When supper was finished, and the young people had talked over the dear old Latin School days, and the gay summer at the Isles of Shoals, Bert got a step-ladder and gathered handfuls of red roses from the trellis over the front door, where they grew in true Oregonian abundance.
Tom and Susie got on marvelously well together, and the former showed a singular eagerness to have Bert correspond with him, after he should have arrived home in the East.
From Portland the managers had provided their travelers with a little two-day side trip to the Dalles.
They rode in the cars all one afternoon along the southern shore of the Columbia, stopping to scramble up a steep hillside to the foot of the beautiful Multnomah Falls, and arriving at Dalles just after dark. Randolph and Fred were the only ones who cared to explore the town, which they conscientiously did, traveling miles, they averred, over the plank sidewalks, and hopelessly losing their way on several occasions; but turning up in good season at last at the depot.
The train was side-tracked here, and tooting and puffing engines, shifting freight cars, kept sleep from the eyes of most of the party. At daybreak they rose and made their way sleepily down to the river, where a steamer was waiting for them. Back they went, down the river to Portland. A thick fog hid the “mountainous and precipitous cliffs” and “bold headlands” which the guide-book promised them.
Wearily they boarded the cars standing ready at the Portland depot, and took possession of their comfortable compartments and drawing-rooms for their Eastward journey.
The next morning found them at Tacoma, and then on the Northern Pacific, striking across the new State of Washington. The Cascade Mountains—a long and insurmountable barrier between East and West—had to be crossed, and up went the train, curving, groaning and winding, as the Canadian Pacific had through the Rockies.
“Longest tunnel in America except the Hoosac!” screamed Tom above the din of the cars, as they plunged into the “Stampede.” “Nearly two miles from end to end, and half a mile above the level of the sea.”
And now came the most wearisome part of the homeward journey. The sun rose in a cloudless sky, and disclosed only hot, treeless, rolling prairie as far as the eye could reach. In the cars the mercury stood at ninety-six degrees, and linen dusters were once more brought to light.