By consulting a local paper, they found that they could get a lake boat for Detroit that night, and also one in the morning.
"Let us go in the morning, when we can see something," said Owen, and so it was agreed.
With a stop at Cleveland, the journey from Buffalo to Detroit is about three hundred miles. The steamer was a commodious one, and the furnishings of the cabin and the dining room caused both of the young lumbermen to stare.
"I must say I didn't expect to find anything quite as fine as this," declared Owen. "Why, it's quite as good as anything we have East."
The stop at Cleveland was also full of interest, and the young lumbermen took a brief glance at the business portion of the town and the shipping. Lumber boats were everywhere in evidence, and these interested them as much as anything else.
"The lumber trade of the Lakes must be enormous," said Dale. "Just see those schooners and other craft—how they are piled up! I never saw anything like it, even at Bangor."
So far the weather had proved fine, but as night came on a cold rain set in, which forced them to stay in the cabin, so they saw but little as the steamer turned into the Detroit River, and made the run up to the city of that name.
"Here we are at last!" exclaimed Owen, as they went ashore in a stream of people. "I guess the best thing we can do is to get out of the wet."
"Cab! Hack! Have a carriage, sir?" came from a dozen cabmen, as they pushed forward. "Carry your baggage, mister?" And Owen felt a boy of fifteen catch hold of his valise.
"No, I'll carry that myself," said Owen. "And I don't want a carriage," he went on, to the cabmen.