“Do try to last until you see the house-boat,” urged Tom, with a broad grin.
Seeking shade wherever it could be found, the four walked toward the elevated railroad station at Eighth Avenue and Fifty-third Street. The city, full of noise, life and color, possessed immense attractions for the Ramblers, and Jack Lyons’ patience was sorely tried, as they often stopped to look about them. When, at last, all had safely boarded a train for One Hundred and Fifty-fifth Street he breathed a sigh of heartfelt satisfaction.
“Dave, this is quite a change, after the plains and mountains of Wyoming,” remarked Bob Somers.
The stout boy, gazing through half-closed eyes at the rows of buildings and streets flashing by, nodded.
“Not much here to remind us of Lone Pine Ranch, Bob,” he said.
Station after station dropped behind them. At One Hundred and Tenth Street the train swung around a great curve, with Morningside Heights, crowned by the impressive, partly finished cathedral of St. John the Divine, to their left, while on the right they had a good view of the upper end of Central Park.
“Isn’t it stunning!” cried Bob.
“And to think that we’re actually in New York,” murmured Tommy.
“One Hundred and Twenty-fifth!” called out the conductor, a few minutes later.
The boys caught a glimpse of a wide, busy thoroughfare. Then the train sent the rails spinning swiftly behind it again, and the terminus of the line was soon reached.