Bob Chester's Grit; Or, From Ranch to Riches

by Frank V. Webster

  CHAPTER VII

  GOOD LUCK FROM BAD

  By dint of questioning, Bob reached the Weehawken ferry and was soon ona boat, gliding through the dark waters of the river toward the Jerseyshore.

  Never had the boy been on a ferryboat at night, and the spectaclepresented by the brilliantly lighted buildings filled him with wonder.Fortunate was it for him that he was so enthralled, for the boat hadbumped into her slip and the people were rushing ashore before he hadtime to realize that he was leaving behind all he had ever known of ahome.

  Indeed, so absorbed was he in gazing about him, that it was not till oneof the crew exclaimed: "Hey, kid, get ashore. You can't beat your wayback on this boat," that he knew they had reached Weehawken.

  "I'm not trying to beat my way," rejoined Bob. "I'm not going back toNew York. I'm going to Chicago--and then to Oklahoma," he added in aboyish attempt to impress the boatman with his importance.

  "Well, you'd better hurry if you want to make the train for Chicago,"returned the other. "This is the last boat before it starts. You'll haveto hustle if you've any baggage, or are you travelling 'light'?"

  But Bob had not waited to hear the comment upon his lack of equipment,and, before the words had left the mouth of the boatman, was running upthe gangway and into the station.

  The glare of the lights after the darkness of the river and the manypeople scurrying to and fro, together with the porters and trainmencalling and shouting, bewildered the lad who had never been so far awayfrom home before, and he stood in the middle of the station as thoughdazed.

  Noticing the woe-begone figure, the station policeman walked over towhere Bob was standing.

  "What's the matter, kid? Looking for some one?"

  "No. I'm going away, to Chicago. I wish you'd tell me where to go to geta chair car."

  "Not running away from home, are you?" inquired the official, scanningBob's face searchingly.

  This constant suggestion that he was running away angered the boy, andhe determined to put an end to it.

  "No, I'm not," he retorted impatiently. "I'm going out West to become aranchman, though I don't see why it is any of your business. The man onthe boat told me I would have to hurry if I was going to catch mytrain."

  "Got any money?" inquired the policeman, ignoring the boy's manner.

  "Surely." And Bob drew forth the precious ten dollars he had managed tosave from the pittance his guardian had paid him and all that remainedfrom the money the magistrate had given him.

  "All right. Come with me. I'll show you," responded the official,assured by the sight of the money that Bob was not trying to steal aride on the train.

  Quickly the two made their way to the ticket office.

  "Ticket for this youngster," announced the policeman.

  "Where to?" asked the agent.

  "Chicago, in a chair car," answered Bob.

  "'Leven thirty," returned the man in the ticket office, turning to hisrack and taking down a long strip of paper, which he stamped rapidly.

  With trembling fingers, Bob counted out the money, and shoved itthrough the opening in the window.

  "Correct," muttered the agent, as he counted the roll of bills. "Nowhurry, or you won't get your train."

  As Bob received the amazingly long ticket, his breast swelled withpride. Its possession meant the beginning of his long-cherished dream,and he started to study it, when the voice of the officer warned him:

  "Come this way, kid. Go through gate No. 3. You can read your ticketwhen you get on the train; you'll have time enough before you reachChicago. Good luck on your ranch," he added in a kindly banter.

  But Bob had no time to reply, for the trainmen were already shoutingtheir "All aboard for Chicago," and it was only by running down theplatform that he was able to get on a car just as the wheels began tomove.

  The car in which Bob found himself was upholstered in dark green, andthe woodwork was of polished mahogany. Never had he seen anything somagnificent, and as he sank into a high-back seat, he uttered a sigh ofcontentment.

  But he was not allowed to enjoy his luxury long.

  While he was gazing with wide-staring eyes at everything about him, acolored porter entered the car and languidly glanced from one toanother of the occupants, as though making a mental calculation of thetips he would receive, when his eyes fell on the poorly-clad figure ofBob, holding his box of lunch on his knees.

  With an exclamation of surprise, the porter hastened to where the ladwas sitting.

  "What you-all doin' in hyar?" he demanded harshly.

  The tone in which the question was asked now caused the otherpassengers, who had hitherto been too busy getting themselvescomfortably settled to notice Bob, to turn their gaze upon him.

  "I'm going to Chicago," returned Bob.

  But the hostile look on the porter's face scared him, and he could nothelp a tremor that crept into his voice as he made his reply.

  "Whar's yer ticket?" snarled the negro.

  Reaching into his pocket, Bob drew forth the long strip of paper andpresented it to the officious porter.

  "The ticket's all right," grunted the man. "Now, whar's youah parlahcyar ticket?"

  "My what?" asked Bob.

  "Youah parlah cyar ticket."

  "That's all the ticket I have," returned Bob. "Isn't that enough? I toldthe man I wanted a chair-car ticket, and that's what he gave me."

  "Huh! I thought so. This ain't no chair cyar. This is a parlah cyar.The cyar you-all want is up front, four cyars ahead. Now get out of hyarlively."

  "But I can't get out while the train's going," protested Bob. "I mightget hurt, and--and besides, I want to go to Chicago, and if I get offI'll lose my train."

  And in Bob's voice, as he pictured himself in his mind left beside therailroad tracks in a strange place and at night, there was a plaintiveappeal.

  "You don't have to git off ther train," snarled the porter. "All yougotta do is to walk right fru ther other cyars, three of 'em, mind you,and you'll find your chair cyar. The idea of you-all getting into aparlah cyar with a chair-cyar ticket."

  Reassured by the information that it would be unnecessary for him toleave the train in order to reach the proper car, Bob rose from the softand luxurious seat slowly.

  "Come, hurry," growled the porter, making a move as though to seize Bobby the arm and drag him from the car.

  But before he could do so, the stern voice of an elderly andwell-dressed man, who was occupying the second seat ahead, exclaimed:

  "Porter, can't you see this boy is unaccustomed to travelling? Whydon't you show him the way to the chair car?"

  "What, _me_ take that crittur fru three coaches? It's----"

  But the negro was not given the opportunity to finish.

  Bumping into the porter so that he knocked him to one side, the man whohad taken the negro to task for his treatment of Bob exclaimed:

  "Then _I_ will show him the way. Come, son."

  And he held out his hand, while all anger had disappeared from his face,as he looked at Bob kindly.

  "My name is Bob Chester," said the boy, taking the outstretched hand andshaking it.

  "And mine is Horace Perkins," returned the elder man, unable to restraina smile as he thought of the unceremonious introduction to himself, whopractically owned the road. "I am sorry you should have had sounpleasant an experience."

  And as the railroad magnate and the poorly-clad boy passed from sight ofthose in the car, the porter moaned:

  "Oh, lawdy, lawdy! Ah sho has done got mahself in a mess."

  And the comments of the other passengers, as they prophesied thepunishment the railroad president would inflict on his uncivilemployee, told him that they agreed with his opinion thoroughly.

  As Bob and his distinguished guide reached the chair car, the latterbeckoned to the brakeman and said:

  "I am Mr. Perkins. I presume you know that I am the president of thisroad. I want you to keep an eye on this boy. He isn't accustomed totravelling. He'll probably need
something to eat to-morrow, so eithertake him into one of the railroad restaurants, or bring him some lunchinto the car. Here's some money for his meals."

  But before his benefactor could withdraw his hand from his pocket, Bobexclaimed:

  "I have my lunch with me, right here in this box, Mr. Perkins. I'm justas much obliged to you, though."

  A moment the railroad president hesitated, then realizing from the lookon Bob's face that he would give offense should he press his gift, hesmiled and said:

  "All right, son. Just as you wish. But I want you to be my guest atbreakfast in the morning."

  And again shaking hands with Bob, Mr. Perkins left the car.