"My father has just been telling me about the beginnings of some of our railroads," observed Steve shyly, "and certainly his stories were as good as fairy tales."
"Is your father especially interested in railroads?" inquired the New Yorker.
"Yes, sir. He is in the railroad business."
"Ah, then that accounts for his filling your ears with locomotives instead of steamboats," declared the man, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Now if I were to spin a yarn for you, it would be of steamboats because that happens to be the thing I am interested in; I believe their history to be one of the most alluring tales to which a boy could listen. Sometime you get a person who knows the drama from start to finish to relate to you the whole marvelous adventure of early steamboating, and you see if it does not beat the railroad story all out."
He laughed a merry laugh in which Stephen joined.
"I wish you would tell it to me yourself," suggested the lad.
The man turned with an expression of pleasure on his red-cheeked face.
"I should like nothing better, my boy," he said quickly, "but you see it is a long story and I am getting out at the next corner. Sometime, however, we may meet again. Who knows? And if we do you shall hold me to my promise to talk steamboats to you until you cry for mercy."
Bending down he took up a leather bag which he had placed between his feet.
"I am leaving you here, sonny," he said. "I take it you are in New York for a holiday."