"The Iron Horse"

Manawatu Times, Volume XLIX, Issue 3264, 6 February 1926, Page 5

"The Iron Horse"

A Romance of East and West

By Edwin 0- Hill.

CHAPTER Vin, Miss Marsh of New York. The flying years had swept the little group of Davy Brandon’s friends “back East” into paths undreamed of in the old Springfield days. No other decade in the country’s history ever inarched so tempestuously over the lives and fortunes of a whole people. Stormy events thundered in the ears of men and blazed before their eyes. The false tranquillity of the fifties had been shattered by the cannon in Charleston Harbour. The land quivered to the shock cf battle as reeling armies of Blue and Gray hurled themselves into combat, for the truth as each saw it. It was an era of stunning change. The names of new leaders glowed like stars in the firmament of fame.

Brightest of all was the star of Lincoln. Other statesmen had groped blindly /in the swift confusion of the looming crisis, but the humble rail, splitter .seeing clearly, had won the affection and trust of the plain people. r They made him President seven years after he said farewell to the Brandon. To his greatness of soul they had turned for salvation in the darkest hour that ever clouded a nation’s hopes.

Like Lincoln, Thomas Marsh . had been carried from Springfield upon the tide of events. There, as contractor and builder, he had got on rapidly, but with the outbreak of the Civil War immensely wider opportunities presented themselves to his shrewd business judgement. The forces of the North had to be fed and clothed. Vast stores must be as. sembled and distributed to the armies In the field. Too elderly for active service, and altogether lacking in such .military training and science as would have qualified him for important command. Marsh threw himself into the task for which he was fitted. Ait the beginning’ of the war he had called upon the President at the White ouse and talked the matter over.

“Tom,” said Mi. Lincoln, “we’ve got plenty of good men at the front, but between you and me .there arc a lot of infernal rascals back of tno lines. The Union needs honest men. X wish you would take hold of the army contracts job from-A bacon to beans. If you want a pair of shoulder straps .I’ll make you a colonel tomorrow.”

“No,'l said Marsh, “I don’t want rank. 1 want a chance to do business in a f qua re way.” "That 1 you have,” replied President Lincoln. “I’ll write to Stanton tonight. I can set him to do things for me, once in a while. That will got you enough contracts to keep you busy for a year, I reckon. And, Tom, maybe you can feed those men of McClellan’s something that will start them toward Richmond.”

“I’ll do my best, Mr. President. By the way, before I go, I want to give you Miriam’s lovij and respects. She’s at school in New York. I placed her there last year. She especially asked me to tell you that she still has the medal you gave her the day Dave Brandon and. his boy started West.” “Why, bless her heart!” said Mr. Lincoln, “she must be —what? All of sixteen, by this time. Quite a young lady, Tom. The next time you come to Washington you must bring her to the White House. What ever become of Brandon and the boy ? Have you had any news of them?” “Not a word," replied Marsh. “I wrote to correspondents in California to see if they could bo traced, but nothing ever came of it. They simply dropped out of sight. The far West is a long way from us. It doesn’t seem as if this awful war interested those people very keenly.' ’

"I know that, Tom,” said the President thoughfully. “The time has come, I am convinced, to bring East and West closer together. The railroad must be built, ! Torn, the rail, road that Dave Brandon used to dream about, poor fellow! 1 have managed to find time between generals to talk over the project with men who are interested. A Mr. Huntington of San Francisco, has been to see me a number of times, and I have gone over the ground with Mr. Eurant of New York. X don’t mind telling you, confidently that a bill will be introduced in Congress early next year to provide for the building of the Pacific Railroad.. The men I have talked to are enthusiastic about it. We must build it to hold California and the Pacific Coast states to the Union. It’s the only thing which can open up the West.” “ I believe now that it must come,” said Marsh..“but the cost, the terrible difficulties?’’ ’They will be met and faced,” replied Mr. Lincoln, quietly. “When the American people find that some, thing is necessary tor their happiness and security, money doesn’t count, Tom, nor do difficulties exist. The road will be built, I want you to know this because you should have a hand in the building of it. They will need honest me n for that job, for the road must be built right, Tom.” A full year had passed since that time with the President, a year crowded with labour for Thomas Marsh. From his office in New York, and with weekly visits to Washington, he swung briskly into the business of supplying the armies in the field. It was profitable and Marsh quickly won repute for square dealing. Even the harassed and crusty Mr Stanton received Tom Marsh at

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the War Department with friendly smiles and warm handshakes. In New York ho had made a home for Miriam and himself in one of a row of attractive houses set back from the south side of Eleventh street, a little west of Sixth Avenue, and within a short walk of beautiful Washington Square. In this quiet quarter, shaded by fine old trees, he found himself very content, absorbed in his work, happy in he companionship of his daughter. He was often absent from homo, and much of Miriam's time was spent in her studies as a pupil of Miss Beckman's select Seminary for Young Ladies in Great Jones street, but they had each other at week-ends, and on much evenings as Marsh could spend in the metropolis. They took long walks together, along’ the East River and the North, enjoying the colourful confus. ion of the waterfronts; or drove their brougham and sleek chestnuts up Fifth Avenue thronged with the carriages of the rich and fashionable shoppers.

He regretted that he could not find more time to devote to this lovely little daughter whose beauty, unfolding like, a rose in June was obvious even to a father’s accustomed eyes. At seventeen Miriam was'as charming a picture as one might hope to look upon. To Marsh she was like a light in a dark room. Her slight and graceful figure was rapidly taking o n the curves of womanhood. Her hair, so long that it swept almost to her knees when sho loosed it, was of a wonderful blue-blackness, and as fine as spun silk. Great, dark eyes, veiled by long curving lashes, were perhaps her most arresting, feature. A low, broad forehead, a short, straight nose, with a- tantalising tilt; full, curving lip with a delicious upward tilt at the coVners, a perfectly modelled chin, softly hinting at strength of character, ’ and a complexion like sweet peas In the dewy morning, had been conferred upon this delicious girl by a destiny careless of the heart pangs of helpless young men. As cheerful as sunshine and with a disposition which owed, it may be, no little to perfect health, Miriam was yet.no spiritless young beauty. She possessed a temper which sometimes flashed like lightning, as some of the supercilious misses of Miss Bocfiman’s select finishing school discovered when she first arrived among them from the West and was submitted to the snubs and injustices they elected to inflict upon “the barbarian from the backwoods.” Her mind worked like a steel trap, snapping painfuly upon her tormentors. Her pluck, independance, readiness to shoulder her own problems, plus the quickly.made discovery that she was no tale-bearer soon changed the atmosphere of the school from staudoffishness and hos 1" tllity to comradeliness and friendship and at the end of her second term there was no more popular girl in the seminary. She made warm and enduring friends among girls of the highest social position in the city ,and her sweetness and sure poise of good breeding made her extremely wellliked by the discerning mothers of school friends. The result was. that Miriam came to bo a welcome guest in the old homes around Washington Spuare and in Lower Fifth Avenue, and her lovely face was invariably to bo seen at the small dances and the more formal assemblies of smart so. clety.

Young as she was, suitors swarmed to her as bees tt> a rose, and among the young men who constituted themselves her coveted cavaliers were several that bore names as old as Manhattan Island. The silver tray in the. hallway of the picturesque house in West Eleventh street ,a house of three storeys, with broad verandahs of iron grill work facing each story and overlooking the neat and narrow lawn, displayed the cards of scions of the Sluyvesants, the Van lienssalaers, the Beckmans, and the Van Courtlandts. It also held the neat visiting card of Mr. Peter Jessbn, whose family had played its part in the history of old . .ew York. Young Jcsson had bee n introduced to her the p.ircvlous winter by her best friend, Susan Deiancey. “Nice, but wild,” whispered Susan. "Take him and tame him, Miriam.” Jesson had paid her earnest and assidous attention from their very first meeting. Wherever Miriam appeared there Peter Jesson was sure to be. Little by little, imperiously, he had managed to shoulder aside all rivals. In the year that had passed, Miriam was disturbingly conscious of a growing interest in Jesson. He attracted her, at times fascinated her. He was the perfect courtier, delicately skilful in the thousand small atten. tions that are the due of every pretty girl. Miriam gradually found herself depending upo n him for the innumerable little services that girls like to have without solicitation. He was extremely personable—tail, athletically built, with the bearing of an aristocrat: distinguished in any com. pany. He talked well and amusinglyfrom an unfailing store of bright light gossip of the town. She liked his clothes, very smartly selected, and worn with an air. Altogether Mr Peter Jesson had made distinct pro. gress, toward a definite place in the heart of Thomas Marsh’s charming daughter. But, attracted as she was, Miriam was sometimes repelled. There was an Dj-rogance about the man, an. occasional disregard of the rights and feeling of others, especially of inferiors, that Miriam did not like.

This was the situation as the summer of the second year of the war approached. Marsh went frequently to Washington, He had had further conferences with the President, and his mind was becoming more and more engrossed with the much talked.of project of the transcontinental railroad. He spoke of It to Miriam often. .* “The Bill authorising the Pacific Railroad is in Congress. It will be reported out of committee some time late i n June,” he said. “ I believe it will be passed end I am confident that the President will sign it. Many people don’t think so. They argue that every dollar of money and every ounce of energy should be used for war ,and that the railroad should.be put off until victory is wo n • The put of until victory is won. The crisis in Washington when it occurs.” Miriam discussed the railroad with Jesson. To her surprise ho was intensely interested. "As you know,” ho said, “I am a civil engineer .although I confess I have rather neglected my profession. It has been very difficult for one situated as I am to make the right sort of connection. I’m afraid I’ve been pretty much of an idler, but if this railroad is begun it might mean a wonderful opportunity for me. Your father being interested makes the idea all the more attractive to me. If h goes into it, the work will lake him West, Miriam! That means that you would go with him, doesn’t it?” “Why, yes, Peter,’ ’said Miriam. “Of course. I couldn’t dream of living enywhere without father. And father thinks the road will surely be built and will bring riches to the builders.” “Well, then, I see that I shall have to get down to work,” laughed the young man. "I could not bear to have you go away from me. And the family fortunes certainly neeu reviving." ' They were sitting in the drawingroom of the Marsh home. Jesson arose, walked to the long French window, and gazed for a moments toward the shadowy trees. He turned and walked slowly back to Miriam’S chair .standing over her, bending forward.

"Miriam,” he began, ”1 didn't mean to speak so soon. But somehow, I must. I love you. You must know that I have adored you since the night we met. .1 am afraid I haven’t a great deal to offer you except a good family name. But I— I must have you. Tell me. do you care for me?” Will you mary me?’ ’

“Peter,” said Miriam, steadily, though a little tremulously. ”1 am not going to say that this is a great surprise. I have known perfectly well that you seemed to be very fond of me ” “Seemed:’ ’cried Jesson, but Miriam continued:— "I don’t know whether I truly care for you in that way or not, the way people call love. 1 am- very fond of you, Peter. I miss you when you arc not near me,” “Miriam!” he cried, “you do love me!” He caught her to him, but she pushed him away. “No, not yet,” she said gently. “There are things about you, Peter, things that I have heard . They trouble me. You seem to have no purpose in life. You gamble ,or so the talk goes. I thinly you drink too much. I am not a ' bluo-lstocking. Peter, but these stores —. Then sometimes yop seem hard.” “Miriam, I have made /enemies. I know that. They have lied about ■ me from one end of New York to the other. Don’t believe these stories. 1 suppose I’ve gone the pace some—a man has to in my set —but if you will marry ine, I'll never touch an. ther card. I’ll be more temperate. I'll go back to my profession. I’ll make you proud of me'.” He dropped to his knee, beseeching her with his eyes . “Give me my chance, Miriam. I’m wild for you. I’ll wait if you say so —wait for years; but I want your promise. Tell ,me you will marry me!” , . Miriam gazed at him steadily for a long time. Finally she spoke .‘T will marry you ” He leaped to his feet . —"Not now, not soon .even: for I am too young. I know that, and father would never consent; but later, in a year or two, perhaps, after you have proved youfbelf and I am surer of myself as well. Will that contem you.?” For a long time he pleaded, but under Miriam's gentleness was the steel of an inflexible resolution that Jesson could not bend. At the end he accepted, her terms. “Do you know where I am going when I leave you?” he asked “I am going to see Durant.” "Mr. Durant of the New Union Pacific Railroad Company?” asked Miriam, who had frequently heard her father mention the New York, capitalist as one of the prime movers in j the railroad project. | “The very man.” replied Jesson. “I, know him well. My father and he were friends. I will ask him to find me a post.” ’ ] When they parted she permitted him to kiss her, but the kiss did not' fire her heart. It did not thrill betas she had supposed a girl must be thrilled by the touch of her lover’s lipc, “And yet I am fond of him—like him better than any man I have ever met,” she said to herself. It was a very thoughful Miriam who prepared for bed that night. (To Be Continued,)