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The Complete Works of Mark Twain. Mark Twain
Читать онлайн.Название The Complete Works of Mark Twain
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isbn 4064066448783
Автор произведения Mark Twain
Издательство Bookwire
“When do you go?” was Philip’s next question, after some moments of silence.
“Tomorrow. Is that too soon?”
“No, its not too soon. I’ve been ready to go anywhere for six months. The fact is, Henry, that I’m about tired of trying to force myself into things, and am quite willing to try floating with the stream for a while, and see where I will land. This seems like a providential call; it’s sudden enough.”
The two young men who were by this time full of the adventure, went down to the Wall street office of Henry’s uncle and had a talk with that wily operator. The uncle knew Philip very well, and was pleased with his frank enthusiasm, and willing enough to give him a trial in the western venture. It was settled therefore, in the prompt way in which things are settled in New York, that they would start with the rest of the company next morning for the west.
On the way up town these adventurers bought books on engineering, and suits of India-rubber, which they supposed they would need in a new and probably damp country, and many other things which nobody ever needed anywhere.
The night was spent in packing up and writing letters, for Philip would not take such an important step without informing his friends. If they disapprove, thought he, I’ve done my duty by letting them know. Happy youth, that is ready to pack its valise, and start for Cathay on an hour’s notice.
“By the way,” calls out Philip from his bedroom, to Henry, “where is St. Jo.?”
“Why, it’s in Missouri somewhere, on the frontier I think. We’ll get a map.”
“Never mind the map. We will find the place itself. I was afraid it was nearer home.”
Philip wrote a long letter, first of all, to his mother, full of love and glowing anticipations of his new opening. He wouldn’t bother her with business details, but he hoped that the day was not far off when she would see him return, with a moderate fortune, and something to add to the comfort of her advancing years.
To his uncle he said that he had made an arrangement with some New York capitalists to go to Missouri, in a land and railroad operation, which would at least give him a knowledge of the world and not unlikely offer him a business opening. He knew his uncle would be glad to hear that he had at last turned his thoughts to a practical matter.
It was to Ruth Bolton that Philip wrote last. He might never see her again; he went to seek his fortune. He well knew the perils of the frontier, the savage state of society, the lurking Indians and the dangers of fever. But there was no real danger to a person who took care of himself. Might he write to her often and, tell her of his life. If he returned with a fortune, perhaps and perhaps. If he was unsuccessful, or if he never returned — perhaps it would be as well. No time or distance, however, would ever lessen his interest in her. He would say goodnight, but not goodbye.
In the soft beginning of a Spring morning, long before New York had breakfasted, while yet the air of expectation hung about the wharves of the metropolis, our young adventurers made their way to the Jersey City railway station of the Erie road, to begin the long, swinging, crooked journey, over what a writer of a former day called a causeway of cracked rails and cows, to the West.
CHAPTER XIII.
What ever to say be toke in his entente,
his langage was so fayer & pertynante,
yt semeth unto manys herying not only the worde,
but veryly the thyng.
Caxton’s Book of Curtesye.
In the party of which our travelers found themselves members, was Duff Brown, the great railroad contractor, and subsequently a well-known member of Congress; a bluff, jovial Bost’n man, thick-set, close shaven, with a heavy jaw and a low forehead — a very pleasant man if you were not in his way. He had government contracts also, custom houses and dry docks, from Portland to New Orleans, and managed to get out of congress, in appropriations, about weight for weight of gold for the stone furnished.
Associated with him, and also of this party, was Rodney Schaick, a sleek New York broker, a man as prominent in the church as in the stock exchange, dainty in his dress, smooth of speech, the necessary complement of Duff Brown in any enterprise that needed assurance and adroitness.
It would be difficult to find a pleasanter traveling party, one that shook off more readily the artificial restraints of Puritanic strictness, and took the world with good-natured allowance. Money was plenty for every attainable luxury, and there seemed to be no doubt that its supply would continue, and that fortunes were about to be made without a great deal of toil. Even Philip soon caught the prevailing spirit; Barry did not need any inoculation, he always talked in six figures. It was as natural for the dear boy to be rich as it is for most people to be poor.
The elders of the party were not long in discovering the fact, which almost all travelers to the west soon find out; that the water was poor. It must have been by a lucky premonition of this that they all had brandy flasks with which to qualify the water of the country; and it was no doubt from an uneasy feeling of the danger of being poisoned that they kept experimenting, mixing a little of the dangerous and changing fluid, as they passed along, with the contents of the flasks, thus saving their lives hour by hour. Philip learned afterwards that temperance and the strict observance of Sunday and a certain gravity of deportment are geographical habits, which people do not usually carry with them away from home.
Our travelers stopped in Chicago long enough to see that they could make their fortunes there in two week’s time, but it did not seem worth while; the west was more attractive; the further one went the wider the opportunities opened.
They took railroad to Alton and the steamboat from there to St. Louis, for the change and to have a glimpse of the river.
“Isn’t this jolly?” cried Henry, dancing out of the barber’s room, and coming down the deck with a one, two, three step, shaven, curled and perfumed after his usual exquisite fashion.
“What’s jolly?” asked Philip, looking out upon the dreary and monotonous waste through which the shaking steamboat was coughing its way.
“Why, the whole thing; it’s immense I can tell you. I wouldn’t give that to be guaranteed a hundred thousand cold cash in a year’s time.”
“Where’s Mr. Brown?”
“He is in the saloon, playing poker with Schaick and that long haired party with the striped trousers, who scrambled aboard when the stage plank was half hauled in, and the big Delegate to Congress from out west.”
“That’s a fine looking fellow, that delegate, with his glossy, black whiskers; looks like a Washington man; I shouldn’t think he’d be at poker.”
“Oh, its only five cent ante, just to make it interesting, the Delegate said.”
“But I shouldn’t think a representative in Congress would play poker any way in a public steamboat.”
“Nonsense, you’ve got to pass the time. I tried a hand myself, but those old fellows are too many for me. The Delegate knows all the points. I’d bet a hundred dollars he will ante his way right into the United States Senate when his territory comes in. He’s got the cheek for it.”
“He has the grave and thoughtful manner of expectoration of a public man, for one thing,” added Philip.
“Harry,” said Philip, after a pause, “what have you got on those big boots for; do you expect to wade ashore?”
“I’m breaking ‘em in.”