CHAPTER II
THE SALT CITY
With a toot of the whistle, a squeak of the wheels and a sharp hissing,as the air brakes were released, the train started. The journey wasuneventful, no delays or accidents occurring to mar it. About eleveno'clock the porter made up Roger's berth, and, though the boy wonderedat the novelty of a bed on what looked much like a shelf, he soon fellasleep, and did not wake up until the sun was a half hour high, whichtime found him within a few miles of Syracuse.
The colored porter, grinning expansively and good naturedly, for he hadbeen well remembered by Mr. Anderson, brought Roger a steaming hot cupof coffee, which was most agreeable.
"What time do we get in?" asked the boy traveller as he sipped thebeverage.
"We'd ought a' be in at 7.42," replied the colored man, "but we's aleetle late this mornin', sah. Probably we'll arrive 'bout eighto'clock. Feelin' purty peart this mornin', sah?"
"Yes, I do feel pretty good," replied Roger, who really did seem betterthan he had in some weeks. "I didn't think I'd sleep much, but I did."
"Oh, these here is great beds fo' sleepin'," commented the porter,grinning once more, and causing Roger to wonder, if he smiled anylarger, whether the top of his head wouldn't come off.
It was just ten minutes past eight when the train rolled along one ofthe main streets of Syracuse, and into the dingy depot, near the centreof the city. Roger was out on the vestibuled platform before the wheelsstopped screeching under the force of the brakes. He was watching amongthe crowd under the shed for a tall man, with a big nose, a light sandymoustache and bright blue eyes, for thus his mother had described hisUncle Bert to him. He looked at several men.
The first one had everything but the blue eyes. The second one all thecharacteristics save the sandy moustache. But the third man, on whom hefixed his attention, Roger knew was Mr. Kimball. He waved his hand, andwas glad to see the man wave back. The next minute the train stopped,and the blue-eyed uncle was ready to reach up for his nephew.
"Is this here Roger Anderson?" came from beneath the light sandymoustache, in a pleasant though high-pitched voice.
"I'm Roger; are you Uncle Bert?" asked the boy.
"Wa'al, I reckon thet's what! Guessed ye th' fust time, didn't I," andthis fact seemed to give Mr. Kimball so much pleasure that he laughedwith a heartiness which made several smile.
"Wa'al now, but d'ye know, I'm glad t' see ye! Ye're a leetle late, butland love ye, comin' three hunderd miles is no joke. I calalate I'd be atrifle behindhand myself. Now, let's hev yer satchel, 'n' we'll go 'n'git some breakfust. I ain't eat yit. Ye see I come out from Cardiffyist'day, hevin' t' do some tradin', 'n' I stayed over night at th'Candee House, so's t' be on hand t' meet ye. I told th' waiter at mytable I'd hev a hungry boy back 'ith me soon. Ye be hungry, ain't ye?"with rather an anxious look at Roger.
"Well, not so very," admitted the boy, wondering a little at the strangesounding talk of his uncle, who spoke the central New York farmers'homely but comprehensive dialect.
"Oh, shucks now!" exclaimed Mr. Kimball. "I were calalatin' on seein' yerace 'ith me eatin' ham 'n' eggs 'n' bread 'n' butter," and he seemed abit disappointed. "Howsomever we'll remedy thet when we git ye out t'Cardiff. 'Fore ye've been thar a week I'll hev ye eatin' salt-risin'bread, covered 'ith butter 'n' honey--say 'j ever tackle real freshsalt-risin' bread, spread thick 'ith nice brown buckwheat honey, rightouten th' hives?"
"I never did," confessed Roger.
"Wa'al, then, ye've got a lot a' pleasure ahead on ye," remarked Mr.Kimball, "thet's all I've got t' say. But Land o' Goshen, here I betalkin', 'stid a leadin' th' way t' th' hotel. Come 'long now, 't ain'tfer," and they started off in lively fashion, while Roger wondered whatsort of a man his uncle was.
Though he did not eat a hearty meal, the boy, under the eyes of Mr.Kimball, made out quite a breakfast, while his companion put away ahearty one, with evident relish. The waiter was kept busy, and Rogerwondered vaguely how a man could drink so many cups of coffee as hisuncle did; no less than four large ones being disposed of.
"We don't start back 'til three o'clock," said Mr. Kimball, using hisnapkin rapidly. "Porter Amidown's stage leaves then. I'd a druv out 'ithth' Democrat wagin, but it needs a new wheel, so I calalated I'd bettercome in 'n' go out by th' stage."
"Is that Democratic too?" asked Roger, who, like nearly every New Yorkboy, was of the political faith of his father, who was a Republican.
"Democrat? Th' stage Democrat? Land no, Porter's a rip-snortin' Prohib.Oh, I see, ye thought my wagin was a Democrat one, 'stid a' bein'Republican. Ha! ha! Why we call them vehicles thet name, not 'causethey're in politics, but jist t' hev a way a' speakin' 'bout 'em, thet'sall, same's a phaeton er runabout. Th' stage a Democrat! Ho! ho! Don'tye let Porter hear ye say thet," and Mr. Kimball seemed quite tickledover Roger's natural mistake.
"So's we don't start back 'til three o'clock," he went on, occasionallychuckling over the joke, "we'll hev some time t' do a leetle tradin',fer I didn't finish yist'day. Thet'll give ye a chanst t' look aroundth' city. Ade, he's yer cousin, ye know, wanted me t' bring him 'long,but I calalated there'd be trouble ef I did, so I left him hum. He'dwant ye t' rassal right here in th' street."
"Rassal?" inquired Roger, wondering what was meant.
"Yep, rassal. Ketch 's ketch kin, collar 'n' elbow, ye know. Ade 's deadset on rassalin'. Do ye do it much?"
"No," said Roger, "I'm not much good at wrestling," and he began to be alittle apprehensive as to the character of his cousin Adrian.
"Wa'al, ye'll hev t' rassal 'ith him when ye git hum," remarked Mr.Kimball, as if it was the most natural thing in the world. "He's allersa rassalin' all th' boys, th' hired men, 'n' so on."
"Is he pretty strong?" asked Roger.
"Tol'able, jest tol'able," replied Mr. Kimball. "But ye needn't worry,he'll let ye alone ef he finds out he kin throw ye. He never rassals th'second time 'ith anybody he kin throw, lessen it's fer practice. He'sallers tryin' t' tackle some un a leetle better 'n' what he is. Wants t'git a reputation, he says. His mother says he wants t' git a bustedneck, 'n' say, d' ye know," and Mr. Kimball whispered, "sometimes Ithink she's more 'n' half right, I do, honest Injun, I do," and he shookhis head warningly.
"Wa'al, I guess we might 's well be goin'," he remarked, after a pause,and he led the way from the dining-room.
Mr. Kimball had several places where he wanted to do some trading. Hehad to buy some dress goods for his wife, a book for Adrian, some sewingsilk for his daughter Clara, and some tools for himself. He finished bynoon, and after dinner he asked Roger if he didn't want to pay a visitto the salt works, for which Syracuse is noted.
"Indeed, I'd like to go, first rate," said the boy.
So they walked up to the northern part of the pretty town, where,stretched out in the sun, were the big shallow wooden vats for theevaporation of the brine which was pumped into them. On the way throughthe works Mr. Kimball explained how the salt springs were underneath theground on which they were walking, and how the brine was brought to thesurface of the earth by machinery. Then it was left for the sun to drawoff the water, leaving behind the shining particles that formed the saltof commerce.
The place was filled with buildings, large and small, with pumps,engines and vats, with sheds about which hurried scores of men, andRoger took a great interest looking at everything. He never knew beforewhat a lot of salt came from Syracuse, nor what an important industry itwas in the trade of the world, and particularly of New York State.
"My, but we'll hev t' hustle," remarked Mr. Kimball, suddenly, lookingat his big silver watch. "It's nigh two o'clock, 'n' Porter leaves atthree smack. I guess we'll postpone the rest a' th' salt investigation'til another time."
So Roger and his uncle made a hurried trip to the Candee House, fromwhich the stage started. They reached it with about five minutes tospare, which Mr. Kimball used in getting together his packages andRoger's baggage, and putting them all snugly in the lumbering vehicle.As he finished, the st
age driver came out to see to the hitching up ofthe horses.
"Porter, this is my nephew I were tellin' ye of," said Mr. Kimball.
Mr. Amidown looked Roger over carefully.
"Leetle spindlin', ain't he?" he suggested after a pause.
"Wa'al, he ain't's stout's he will be when we git through 'ith him,"replied Mr. Kimball with a hearty laugh, as he poked Porter playfully inthe ribs. Then he helped Roger up to the high seat, and followed nimblyhimself. There was a crack of the long whip, a rattle of the harnesschains, a rumble of the wheels and the stage started off.
There were several other passengers making the trip from Syracuse bystage that day, but Roger and his uncle were the only ones on theoutside. The big wagon rolled along, first on the asphalt streets, undertall elm and maple trees that lined the thoroughfares, where the houseswere so close together that they reminded the boy of New York. Then theresidences became more scattered, and farther and farther apart, as thesuburbs were reached.
During the early part of the journey Porter was too busy guiding histeam of horses in and out among other vehicles to do much talking. Mr.Kimball was engaged in looking over an account book, and making notes ofhis recent purchases, with the amounts they cost, and so was too muchoccupied to talk. Thus Roger was left to himself for a while. He wasmuch interested in all that he saw, though of course the city sightswere almost like those of New York, except there was not the same bustleand excitement, nor such big, towering buildings.
But when he came into the pretty suburbs it was different. The air waspure and fresh, and the wind was just cool enough to be delightful thatOctober afternoon. Soon the horses were jogging along, the reinsflapping loose on their broad backs. Mr. Kimball, putting up his accountbook, turned to Porter, and asked:
"How's everything in Cardiff?"
"Oh, so-so," replied Mr. Amidown. "Ain't changed much sence ye come outyist'day."
"No, I don't calalate it has hed much chanst," agreed Mr. Kimball.
Then the two men began to talk of crops, of cows and horses, of the farmof this one and the garden of that one, the grape and the honey outlook,until Roger wondered how they could remember so many different names andthe kinds of things that grew.
Finally Mr. Kimball bethought himself that his nephew might be lonesome,with no one to talk to, so he turned his attention to the boy, and toldhim of the country through which they were passing. He showed him whereEnos Jones had a good field of wheat, and where Nathan Parks wasexpecting to gather in a fine yield of corn, and so on, until the cityboy felt some of the importance of farming, and how much the people ofthis country depend on it.
The stage rumbled on, up hill and down dale, along the twelve miles.About five o'clock they came within sight of the white-spired church ofCardiff, and it was not long before they reached the outskirts of thevillage. The big vehicle stopped at the post-office. Porter threw off abag of mail, called to the horses to resume their pulling again, and,five minutes later he drew up in front of a comfortable farmhouse, inthe yard of which stood a pleasant-faced woman and a boy about Roger'sage.