"I suppose I ought to have learned about him," retorted Stephen, with ingratiating honesty, "and maybe I did once. But if I did I seem to have forgotten about it. You see there are such a lot of those old chaps who did things that I get them all mixed up."
Apparently the sincerity of the confession pleased the capitalist for he laughed.
"I know!" returned he sympathetically. "Every year more and more things roll up to remember, don't they? Had we lived long ago, before so many battles and discoveries had taken place, and so many books been written, life would have been much simpler. Now the learning of all the ages comes piling down on our heads. But at least you can congratulate yourself that you are not so badly off as the boys will be a hundred years hence; they, poor things, will have to learn all about what we have been doing, and if the world progresses as rapidly in history and in science as it is doing now, I pity them. Not only will they have to go back to Fulton but to him they will probably have to add a score of other inventors."
Both boys joined in the steamboat man's hearty laugh.
"Well, who was Fulton, anyway, Mr. Ackerman?" Stephen persisted.
"If you want me to tell you that Robert Fulton was the first American to make a successful steamboat I can give you that information in a second," was the reply. "But if you wish to hear how he did it that is a much longer story."
"I like stories," piped Dick from the corner of the couch where he was sitting.
"So do I," echoed Steve.
"Then I see there is no help for me!" Mr. Ackerman answered, taking off his spectacles and putting them into the case.
With an anticipatory smile Stephen seated himself on the great leather divan beside the other boy.