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"Please, mister," he said, "I'd like to find a place to stay all night." The man looked down on him wonderingly, but not unkindly. "Is it a hotel ye're after?" he asked. "Well, not hardly. I ain't got any money. I only want a place to stay where I won't be in the dark an' cold alone all night." "Do ye belong in Pittston, I don' no'?" "No, I live in Scranton." "Sure, the train jist wint for there.
Wellsburg isn't so far away, and more than once Wellsburg has sent trainloads of people down here. Pittston is larger than Bloomfield, and Pittston has the fever. I understand the citizens of this little town thought Merry crazy when he built that stand. They've changed their minds since."
"Well," he said, "it's pretty dark, and I hate to stop the train between stations. I guess I'll have to let you ride to Pittston, anyway. You'll get out there, won't you? it's the first stop." "Oh, yes! I'll get out there," said Ralph, much relieved, settling back into his seat as the conductor left.
There are many other declivities, also, that are scenes of leaps and adventures, such as the Fawn's Leap, in Kaaterskill Clove; Rogers's Rock, on Lake George; the rocks in Long Narrows, on the Juniata, where the ghost of Captain Jack, "the wild hunter" of colonial days, still ranges; Campbell's Ledge, Pittston, Pennsylvania, where its name-giver jumped off to escape Indians; and Peabody's leap, of thirty feet, on Lake Champlain, where Tim Peabody, a scout, escaped after killing a number of savages.
He called on me at my office some ten years after my father's death. He was six feet tall, a handsome man of striking appearance, with blue eyes, nearly white hair, a ruddy countenance, and a very straight figure for one of nearly eighty years of age. He was born at Pittston, Maine, July 4, 1813.
The strong reality in his mind was the trying task that lay before him yet, and the bitter outcome, so soon to be, of all his hopes and fancies. At Pittston Junction there was another long delay. Ralph grew very nervous and impatient. If the train could have reached Wilkesbarre on time he would have had only an hour to spare before the sitting of the court.
The train dashed on through the night, rumbling, rocking, waking the echoes now and then with its screaming whistle, and finally it pulled into the station at Pittston. True to his bargain, Ralph stepped from the train. Two or three other people left it at the same time and hurried away up the street; then the puffing engine pulled the cars out again into the darkness.
There were not many people there, but they began to come very soon, and kept coming until the room was nearly full. Finally, there was a puffing of a locomotive out on the track, and a ringing of an engine bell, and the door-keeper called out: "All aboard for Pittston, Scranton, and Carbondale!"
After reaching, at Pittston, the junction with the Susquehanna River, the scenery was grander; and, as they passed down through the far-famed Wyoming Valley, Ralph thought he had never before seen anything quite so beautiful. On the whole it was a delightful journey. Sharpman was in excellent spirits and made himself very agreeable indeed.
There are many other declivities, also, that are scenes of leaps and adventures, such as the Fawn's Leap, in Kaaterskill Clove; Rogers's Rock, on Lake George; the rocks in Long Narrows, on the Juniata, where the ghost of Captain Jack, "the wild hunter" of colonial days, still ranges; Campbell's Ledge, Pittston, Pennsylvania, where its name-giver jumped off to escape Indians; and Peabody's leap, of thirty feet, on Lake Champlain, where Tim Peabody, a scout, escaped after killing a number of savages.
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