From the shop they drove directly back to the station to catch the morning train for the West. Fessenden grumbled, for he wanted to see New York; every nerve had sprung to greet the great city, and he hung out of the cab in spite of remonstrances and to the amusement of passers-by.
“I know how you feel,” said Morris. “I should like it myself, but I dare not linger in New York an hour—its air is fatal to me—so near the Atlantic—you will see enough of New York in the future—I am sure you will not mind.” And Fessenden submitted with what grace he could muster. As they were standing in the station awaiting the announcement of their train, Fessenden, to the alarm of Morris, suddenly darted from his side and disappeared in the crowd. Morris suspected the cause and turned pale with anxiety. The color the mountains had given him came back as he saw his charge returning alone. Fessenden’s face, however, was flushed, his eyes were as bright as tears.
“I saw my father!” he exclaimed, with a complete disregard of the bystanders that was quite superb. “I know I saw him! Why does he act like this? I was sure he would come to meet me. Why should he look at me and go away?”
“It could not have been Mr. Abbott,” said Morris soothingly, and taking his arm he hurried him through open gates. “It is doubtful if he is in New York, and he is not the man to do anything so silly and sentimental. He is very busy working out some idea which requires all his energies—he dares venture upon no distraction—there, I have told you that much—your unerring instinct has kept you from doubting that he loves you.”
“Is he an inventor?” asked Fessenden eagerly. “Is that the mystery? Is that the reason he wants me to study all these new things—that I may be of use to him?”
“Well, he is something of an inventor, and you certainly can be of great use to him—more than anybody on earth can be.”
“Why didn’t you tell me that before? Now I have a double object. I’ll work like a logger. What’s his line?”
Morris groaned; but as he disposed his hand-baggage neatly about him he had another inspiration. “All!” he announced. “That is to say, a combination of all this very modern university can teach you. The result may be extraordinary.”
Fessenden fell back on his seat and stared out of the window, seeing nothing. His imagination was fired with the vision of his lonely potential devoted father experimenting in obscurity with a revolutionizing idea, whose bare elementary threads—awaiting himself in the Northwest—filled him with such excitement and exhilaration that he wanted to get out and race the train. Fortunately his deep emotions always rendered him speechless, and Morris was permitted to sleep peacefully during the greater part of the journey.