As was to be expected, the tidings quite excited our hero. Now that he had passed the preliminary examination and was to go out for actual field practice, he felt that he was really and truly on his way to becoming a civil engineer. It was the first step towards the realization of a dream that had been his for some time.

Dave’s father and his uncle, as well as Mr. and Mrs. Wadsworth, were greatly interested in the news.

“There is one thing about it, Dave,” said his parent; “I have made a number of inquiries, and have learned that the Mentor Construction Company is one of the largest and finest in this country. They employ a number of first-class engineers; so it is likely that you will receive the very best of instruction, and I sincerely hope that you will make the best of your opportunities.”

“I am going to do my level best, Dad,” he returned earnestly. “I think I’m a mighty lucky boy,” he added, with a smile.

“I think you owe Mr. Ramsdell a good deal,” said his Uncle Dunston. “Of course, we have paid him for his services, but that isn’t everything.”

“I know it,” Dave returned; “and I’m either going to thank him in person or else send him the nicest letter that I can write.”

Now that he was really going to leave home, Mrs. Wadsworth, as well as Laura and Jessie, took it upon their shoulders to see that Dave should be properly taken care of so far as wearing apparel went.

“But oh, Dave! it’s awful to think of your going so far away!” said Jessie, one day, when the two were alone in the library. “The house will be dreadfully lonely after you are gone.”

“It won’t be much different from when I was at Oak Hall, Jessie,” he answered.

“Oh, yes, it will be, Dave. Texas is a long way off. And my father says the construction work that the Mentor Company is doing is close to the Mexican border. What if you should have trouble with some of those awful Mexican bandits?” and the girl shuddered.

“I don’t expect any trouble of that kind. Practically all the fighting that has been going on has been on Mexican soil on the other side of the Rio Grande. As I understand it, the nearest point that the Mentor Construction Company reaches to Mexico is some miles from the border.”

“Well, that’s close enough with so much fighting going on,” Jessie pouted. “I don’t want any of those awful Mexican revolutionists to fire at you.”

“Don’t worry, Jessie,” Dave answered; and then caught her by both hands and drew her closer. “You’re going to write to me regularly, aren’t you?” he continued, earnestly.

“Of course, Dave! And don’t you forget to answer every letter,” she replied quickly.

“Oh, I’ll do that, never fear!”

“And do you really think you are going to enjoy becoming a civil engineer?”

“I’m positive of it, Jessie. The more I see of the profession, the more I am in love with it. It’s a wonderful thing. Just think of being able to plan out a great big bridge across a broad river, or some wonderful dam, or a tall sky-scraper, or an elevated railroad, or a tunnel under a gigantic mountain, or a tube under some river, or–”

“Oh, my gracious me, Dave! are you going to do all those wonderful things?” gasped the girl, her eyes opening widely.

“I don’t expect I’ll ever have the chance to do all those things, Jessie; but I’m going to try my best to do some of them. Of course, you must remember that at the present time civil engineering is divided into a great many branches. Now, for instance, I didn’t mention anything about mining engineering, and that’s a wonderful profession in itself.”

“Oh, Dave! it’s wonderful–simply wonderful!” cried the girl. “And you are going to be a wonderful man–I know it!” and she looked earnestly into his eyes.

“If I ever do get to be a wonderful man, it’s going to be on your account, Jessie,” he returned in a low voice. “You have been my inspiration. Don’t forget that;” and he drew her closer than before.

“Oh, Dave!”

“It’s true, Jessie. And I only hope that I’ll make good–and that too before I am very much older. Then I think you already know what I am going to do?”

“What?” she whispered, and dropped her eyes.

“I am going to ask your folks for your hand in marriage,” he continued firmly, reading his answer in her face.

Word had come in from Roger that he too was getting ready to go to Texas, and that both of the youths were to work together, as had been anticipated. As the senator’s son was in Washington, it was arranged that Dave was to join him in the Capitol City, and then the two were to journey to Texas.

Ben had heard about Dave’s proposed departure for the South, and he came over several times to see his former Oak Hall chum before the latter left home.

“Any news regarding the miniatures?” questioned Dave, during the last of these visits.

“Not much,” answered the real estate dealer’s son. “The police thought they had one or two clues, but they have all turned out to be false. They arrested one fellow in Pittsburgh, thinking he was Tim Crapsey, but he turned out to be somebody else.”

“Then they haven’t any word at all about Ward Porton?”

“No, that rascal seems to have disappeared from the face of the earth.”

“How is your father getting along, Ben?”

“He isn’t doing so well, Dave. This loss of the miniatures was a terrible blow to him. You see, the real estate business lately has not been quite as good as it might be. My father went into several pretty heavy investments, and he needed a little more money to help him through. So when he got word about this fortune in pictures, he at once thought that he could sell some of the miniatures and use the proceeds in his real estate deals. Now that end of the business is at a standstill.”

“Is your father actually suffering for the want of some cash?” asked our hero, quickly. “If he is, I think my father or my Uncle Dunston can help him out.”

“Your father has already promised to assist him, and so has Mr. Wadsworth, Dave. But that isn’t the thing. You know my father is an independent sort of man, and it worries him to think that he can’t stand entirely on his own feet in his real estate transactions. Of course, if he were well enough to be around I suppose he could adjust matters without any special assistance. But it’s hard lines when things go wrong and you are flat on your back in bed.”

“Yes, I can understand that. And it must worry your mother, too.”

“Oh, it does! Ma isn’t the same woman. She is awfully pale and quite thin. The doctor told her not to worry so, or she’d be down on her back, too.”

“Well, you’ll have to do what you can to cheer up both of them.” Dave drew a long breath. “I do wish somebody would catch those two rascals, not only on your account but on my account also. I’d like to settle matters with Porton, for having impersonated me at those stores, and for taking my cap and overcoat.”

“We’ve offered a reward of five thousand dollars for the return of the miniatures, and another thousand each for the capture of the thieves,” announced Ben. “That ought to be a strong inducement for the detectives to do all they possibly can.”

“We thought you might possibly get an offer from Porton or Crapsey, or both of them, to return the miniatures for a certain amount,” went on Dave. “But you say no such offer has come in?”

“No.”

“Would your father consider it if it did come in?”

“I don’t know what he would do, Dave. Of course, he’d hate to give up money to a thief; but, just the same, he’d hate it worse if he never got the miniatures back.”

At last came the time for Dave to leave home. His trunk had been packed and shipped on ahead. There was still considerable snow on the ground; so he was taken to the depot in the big Wadsworth sleigh, the girls and his father accompanying him.

“Good-bye, Davy, my boy!” cried his Uncle Dunston, when he was ready to leave the house. “Now I expect you to give a good account of yourself while with that construction company.”

“I’ll do what I can,” he answered.

“And do keep away from the Mexicans,” added Mrs. Wadsworth with a sigh.

“You trust David to do the right thing,” came from old Caspar Potts, his mellow eyes beaming brightly. “David is all right. He’s my boy, and I’m proud of him,” and he nodded his head over and over again.

For the girls, the drive to the depot was all too short. Laura had so many things to say to her brother that she hardly knew what to speak of first. As for poor Jessie, she felt so bad she could scarcely speak, and when she looked at Dave there were unbidden tears in her eyes.

“Now don’t look at it that way,” David whispered, when he caught sight of the tears. “I’ll be back again before a great while.”

“Oh, Dave, I–I–ca–can’t help it,” she murmured. “I–I–think so–so–much of–of–you!” and then, for the moment, she hid her face on his shoulder.

Mr. Porter had a few words of advice to give, and he had hardly finished when the train rolled into the station. Then Dave shook hands with his father, and kissed each of the girls, and climbed on board.

“Good-bye, my son!” called Mr. Porter.

“Good-bye, Dad! Take care of yourself while I’m gone,” he shouted back. “Good-bye, Laura! Good-bye, Jessie!”

“Good-bye, Dave!” returned the sister, waving her hand.

Jessie tried to speak but could not, and so she too waved a farewell.

Then the train rolled from the Crumville station, slowly gathering speed, and finally disappearing in the distance.

At last our hero was off to become a full-fledged civil engineer.

CHAPTER XX
IN NEW YORK CITY

“Dave Porter!”

“Buster Beggs!” cried our hero, his face lighting up. “Where in the world did you come from?”

“Just got off the accommodation coming the other way,” announced Joseph Beggs, otherwise known as Buster, a fat youth who had long been one of Dave’s Oak Hall classmates.

“Are you alone?” questioned our hero. He had just stepped from the local train to change to the express for New York City; and he had fairly run into Buster, who was standing on the platform flanked by several suitcases.

“No, I’m not alone,” answered the fat youth. “Shadow Hamilton and Luke Watson are with me.”

“You don’t say so!” and our hero’s face showed his pleasure. “Are you bound for New York?” he questioned quickly.

“Yes, we are going to take the express.”

“Fine! I am going there myself.”

“Got a seat in the parlor car?”

“Yes. Number twelve, car two.”

“Isn’t that wonderful! We have eleven, thirteen and fourteen!” answered Buster Beggs.

“Hello there, Dave Porter!” shouted another youth, as he stepped out of the waiting-room of the depot. “How are you anyway?” and he came up, swinging a banjo-case from his right hand to his left so that he might shake hands. Luke Watson had always been one of the favorite musicians at Oak Hall, playing the banjo and the guitar very nicely, and singing well.

“Mighty glad to see you, Luke!” cried Dave, and wrung the extended hand with such vigor that the former musician of Oak Hall winced. Then Dave looked over the other’s shoulder and saw a third lad approaching–a youth who was as thin as he was tall. “How is our little boy, Shadow, to-day?” he continued, as Maurice Hamilton came closer.

“Great Scott! Am I blind or is it really Dave Porter?” burst out Shadow Hamilton.

“No, you’re not blind, Shadow, and it’s really yours truly,” laughed Dave. And then as another handshake followed he continued: “What are you going down to New York City for? To pick up some new stories?”

“Pick up stories?” queried the former story teller of Oak Hall, in perplexity. “I don’t have to pick them up. I have–”

“About fourteen million stories in pickle,” broke in Buster Beggs.

“Fourteen million!” snorted Luke Watson. “You had better say about fourteen! Shadow tells the same stories over and over again.”

“Say, that puts me in mind of a story!” cried the youth mentioned, his face lighting up. “Once on a time there was a–”

“Oh, my, Shadow! are you going to start right away?” demanded Dave, with a broad grin on his face. “Can’t you give a fellow a chance to catch his breath? This is a great surprise–meeting you three on my way to the city. And to think we are going to be together in one of the parlor cars, too!”

“Oh, you can’t lose the Oak Hall boys!” cried Buster. “Say, let me tell you something,” he went on. “Luke has written a song about Oak Hall that is about the finest thing I ever heard.”

“It ought to be if it mentions us,” answered Dave, with a boldness that took away much of the conceit.

“Say, you haven’t let me tell that story!” interrupted Shadow, with a disconcerted look on his thin face. “Now, as I was saying, there was once a–”

“Not now, Shadow!”

“You can tell it on the way to New York!”

“Provided the conductor will give you written permission.”

“Not much!” returned the would-be story-teller. “If I can’t tell that story now, I’m going to be mum forever.” He suddenly looked at Dave. “What is taking you to New York?” he inquired.

“I’m on my way to Texas,” answered Dave, and then told his former classmates of how he and Roger had passed the preliminary examination as civil engineers and of how they were now going to take up field work in the Lone Star State.

“Say, that’s great!” exclaimed Buster, in admiration. “I wish I was going to do something like that.”

“So do I,” added Luke, while Shadow nodded in assent.

The other lads had many questions to ask, and in return told Dave much about themselves. In the midst of the conversation the express train for the metropolis rolled in and the four youths lost no time in clambering aboard. They found their seats with ease, and quickly settled themselves.

“That’s a fierce loss that the Basswoods sustained,” remarked Luke. “I read all about it in the newspapers. That fellow, Ward Porton, must be a peach.”

“I should say he was a lemon so far as Dave was concerned,” said Buster, with a slow wink of his eye.

“Speaking of peaches puts me in mind of another story,” cried Shadow. “A man had a tree in his garden and–”

“Oh, Shadow, why this infliction!”

“Have we really got to listen?”

“How much will you pay us if we keep still until you have finished?”

“Yes, you’ve got to listen, and I won’t pay you a cent for it, either,” retorted the would-be story-teller. “This is a short one. A man had a fruit-tree in his garden, and he told a friend of his that he got three kinds of fruit from it. His friend didn’t believe it, so he told his friend: ‘Why, it was dead easy. I went out in the garden to pick an apple. I picked one, and then I picked a pair. One was no good, but another was a peach.’”

“Wow! listen to that!”

“Shadow must have had a peach of a time getting up that story,” commented Luke, evidently feeling himself justified.

“Good thing there are not a pair of them,” came from Dave.

“Such stories are the fruits of idleness,” was added by Buster, solemnly.

“Oh, don’t you poke fun at that joke,” retorted Shadow. “It’s a good deal better than any you could get up.”

Dave learned that Luke Watson’s folks were now living in New York City, and that Luke had invited Buster and Shadow to spend a week with him.

“It’s too bad you can’t stop off, at least for a day or two,” said Luke to Dave. “It would suit me down to the ground to have you join us.”

“And I’d like first-rate to do it, Luke,” answered our hero. “But I promised to be in Washington by to-morrow, and that means that I’ve got to take the midnight train from New York City.”

“Well, we’ll get down to New York by three o’clock this afternoon. That will give us nine hours in which to have a good time. You’ve got to come up to our house for dinner,” continued Luke; and so it was arranged.

“I was wondering what I would do with myself this evening,” said our hero. “I don’t mind going around the city in the daylight, but after it is dark it is rather hard for a stranger to put in his time, unless he wants to go to some kind of show.”

“We might all go to a moving-picture show after dinner,” suggested Buster. “I’ll blow you to front seats,” he added generously.

“You’ll have to make it a seat farther back than that for me,” put in Shadow. “A front seat at a moving-picture show is no good,” and at this there was a general snicker.

“We’ll see about the show after we have had dinner,” said Luke.

The time on the train was spent in talk about Oak Hall and their numerous classmates, many of them now well scattered throughout the States.

“Polly Vane has gone into business, so I hear,” announced Luke. “He’s in real estate, and in spite of the fact that he’s a regular dude they tell me he is doing very well.”

“Well, Polly ought to do well,” answered Dave, who had not forgotten that the student who acted so very girlishly had at graduation stood as high in his percentage as our hero himself had done.

“And they say Chip Macklin is doing pretty well, too,” put in Buster, referring to a small lad who had once been a toady to Gus Plum, the Hall bully.

“Well, Plum is doing well,” returned Dave. “I’m glad he reformed. Evidently there was much better stuff in him than there was in Jasniff and Merwell.”

“Oh, Jasniff and Merwell were thoroughly bad eggs,” announced Luke. “I’ll never forget, Dave, how Jasniff once tried to brain you with an Indian club.”

“Say, speaking about bad eggs, puts me in mind of another story,” cried Shadow. “A lady went into a store and asked the store-keeper’s clerk how much the eggs were. The clerk–Now don’t interrupt me, because this isn’t a very long story,” pleaded the would-be story teller. “The clerk was only a small boy, and he hadn’t been in the business very long, so he told the lady, ‘The really fresh eggs are fifty cents, and the almost fresh eggs are forty cents, and those that ain’t so fresh are thirty-five cents, and the rotten eggs are thirty cents.’”

“Oh, Shadow! what a story!”

“Haven’t you got any fresher than that?”

“You can’t make anybody believe any such yarn as that.”

“That story is absolutely true,” returned the story teller, soberly. “If you don’t believe it, you come down to the town of Necopopec, Maine, and on the principal street of the town I’ll show you the town pump where that boy used to get a drink three times a day,” and at this sally there was a general laugh.

At last the train rolled into the Grand Central Terminal at Forty-Second Street, New York City, and, alighting, the lads made their way through the spacious depot to the crowded thoroughfare beyond. Here taxicabs were numerous, and the youths piled into one, leaving the driver to look after their suit-cases. Dave’s trunk had been checked through to Washington.

Luke’s family lived in the vicinity of Central Park, and it did not take the chums long to reach the home. Here they were greeted by Mrs. Watson, Luke’s father being away on business. Then Luke took the lads up to his own room, where all proceeded to make themselves at home.

At a little after five Mr. Watson came in to greet them, and about an hour later all sat down to a sumptuous dinner, to which it is needless to say each of the boys applied himself diligently.

“I see by the papers that they are showing a very fine war spectacle at one of the photo-play houses,” announced Luke. “How would you fellows like to go and see it?”

This was agreeable to all, and a little later the chums left the Watson house to go to the theater, which was about ten blocks farther downtown.

“If we get there by half-past seven, we can take in the first show of the evening,” announced Luke. “That will give us a chance to do some other things before it is time for Dave to catch his train.”

The war spectacle proved very entertaining to all the youths, and they were rather sorry when it came to an end. Then Buster proposed that they walk down the Great White Way, as a certain portion of Broadway has been designated.

The boys had been walking for the best part of half an hour, taking in various sights, including the wonderfully illuminated signs, when suddenly, as they passed through a rather dense crowd, Shadow plucked Dave by the arm.

“What is it?” questioned our hero, quickly, for he saw that the former story-teller of Oak Hall was much excited.

“That fellow we just passed, Dave!” cried Shadow.

“What of him?”

“Why, he looked just like you!”

“You don’t mean it!” gasped Dave, and came to a sudden halt. “If he looked like me it must have been Ward Porton!”