"Yes."

"Oh, I hope it got the prize!" put in Doris eagerly.

Her father smiled at her earnestness.

"It did," was his reply. "Stephenson's engine was called the 'Rocket'

and was a great improvement over the locomotive he had used at the mines, for this one had not only a steam blast but a multi-tubular boiler, a tremendous advance in engine building."

"I suppose that the winner of the prize not only got the money the road offered but his engine was the one chosen as a pattern for those to be used on the new railroad," ventured Stephen.

"Precisely. So you see a great deal depended on the showing each locomotive made. Unluckily in the excitement a tinder box had been forgotten, and when it came time to start, the spark to light the fires had to be obtained from a reading gla.s.s borrowed from one of the spectators. This, of course, caused some delay. But once the fires were blazing and steam up, the engines puffed away to the delight of those looking on."

"I am glad Stephenson was the winner," put in Doris.

"Yes," agreed her father. "He had worked hard and deserved success. It would not have seemed fair for some one else to have stolen the fruit of his toil and brain. Yet notwithstanding this, his path to fame was not entirely smooth. Few persons win out without surmounting obstacles and Stephenson certainly had his share. Not only was he forced to fight continual opposition, but the opening of the Manchester and Liverpool road, which one might naturally have supposed would be a day of great triumph, was, in spite of its success, attended by a series of catastrophes. It was on September 15, 1830, that the ceremonies took place, and long before the hour set for the gaily decorated trains to pa.s.s the route was lined with excited spectators. The cities of Liverpool and Manchester also were thronged with those eager to see the engines start or reach their destination. There were, however, mingled with the crowd many persons who were opposed to the new venture."

"Opposed to it?" Steve repeated with surprise.

"Yes. It seems odd, doesn't it?"

"But why didn't they want a railroad?" persisted the boy. "I thought that was the very thing they were all demanding."

"You must not forget the condition of affairs at the time," said his father. "Remember the advent of steam machinery had deprived many of the cotton spinners of their jobs and in consequence they felt bitterly toward all steam inventions. Then in addition there were the stagecoach drivers who foresaw that if the railroads supplanted coaches they would no longer be needed. Moreover innkeepers were afraid that a termination of stage travel would lessen their trade."

"Each man had his own axe to grind, eh?" smiled Steve.

"I'm afraid so," his father answered. "Human nature is very selfish, and then as now men who worked for the general welfare regardless of their own petty preferences were rare. To the side of the enemies of the infant invention flocked every one with a grievance. The gentry argued that the installation of locomotives would frighten the game out of the country and ruin the shooting. Other opposers contended that the smoke from the engines would not only kill the birds but in time kill the patrons of the railroads as well. Still others protested that the sparks from the funnels might set fire to the fields of grain or to the forests. A swarm of added opponents dwelt on the fact that the pa.s.sengers would be made ill by the lurching of the trains; that the rapid inrush of air would prevent their breathing; and that every sort of people would be herded together without regard to cla.s.s,--the latter a very terrible calamity in a land where democracy was unknown. Even such intelligent men as the poet Wordsworth and the famous writer Ruskin came out hotly against the innovation, seeing in it nothing but evil."

"Didn't the opening of the Manchester and Liverpool Railroad convince the kickers they were wrong?" asked Steve.

"Unfortunately not," was Mr. Tolman's reply. "You see several unlucky incidents marred the complete success of the occasion. As the trains trimmed with bunting and flowers started out the scene seemed gay enough. On one car was a band of music; on another the directors of the road; and on still another rode the Duke of Wellington, who at that time was Prime Minister of England and had come down from London with various other dignitaries to honor the enterprise. Church bells rang, cannon boomed, and horns and whistles raised a din of rejoicing. But everywhere among the throng moved a large group of unemployed laborers who had returned from the Napoleonic wars in a discontented frame of mind and resented the use of steam machinery. They were on edge for trouble and if there were none they were ready to make it. So strong was the resentment of this element against the government that it seemed tempting Providence for the Prime Minister to venture into the manufacturing district of Manchester. At first it was decided that he would better omit the trip altogether; but on second thought it seemed wiser for him not to add fuel to the flames by disappointing the mill workers. The audience was in too ugly a mood to be angered. Therefore Wellington bravely resolved to carry out the program and ride in one of the open cars."

"I hope nothing happened to him, Dad!" gasped Doris breathlessly.

"Nothing beyond a good many minor insults and indignities," responded her father. "He was, however, in constant peril, and to those who bore the responsibility of the function he was a source of unceasing anxiety.

But in spite of the jeers of the mob, their crowding and pushing about his car, he kept a smiling face like the true gentleman he was. Some of the rougher element even went so far as to hurl missiles at him. You can imagine how worried his friends were for his safety and how the directors who had invited him fidgeted. And as if this worry were not enough, by and by a fine rain began to fall and those persons riding in the open coaches, as well as the decorations and the spectators, got well drenched. Then there were delays on the turnouts while one train pa.s.sed another; and as a climax to these discouragements, Mr. Hickson, a member of Parliament from Liverpool, got in the path of an approaching engine, became confused and was run over; and although Stephenson himself carried him by train to Liverpool he died that evening."

"I should call the fete to introduce the steam engine into England a most disastrous and forlorn one," remarked Mrs. Tolman.

"Well, in reality it was not such a failure as it sounds," replied her husband, "for only those most closely connected with it sensed the misfortunes that attended it. The greater part of the people along the route were good-humored and pleased; they marveled at the trains as they pa.s.sed, cheered the Duke and the authorities with him, listened with delight to the band, and made a jest of the rain. A holiday crowd, you know, is usually quite patient. Hence the delays that fretted the guests and the officials of the road did not annoy the mult.i.tudes so vitally."

"Poor Stephenson really got some satisfaction out of the day then,"

sighed Mrs. Tolman.

"Oh, yes, indeed," said her husband. "Although I fancy the death of Mr.

Hickson must have overshadowed his rejoicings. Notwithstanding this, however, the railroad proved itself a practical venture, which was the main thing. Such slight obstacles as the terror of the horses and the fact that the tunnels into Liverpool were so low that the engines had to be detached and the trains hauled into the yards by mules could be remedied."

A flicker of humor danced in Mr. Tolman's eyes.

"And did England begin to build railroads right away?" Steve inquired.

"Yes, and not only England but France also. Frenchmen who crossed the Channel took home glowing accounts of the novel invention and immediately the French Government realized that that country must also have railroads. But just as the conservative element in England had been sceptical and blocked Stephenson's progress--or tried to--so a corresponding faction in France did all it could to cry down the enterprise. Even those who upheld the introduction of the roads advocated them for only short distances out of Paris; a long trunk route they labeled as an absurdity. Iron was too expensive, they argued; furthermore the mountains of the country rendered extensive railroading impossible. France did not need railroads anyway. Nevertheless the little group of seers who favored the invention persisted and there was no stopping the march of which they were the heralds. Railroads had come to stay and they stayed."

"It was a fortunate thing they did, wasn't it?" murmured Doris.

"A very fortunate thing," returned Mr. Tolman heartily. "Every great invention is usually suggested by a great need and so it was with this one. By 1836 the craze for railroad building swept both hemispheres. In England the construction of lines to most out-of-the-way and undesirable places were proposed, and the wildest schemes for propelling trains suggested; some visionaries even tried sails as a medium of locomotion instead of steam. Rich and poor rushed to invest their savings in railroads and alas, in many cases the misguided enthusiasts lost every shilling of their money in the project. Great business firms failed, banking houses were ruined, and thousands of workmen were thrown out of employment. In consequence a reaction followed and it was years before wary investors could again be induced to finance a railroad. In the interim both engines and coaches underwent improvement, especially the third-cla.s.s carriage which in the early days was nothing more than an open freight car and exposed its unhappy patrons to snow, rain, and freezing weather."

"Great Scott!" cried Steve. "I should say there was room for improvement if that was the case."

"There was indeed," echoed his father. "In fact, it was a long time before travel by train became a pleasure. Most of the engines used pitch pine or soft coal as a fuel and as there were no guards on the smokestacks to prevent it, the smoke, soot, and cinders used to blow back from the funnels and shower the pa.s.sengers. On the first railroad trip from New York to Albany those sitting outside the coaches were compelled to put up umbrellas to protect themselves from these annoyances."

"Imagine it!" burst out Doris, with a rippling laugh.

"Nor were the umbrellas of any service for long," continued Mr. Tolman, "for the sparks soon burned their coverings until nothing but the steel ribs remained."

"I don't wonder the trip was not a pleasure," smiled Mrs. Tolman.

"Yet, in spite of its discomfort, it was a novelty and you must not forget that, as I said before, the public of that period was a simple and less exacting one than is the public of to-day. We make a frightful fuss if we are jolted, chilled, crowded, delayed, or made uncomfortable; but our forefathers were a hale and hearty lot--less overworked perhaps, less nervous certainly, less indulged. They had never known anything better than cold houses, draughty and crowded stagecoaches, and stony highways--plenty of obstacles, you see, and few luxuries. Therefore with nave delight they welcomed one new invention after another, overlooking its defects and considering themselves greatly blessed to have anything as fine. Probably we, who are a thousand per cent better off than they, do more grumbling over the tiny flaws in the mechanism of our lives than they did over the mammoth ones."

"Oh, come, Dad!" protested Stephen. "Aren't you putting it rather strong?"

"Not a whit too strong, Steve," Mrs. Tolman interrupted. "I believe we are a fussy, pampered, ungrateful generation. It is rather pathetic, too, to think it is we who now reap the benefits of all those perfected ideas which our ancestors enjoyed only in their most primitive beginnings. It seems hardly fair that Stephenson, for example, should never have seen a modern Pullman.

"He was spared something, wasn't he, Dad?" chuckled Steve mischievously.

But Mr. Tolman did not heed the remark.

"He had the vision," returned he softly, "the joy of seeing the marvel for the first time, imperfect as it was. Perhaps that was compensation enough. It is the reward of every inventor. Remember it is no mean privilege to stand upon the peak in Darien which Keats pictures."

CHAPTER V

STEVE LEARNS A SAD LESSON

No more disasters attended the journey and the travelers spun swiftly on to Northampton, arriving at the old New England town late in the afternoon. What a scene of activity the college campus presented! Bevies of girls, hatless and in gay-colored sweaters, drifted hither and thither, their laughter floating through the twilight with musical clearness. Occasionally some newcomer would join a group and a shout of welcome would hail her advent. Although Steve turned away from these gushing greetings with masculine scorn nevertheless he was far more interested in the novel picture than he would have been willing to admit. More than once he caught his eyes following a slender figure in white, across whose hair the sunset slanted, turning its blowing ma.s.ses to a glory of gold. With what ease and freedom the girl moved! And when, as she pa.s.sed, some one unceremoniously tossed her a ball and she caught it with swift accuracy, his admiration was completely won.

Steve speculated as to whether she would prove to be as pretty at close range as she was at a distance and decided not. Distance always brings a glamor with it. However, pretty or not, there was no disputing that she was a great favorite for every circle of students opened its magic ring at her approach and greeted her with a noisy clamor of affection.

That she held herself with quiet reserve and was less demonstrative than those about her did not appear to lessen in the least their regard for her, and as Stephen watched he registered the wager that she was a person of more common sense than most girls.

Until recently it had been his habit to condemn the entire s.e.x; but of late he had discovered that exceptions might be made to his rule. There were girls in the world worth noticing, even some worth talking to; and he felt certain that this attractive creature in white was one of them.

However, it was an absurdity to be thinking about her now and quite beneath his dignity. But he meant sometime, when he could do so in casual fashion, to find out from Doris who she was. He had a curiosity to know what this person who looked as if she could row a boat, swim, and play tennis well, was called. Doris was always raving about her roommate, Jane Harden. She had said so much about her that he fairly detested the sound of her name. Now if only Jane Harden were a girl like this one, there would be some reason and excuse for being enthusiastic over her. To have this guest brought home to spend the Christmas holidays would be a pleasure to look forward to. How well she would skate and how gracefully; and how pretty she would be, especially if she had her hat off as she had now!

It was Doris who interrupted his reverie with the words:

"I hate to have you dear people go but I suppose you will have to. But do just wait long enough for me to see if I can't find Jane somewhere.

She is crazy to meet my family and will scold me to death if I let you get away."