“Tut, child! Would have me neglect the last gift of me Barney son? Out of this car I steps not at all without both me umberell an’ me gum shoes. Meal-stations, or whatever. Mind that! An’ ’tis them same what give the only bit of exercise possible on these week-long journeys, you know. ‘Get out at every stoppin’ place, mother, an’ stretch your tired legs with a tramp up an’ down them station platforms,’ says me boy, Barney.”
Jessica once more restored the overshoes and for the comfort of both suggested that they be tied fast to the old lady’s wrist by a string. Also, she began to feel that a whole week of this companion’s society would be hard to endure, despite the certain friendliness of Mrs. Moriarty. Fortunately, just then, a whistle sounded and the train began to slow up at a station. This roused Mr. Hale to come forward and, with a courteous bow to the old lady, bid Jessica:
“Come, dear. We stop here long enough to take on water; and I’ll show you some interesting things about this great overland train.”
Already the novelty of her surroundings had banished, for the time, the homesickness of Jessica’s heart. Everything was “interesting” indeed; from the great water tank with its canvas pipe for filling the engine-boiler, to the crowded baggage cars. As the stop was for several minutes, nearly everybody left the carriages, to pace swiftly up and down for the relief of seat-weary muscles, or to enter the small dining-room to snatch a hasty lunch. The place was already packed with hungry humanity and passing its window, Mr. Hale complacently remarked:
“Blessing on Aunt Sally and her fine cooking! As soon as the train moves on again we’ll sample her basket. The food will be good for a day or so but after that we, too, will have to trust to meal-stations, except on those stretches of the road where a dining-car is attached. Now, let’s look at the great engine, and make acquaintance, if we can, with the skillful engineer who holds our lives in his hands. A moment’s carelessness on his part means great danger to us, and his faithfulness is worth far greater reward than it ever attains. Another bit for your memory book: a single engine is run but a comparatively short part of our long journey. Coming to California, I learned that we had changed engines just fourteen times. Those, yonder, are the tourist-cars; less luxurious than the Pullman we travel in and cheaper. For the benefit of the many who cannot afford first-class. By the way, it would be a nice plan to enter the last end of the train and make our way forward, from car to car, till we reach our own seats in the ‘Arizona’—as our sleeper is called.”
So they did; and Jessica thought she had never seen anything so wonderful as this traveling disclosed. Especially was she interested in the “tourist” carriages; for until now she had associated that word with the wealthy, rather impertinent persons who made southern California a winter amusement ground and had none too much respect for the rights of residents whose ranches they visited. One such group, she well remembered, had driven over Sobrante as if it had been a public park, or with even greater freedom, since its temporarily absent mistress returned to find her garden despoiled of its floral treasures.
“Tourist” now began to stand for other things, in this young traveler’s mind. For weary mothers, cooking scant messes for their fretful babies upon the great stove in the corner of the car; for bare seats, sometimes heaped with all sorts of household belongings; for, indeed, a glimpse of that poverty to which the strict economies of Sobrante seemed actual luxury.
“Why, how different it is from our place in the ‘Arizona!’ I never, never, saw so many children! How they do cry! How hot and tired the mothers look! Oh! can’t I do something for somebody?” cried the girl, actually distressed by the discomfort about her.
“I wouldn’t interfere, dear. They might not like it. Besides, it’s not so bad as this all the time. We’re only beginning the long trip. After a little, things adjust themselves. People become accustomed to their cramped surroundings and acquainted with one another. By the time we reach the other side the continent, here and in our own car, we will seem like one big family—so friendly we shall grow, and so many mutually interesting things we shall find by the way;” said Mr. Hale. Then added, rather suddenly: “Why, Jessica, child! What are you doing now?”
What, indeed! This inspection of the train, begun in simple curiosity, was having a startling ending. At the extreme rear of the car they were in sat an old man, fondling a shrieking infant and vainly endeavoring to quiet it for the frail young mother who looked helplessly on. Too weak and ill she was to do more than fix her eyes upon the child and to rest her head against the uncushioned back of the seat, while the gray-haired man—Could he have been the baby’s grandfather? If so he showed little skill at nursing, for the more he petted and pitied the small creature, the more it wriggled and yelled.