“He will,” said his mother; but Ham’s face put on a somewhat doubtful look.
“I’m not quite sure about Dab,” he said slowly. “If things ain’t just right, he’s the sort of boy that wouldn’t say a word about it. Well, I must say I liked what I saw of Mrs. Myers’s notions about feeding people.”
THE BOYS ON THEIR TRAVELS. A GREAT CITY, AND A GREAT DINNER.
The conductor of that train need not have been much alarmed at falling in with a “picnic” of any moderate size, for he would have had room in his train to seat a good part of it, at least.
The boys had no difficulty in getting seats “all together.” That is, they found four empty ones, two on each side, right opposite; and when they had turned over the front seats, there they were. Ford and Frank were facing Dabney and Dick on the right; and the two Hart boys were facing each other on the left, each with a whole seat to himself.
Almost the first thing Joe did, after taking possession, was to lean over, and whisper,—
“Look out, Fuz,—keep your secret.”
“Catch me spoiling a good joke.”
The other party seemed disposed to keep pretty quiet for a while; the first break of any consequence, in the silence, coming when Ford Foster exclaimed,—
“Dab, it was right along here.”
“Where the pig had his collision with my train, first time I was over here.”
“Did you hear him squeal?” asked Frank, as he peered through the window.
“The pig? No; but you ought to have heard the engine squeal, when it saw him coming.”
The story had to be all told over again, of course, and did good service in getting their thoughts in order for the trip before them. Up to the mention of the pig, it had somehow seemed to Dab as if the railway-platform at the station, and all the people on it, had kept company with the train; and Frank Harley found himself calculating the distance between that car and the “mission” at Rangoon in far-away India.
As for Ford Foster, he stood in less need of any “pig” than the rest, from the fact that he had a large-sized idea in his head.
He kept it there, too, until that train pulled up within reaching distance of one of the Brooklyn ferries. Before them lay the swift tide of the broad East River; and beyond that, with its borders of crowded docks and bristling masts, lay the streets and squares, and swarmed the multitudes, of the great city of New York.
“Ford,” said Dabney, “you’re captain this time. What are we to do now?”
“Well, if I ain’t captain, I guess I’d better do a little steering. We must give our checks to the expressman, and have our luggage carted over to the Grand Central Depot.”
“Will it be sure to get there in good time?”
“Of course it wouldn’t if we were in any hurry; but our train doesn’t leave until three o’clock, and the express won’t fail to have it there before that.”