“What’s all them pink spots on the map, islands?” inquired Bill scanning them closely.
“Yes, and the blue part outside is the Pacific Ocean while that on the inside represents various inlets, straits, sounds, canals, etc. So you see we take what is called the inside route and it will be as smooth sailing as if we were going to Albany on the day boat.”
“An’ what happens when we land at Skagway?”
“There we change to the railroad, which has been built in recent years over the White Pass across the Coast Range, and we are then in the Yukon Territory which, as I told you and your mother, is a part of Canada. The railroad ends at White Horse, a town about a hundred miles farther north. We’ll still have about seven hundred miles to travel before we get to Circle City, but we do this leg by a steamer on the Yukon River, and from there to the land of the Yeehats on the Big Black River we’ll have to cover with dog-sleds,” concluded Jack.
Their journey across the continent was about as exciting as a trip from Manhattan Street to Bowling Green on the Subway. While the boys were very much awake when in their waking state, when it came to sleeping they could beat the seven sleepers by a stretch, and as for appetites—well, they just naturally had an exaggerated idea of what their stomachs were for—and ate like young pug-uglies. In truth they were on the job every time the dining car waiter announced the last call for breakfast and the first call for lunch and dinner.
As they were nearing Savanna up in the northwest corner of Illinois, Jack told his pal that they would soon strike the Mississippi River and that from there on to St. Paul the railroad parallels the ‘father of waters.’
“The Mississippi is a thousand five hundred miles long, has its head waters at Lake Itaska in Northern Minnesota and empties into the Gulf of Mexico about a hundred miles south of New Orleans,” explained Jack. “You will see from this, Bill, that there are other rivers in our United States besides the noble Hudson.”
Presently the train ran right along side of the great river. Bill took one look at the installment of scenery which lay spread out before them as flat as a board and then he burst out into a long and loud cackle, making, according to Jack’s way of thinking, a holy show of them both.
“Why the big noise?” questioned Jack in a sour voice, for he was exasperated beyond all measure at this unseemly conduct of his pal.
“It’s enough to make a bucking broncho laugh. The Mississippi eh? and you’d put it in the same class with the Hudson? Why it’s nothin’ but a stream o’ mud,” Bill made answer.