“But I wasn’t unfaithful,” muttered Roy to himself. “I did my work right, just as I am going to do it on board the Lycoming. And if I do, I’ll win the good-will of Captain Lansford, just as sure as I won that of Captain Hardy.” Again a look of determination came into Roy’s face. “I’ve just got to make good,” he muttered to himself. “I’ve just got to. And I will.”
A subtle change came over his face. Once more his mind had gone back to the scenes about Elk City. He was thinking of his secret journey in a motor-car through an isolated and rough mountain road with the outfits of his companions. Vividly he recalled how a big boulder had come crashing down the mountainside, breaking his steering gear. He smiled with satisfaction as he recalled how he had met the situation by improvising a wireless outfit with some wires, an umbrella, and the battery of his car. How pleased his captain had been!
“I’m going to please Captain Lansford just as much,” said Roy to himself, and once more that look of determination came into his face.
Then the train suddenly shot under ground and daylight was blotted out. Down, down, deep into the earth Roy could feel the train descending, though the grade was very gradual. His ears began to feel queer and he knew that he must be in the deepest part of the tunnel. Then the train moved upward. In another minute it shot into the light. Roy glanced out of the window at the high cement walls on either side. They were at the Pennsylvania Station. Roy rose and moved toward the door. His face was flushed. His pulse beat fast. He felt like a runner toeing the mark. He was about to begin the race of life. He felt fit. He was trained to the minute. His whole being pulsed with joy. He had left boyhood behind. Henceforth he would be a man among men. In every sense he determined to be one. All aglow with high resolve, he passed out of the train, through the great station, and into the roaring streets.
The glow of satisfaction faded from his face. Cold and hostile seemed the city. The rushing traffic appeared cruel and heartless, threatening to overwhelm even the vigilant. Passers-by were as cold and unfriendly as the hard and echoing stone pavements. They brushed by, seemingly indifferent to any one or anything but themselves and their own concerns. The very air was raw and chilly. The entire atmosphere was oppressive. It seemed to take the heart out of Roy. It made him feel how tiny he was, how insignificant in comparison with this great aggregation of forces that men had brought together. Suddenly Roy realized that this was the thing he had to fight—this roaring thing called a city, where every man’s hand would be against him, where he could get ahead only by brute force, by overcoming whatever obstacles rose in his way. Apparently there was not a soul to help him. Success or failure depended upon his own efforts. The thought was bewildering, crushing, disheartening. For an instant fear clutched his heart and blanched his face.
And that was not because he was terrified by the noise of the unaccustomed traffic, or confused by the hurry and bustle. Those features of the city’s life were as familiar to Roy as the city itself was, for in the weeks he had spent in New York during the search for the secret wireless, he had become well acquainted with the geography of the town. The difference was that then he was with friends. Henry Harper and Lew Heinsling and Willie Brown were with him, and their beloved leader, Captain Hardy, was always watching their movements to keep them out of trouble and direct their efforts. Then Roy had been among friends. Now he knew not where to find a friendly face. For the first time in his life he was realizing, as thousands of boys before him have realized, the awful loneliness that can come to one in a big city. The feeling almost overwhelmed him. Gone were his plans to see something of the city. A friendly face meant more to him now than all the sights New York had ever held.
“I’ll go straight to the Lycoming,” said Roy to himself. “Even if I don’t know any of the men on board, they will at least be friendly.”
He hurried over to Ninth Avenue and caught a south-bound elevated railway train. In less than half an hour he left the train and made his way to the water-front. The vast expanse of asphalt known as “the farm,” that borders the Hudson for miles, was seething with traffic. Skilfully Roy picked his way across the wide thoroughfare, dodging trucks and drays, and heading straight for the big piers of the Confederated Steamship Lines.
The watchman at the entrance stopped him and demanded to know his business. Roy explained.