With such thoughts Jack rummaged in his valise and brought forth a fountain pen and some paper and for the next half hour he was extremely occupied in writing an affectionate letter to his paternal parent, which he mailed at the first stop the train made.
The ride to Portland, though it occupied a greater part of the day, was through very picturesque country. The Green Mountains of Vermont and later notches in the picturesque White Mountains were traversed, until finally the train entered the rich, thickly wooded country of western Maine. A few hours later Jack caught his first view of the coast, and he knew that he was entering upon the last stage of his long overland journey.
It was nearly sundown when he reached his destination, and he was tired and hungry and his clothes were somewhat soiled from his day of travel when he jumped aboard the Portland trolley car on his way to the Jefferson House. He was not too tired, however, to make note of the fact that the city was unusually cozy in appearance, nor did he neglect to take a good look at the quaint, old-fashioned houses and particularly the one which the conductor pointed out to him as the home of America’s greatest poet, Henry Wadsworth Longfellow.
James Warner, the same enthusiastic, sun-browned engineer whom Jack had met on board the Yucatan just a year before, greeted the lad from Drueryville Academy as he swung up the front steps of the Jefferson House. Mr. Warner was sitting in one of the long line of chairs in the hotel lobby when he caught a glimpse of Jack.
“Well, Jack Straw, how are you, anyway? I’m mighty glad you decided to come along,” he shouted, as he gripped the hand of the young traveler.
“Huh, decided to come—why, there wasn’t any alternative. I simply had to take advantage of such a piece of good luck. I think I’m the most fortunate boy in the world to get an invitation to join your crew,” responded Jack, just as enthusiastic as Mr. Warner.
“Tut, tut, my boy, don’t be too sure of your luck. You’ll have to work mighty hard. It won’t be all play, let me tell you. I know, because I’ve been through it a dozen times,” replied the engineer.
But Jack could not be convinced that a Summer on a Maine island with a lighthouse construction crew would not be about the most delightful two months he had ever spent in his life.
Mr. Warner changed the conversation completely the next instant.
“You haven’t had dinner yet, have you, Jack? I haven’t. I have been waiting for you and I’ve been getting hungrier by the minute. I spent most of my day down at the lighthouse depot, seeing to the loading of the Blueflower (that’s the lighthouse tender that will take us to Hood Island to-morrow), and the sea air has put a real edge on my appetite. Come on into the dining-room and help me devour a good big steak. You can arrange for your room later.”