As Roy sat musing over the events that had led up to his present journey to America’s greatest seaport, his train of thought was suddenly interrupted by the loud voice of a brakeman.
“Manhattan Transfer!” shouted that individual. “Change cars for lower New York. This car goes to the Pennsylvania Station at Thirty-third Street.”
The train came to a grinding stop. Immediately there was great hustle and bustle. Passengers poured out of the coaches and crossed the narrow platform to the waiting cars on the farther track. Others stood on the platform ready to swarm into the newly arrived train. Roy’s destination was lower Manhattan, but he made no move to change cars. His orders did not require him to report for duty until the next day. He was in no hurry. He had come a day ahead of time in order to familiarize himself with his instruments and his new quarters, and make the acquaintance of his future associates. Just now he wanted to see something of the city. So he sat quietly in his seat, watching the hurrying throng on the platform.
Presently there was a slight shock that jarred the great steel coaches, and Roy knew that the big steam locomotive that had hauled the train from Central City had been replaced by an electric locomotive that was to pull the train through the tunnel under the Hudson River. A few seconds later the conductor cried out his warning, and the train glided smoothly away from the long platform. Soon it was flying across the stretches of meadow that lay between the junction point they had just left and the landward side of the Palisades, where it would plunge under ground.
The very last leg of Roy’s journey had begun. The very last step in that long stairway of years that led from the cradle to man’s estate was under foot. For though Roy lacked two years of his majority, he was henceforth to take a man’s place among men. Roy thrilled at the thought that inside of twenty-four hours he would no longer be plain Roy Mercer, the Central City High School lad, but Mr. Mercer of the Marconi service, with his own quarters aboard a fine ship, a place at the officers’ table, and a smart uniform. Perhaps the idea of the uniform appealed to Roy quite as much as did the knowledge that he was about to take his place among the ship’s officers. His heart beat fast, and his whole being thrilled with pride at the thought that he was the youngest operator in the Marconi service. Roy fairly hugged himself as he thought of his good luck in securing such a desirable berth.