Dave Porter and His Double Part 27

"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 cla.s.smates.

"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.

"h.e.l.lo 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 cla.s.smates of how he and Roger had pa.s.sed 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 a.s.sent.

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 Ba.s.swoods 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.