"A very fortunate thing," returned Mr. Tolman heartily. "Every great invention is usually suggested by a great need and so it was with this one. By 1836 the craze for railroad building swept both hemispheres. In England the construction of lines to most out-of-the-way and undesirable places were proposed, and the wildest schemes for propelling trains suggested; some visionaries even tried sails as a medium of locomotion instead of steam. Rich and poor rushed to invest their savings in railroads and alas, in many cases the misguided enthusiasts lost every shilling of their money in the project. Great business firms failed, banking houses were ruined, and thousands of workmen were thrown out of employment. In consequence a reaction followed and it was years before wary investors could again be induced to finance a railroad. In the interim both engines and coaches underwent improvement, especially the third-class carriage which in the early days was nothing more than an open freight car and exposed its unhappy patrons to snow, rain, and freezing weather."
"Great Scott!" cried Steve. "I should say there was room for improvement if that was the case."
"There was indeed," echoed his father. "In fact, it was a long time before travel by train became a pleasure. Most of the engines used pitch pine or soft coal as a fuel and as there were no guards on the smokestacks to prevent it, the smoke, soot, and cinders used to blow back from the funnels and shower the passengers. On the first railroad trip from New York to Albany those sitting outside the coaches were compelled to put up umbrellas to protect themselves from these annoyances."
"Imagine it!" burst out Doris, with a rippling laugh.
"Nor were the umbrellas of any service for long," continued Mr. Tolman, "for the sparks soon burned their coverings until nothing but the steel ribs remained."
"I don't wonder the trip was not a pleasure," smiled Mrs. Tolman.
"Yet, in spite of its discomfort, it was a novelty and you must not forget that, as I said before, the public of that period was a simple and less exacting one than is the public of to-day. We make a frightful fuss if we are jolted, chilled, crowded, delayed, or made uncomfortable; but our forefathers were a hale and hearty lot—less overworked perhaps, less nervous certainly, less indulged. They had never known anything better than cold houses, draughty and crowded stagecoaches, and stony highways—plenty of obstacles, you see, and few luxuries. Therefore with naïve delight they welcomed one new invention after another, overlooking its defects and considering themselves greatly blessed to have anything as fine. Probably we, who are a thousand per cent better off than they, do more grumbling over the tiny flaws in the mechanism of our lives than they did over the mammoth ones."
"Oh, come, Dad!" protested Stephen. "Aren't you putting it rather strong?"
"Not a whit too strong, Steve," Mrs. Tolman interrupted. "I believe we are a fussy, pampered, ungrateful generation. It is rather pathetic, too, to think it is we who now reap the benefits of all those perfected ideas which our ancestors enjoyed only in their most primitive beginnings. It seems hardly fair that Stephenson, for example, should never have seen a modern Pullman.
"He was spared something, wasn't he, Dad?" chuckled Steve mischievously.