“Don’t you dare to say anything about being hampered or unhampered,” he warned. The engineer laughed heartily. He liked the boys for their boyish qualities, which were very refreshing to him.
“How did you ever get down to this work?” asked Tom bluntly, “after you had been hobnobbing with Dukes and living in Paris?”
“I do not believe you boys will understand me,” he replied musingly, “it would not be in the nature of things that you should. I did not come down to this work, but up to it. After traveling for a great many years over the world, I got to living a very idle and useless life on the continent. But it palled on me after a while. I was in good health, and had money, but I was tired of myself, thoroughly and entirely bored. By the way, I might illustrate this unpleasant condition of things by a high and mighty example. Did you ever hear of Charles IX. of France?” This was a question the boys were anxious to answer, just to show that they knew something besides roughing it, and to prove their intelligence to the engineer, who in a quiet way always put them on their mettle, but to tell the truth they were rather rusty on all branches of learning, but Jo and Tom were both fond of history and had read a good deal of it at odd times. Tom was the first to jump into the ring of knowledge, with the four-ounce gloves of information, but ignorance ducked his first wild swing and was thus saved a knockout.
“Oh, yes,” he replied glibly, “Charles IX. was the son of Henry of Navarre.” The engineer shook his head slightly.
“You are away off, Tom,” declared Jo. “His mother was Catherine de Médici and Henri III. was his brother. Maybe he was the nephew or cousin of Henry of Navarre. I wish I had a history here and I would look it up.”
“Partly right and partly wrong, Jo,” said Berwick. “Catherine de Médici was the mother of Charles IX., whose sister, Margaret of Navarre, married Henry of Navarre. But this is the point I want to make. Charles IX. finally got so tired of the pomps and ceremonies of the court after a while that he had a forge fixed up in his palace and there he used to make and hammer out horseshoes. That,” he concluded with a smile, “is why I took up my work. I was tired of useless idleness. There is a constant live interest in this business of running an engine that I like. Now I must get at it, and good-night to you.”
“Good-night, Mr. Berwick,” replied the boys, and made their way out of the engine-room on to the storm-swept deck, all except Juarez, who stayed to work with the engineer.
The boys separated to their respective duties. Jeems took the boy’s task of stoking, Jim was at the wheel, sending Pete below to the forecastle to take a good sleep. Tom and Jo were detailed to go to their respective cabins and turn in for the night, as the old captain had rather perversely taken it into his head to stand watch on the bridge, though Jim had tried to dissuade him.
“It won’t do your rheumatism any good, Captain,” warned Jim. “It’s mighty wet and cold on the bridge and the wind is rushing fierce.”
“Trying to make me out an old man,” growled the captain, much aggrieved. “I guess I can stand as much as any of you boys. I’ve weathered many a storm in my day.”