Note:  This story follows the timeline of my Heritage of Honor series, which is, for historical reasons, somewhat later than that used for the series Bonanza.  While this difference results in certain incongruities with the series, it opens up other interesting and historically viable possibilities, particularly for the eldest Cartwright brother.  Some of these are alluded to in this story and will be more fully developed in a future one.

    The front door blared open, bringing with it a brisk gust of March wind and two Cartwrights coated with dust.  From his chair by the blazing fire, Adam scowled at his younger brothers and sharply ordered them to close the door.  “You’re late,” he continued, his voice accusative, “and Hop Sing is fit to be tied.  He’s threatening to throw supper out the back door, and a return to China has already been mentioned.”

    Hoss Cartwright scrunched his nose in the direction of the stone fireplace.  “Well, pardon us all to pieces, big brother.  It ain’t like we wanted to be out this late in that cold wind.”

    “Yeah,” Hoss’s younger brother groused as he shrugged out of his green corduroy jacket.  “Some of us actually had to do more today than just ride into town for the mail.”

    Adam favored Little Joe with a superior smirk.  “Just the privilege of age and maturity, sonny.  Someday we might even consider you grown up enough to fetch the mail.”

    Eighteen-year-old Joe scowled.  If there was one thing he hated, it was being reminded that he was the youngest, and it seemed to him that his oldest brother rarely missed an opportunity to throw it in his face.  “Listen here, Adam,” he began, moving toward the objection of his irritation.

    Before Joe could even start his intended tirade, however, sharp words cut him off.  “You late,” Hop Sing snapped from the dining room.  “Always people late to suppah.  Hop Sing work hard all day and this thanks he get!”

    Hoss lightly rested a beefy hand on the shoulder of the diminutive factotum of the Ponderosa.  “Just put the food on the table, Hop Sing, and you’ll see how thankful I can be.  I’m hungry enough to eat a bear!”

    “Hop Sing no feed dirty boys,” the Chinese cook snorted with a disdainful look at the cherubic, but grimy face of the middle Cartwright brother.  “You wash up, chop-chop, then maybe-so I put food on table.”  His quick exit to the kitchen left no room for argument, so both Hoss and Little Joe headed for their respective washbasins upstairs, passing their father on the way down from doing similar duty.  Adam chuckled and turned back to reading the latest copy of Manufacturer and Builder, which had arrived in the mail that day.

    His nose was still buried in the journal as the other three Cartwrights took their places around the table.  Ben cleared his throat loudly and, when that still brought no response from his eldest, sharply uttered the young man’s name.  Startled, Adam tore his eyes from the printed page and with a sheepish apology, set the journal aside and moved quickly to the table.

    Four heads bowed as Ben Cartwright offered thanks for the bounty spread before them.  Then, as Joe made a vain attempt to grab the platter of pork chops before Hoss, Ben smiled at their older brother.  “Interesting article, son?”

    “Extremely,” Adam replied, as he watched “the children” tussle over the meat.  “It’s about—”

    “Oh, let me guess,” Joe snickered as he speared a pork chop with his fork and dropped it onto his plate, “the Centennial!”

    “Yeah,” Hoss cackled, dragging three chops into his plate.  “Couldn’t be nothin’ else, could it, now?”

    As he finally snared a piece of meat for himself, Ben smiled indulgently at the young man seated across from him at the foot of the table.  Seeing the flush rise from Adam’s chin to his broad brow, he knew the younger boys had guessed correctly—and small wonder.  Since the beginning of this year of the Lord, 1876, each new issue of Manufacturer and Builder, or any of the other eastern publications to which Adam maintained a regular subscription, had inspired him to enthusiastic eloquence about the upcoming celebration of America’s one-hundredth year.  “Now, boys,” Ben cautioned with a glance to either side, “I’m sure we’re all interested in what your brother Adam has to share.”

    “I’m not,” Joe grunted.  “It’s got nothin’ to do with us.”

    Hoss took warning from the steely glare Ben fixed on his youngest son and quickly said, “Yeah, Adam, tell us all about what them folks back in Philadelphia is plannin’ now.”

    Eyes locked on the boy who was pointedly ignoring him, Adam responded to his other brother.  “If you’re genuinely interested, Hoss, I’ll loan you the journal.  I wouldn’t want to force information on the willfully ignorant.”

    As he helped himself to potatoes and gravy, Little Joe tried to disregard the pool of silence forming around him, but he could feel three sets of eyes staring him down.  With a sigh he looked up.  “Okay, okay, let’s hear all about it”—he lowered his voice to mutter, “like we’ve got a choice.”

    “Oh, you’ve got a choice, young man,” Ben announced sternly.  “You can leave your dinner on your plate and march yourself upstairs until you learn to be civil.”

    Joe slammed his fork to the table.  “Well, maybe I’ll just do that!  I don’t see why I have to pretend that this is interesting two, three times a month, just ‘cause some stupid magazine came in from back east.  From what I hear, they ain’t even gonna pull it off, so it’s all just a bunch of pointless palaver.”

    Ben snapped his fingers and aimed one toward the stairway.  With a disgusted glare at Adam, Joe started to rise, but Adam waved him back into his seat.  “Don’t bother,” he said.  Glancing toward his father, he snorted as he inclined his head toward Joe, “Since when has dietary deprivation ever had any effect on that one?  I’ll change the subject.”

    “You don’t have to,” Ben stated firmly.  “I will not countenance that level of rudeness at the table—or anywhere else under my roof!  Joseph, either apologize to your brother or go to your room.”

    Temper flared in Joe’s green eyes, and he jerked the chair back.  Just then he caught sight of the food on his plate.  He’d put in a hard afternoon’s work since dinner, and his belly was rumbling.  Suddenly, the quarrel with Adam seemed too unimportant to sacrifice a good meal over.  “Sorry,” he grunted, though it rankled his pride, and scooted back up to the table again.

    It was a pathetic, obviously unfelt, apology, but both Ben and Adam let it slide.  Adam, however, could not allow his brother’s last criticism of the centennial celebration to go unchallenged.  “I’m aware, little brother,” he said, “that certain journalists have expressed doubt that the Centennial Exposition will take place, but the article I was reading tonight removes the slightest reservation.  It will open, and on time.”

    “Yes, sir,” Joe said meekly, with a longing glance at his mashed potatoes and gravy.  Adam rolled his eyes and changed the subject, as promised.  The conversation turned to the work of the ranch, what had been accomplished that day and what needed to be done on the next.

    Not until the younger boys had retired for the night did Adam again broach the subject of the Centennial with his father, moving from his blue chair by the fire to the end of the sofa nearest Ben.  “It’s really going to be a marvelous celebration, Pa,” he observed after filling Ben in on the latest news.  “Countries from all over the world will be sending their greatest works of art and machinery, their finest agricultural products and manufactures—and the buildings themselves!  An unprecedented illustration of the latest ideas in architectural design.”

    “I’m sure it will be wonderful, Adam,” Ben responded, rubbing the arm of his thickly padded chair, “but while I don’t approve of the rudeness with which Joseph expressed his opinion, I’m afraid I have to agree that it doesn’t have a great deal to do with us out here.  Virginia City is planning her own celebration of the centennial year, of course, and although it won’t be as grand as the one in Philadelphia, at least we’ll be able to attend this one.”

    “Is attending the one back east such an impossible dream?” Adam ventured softly.

    Ben felt a lump rise in his throat, and his fingers tightened on the burgundy leather.  Though he hadn’t permitted himself to admit it, he’d known for a month or more that dreams of seeing the Centennial himself lay behind all Adam’s insistence on sharing the latest developments as they became known.  His own reluctance to see what should have been self-evident came from the simple fear that if Adam once again tasted the culture of the East, he’d be lost forever to his reawakened appetite.  How often Ben had seen that yearning in his son’s dark and soulful eyes, the same light of longing that now transfixed them.  “You want to go?” he asked hesitantly.

    “You know I do,” Adam said, leaning forward earnestly.  “I realize summer is our busiest time, and I know you’re going to be tied up with outside activities yourself, this being an election year.  That’s why I’ve been reluctant to mention it and why I’ll understand if you tell me I can’t be spared, but I figured it was time I worked up the nerve to ask, at least.”

    Ben’s smile was warm with the love he felt for this firstborn son.  Though all the boys did their fair share of work around the ranch, Adam alone shouldered its responsibilities with him.  At times, he thought that Adam alone truly understood and shared the dream that had found fruition in the Ponderosa, and it seemed ironic to him that Adam alone seemed to visualize a future beyond its boundaries.  Yet this young man had given so much of himself to his father’s dream that Ben couldn’t refuse, had never been able to refuse him when he tentatively brought forth a dream of his own.  Even at the risk of losing him, Ben knew he couldn’t deny this request, any more than he had denied the one that had sent Adam east years before.  “How long would you be gone?” he asked.

    The dark eyes sparkled, and then thick eyelashes dipped to hide them.  “Well, the Exhibition lasts from May 10th to November 10th,” Adam replied.

    The lump caught in his throat, but Ben forced himself to chuckle.  “Be serious.”

    Adam looked up, a hint of humor brushing his lips.  “No, I realize I can’t stay that long, but I would like to be there for the Fourth of July celebration—it’ll be the biggest in the country—and I’d like to attend Commencement at my old alma mater.  I haven’t had a chance to do that since my own graduation.”

    “When is that?” Ben asked.

    “The twentieth of July,” Adam replied and waited, holding his breath.

    Ben’s expression was thoughtful.  “You’re talking about being away a month or more, then.”

    Adam licked his lips.  “I know it’s asking a lot.”

    Ben raised his gaze to his son’s face.  “No more than you deserve,” he said softly, touched by the yearning his son was trying so hard to conceal.  “As you say, you haven’t been back east since college, and I know there are things you’ve missed, things you’ve given up for my sake, for your brothers’ sake.  You’ve always given a hundred and ten percent to this ranch, Adam, so you take whatever time you need.”

    Adam flashed a rare smile.  “If you’re sure you can spare me . . .”

    Ben cleared his throat and adopted a light tone to cover his emotion.  “We managed five years without you; I guess we can muddle by for four or five weeks!”

    “Thanks, Pa.”  Adam slid onto the table, laying a hand on his father’s knee.  “Why don’t you come with me?  It’s been longer since you’ve been back east than it’s been for me.”

    Ben gave his son’s firm biceps a light rub.  “You know I can’t.  As you pointed out, it’s our busiest season, and I’ve got that political convention to attend.”

    “Not ‘til August,” Adam reminded him.  “We’d be back by then.”

    Ben shook his head.  “I’ll be involved in meetings leading up to the convention, as well, some of them taking place during the exact time you plan to be gone.  No, as much as I’d love to make the trip with you, Adam, I simply can’t.”

    Adam nodded.  It was the answer he’d expected, so he was ready with another proposition.  “The boys, then?  If I pay their way?”

    Ben cast a suspicious glance at his son, knowing from the speed with which this second request followed the first that it had been waiting in the wings.  “You know I can’t spare all three of you,” he chided.   “I guess I could get by with just one son to help me through our busiest season,” he added with a touch of tartness, “so if it’s worth footing the bill for you to have one of your brothers with you, take your pick.”  The smile that followed this statement clearly conveyed Ben’s amused certainty regarding which of his brothers Adam would choose as a traveling companion.

    The smile jolted Adam out of his complacency.  His first instinct was, as his father had accurately discerned, to take Hoss on the trip, but Adam resented the idea of being that predictable.  In fact, he prided himself on being able to read the minds of others, while keeping his own thoughts and feelings close to his vest.  Unwilling to admit that he might be as open a book to his father as, say, Little Joe was to him, he pursed his lips and murmured, “I’ll have to give that some thought and let you know.”

    The statement didn’t budge the smile on his father’s lips.  In fact, they were definitely twitching as Ben said, “Fine, fine.  Take all the time you need, but I will require one thing more of you, Adam.”  Waiting until he had his son’s attention, he continued, “You will be the one to explain to the brother you leave behind why you made that choice.  You won’t saddle me with that chore!”

    Adam quickly agreed.  Though Little Joe had acted uninterested in the Centennial, he would be both disappointed and angry on learning that Adam and Hoss were taking an extended trip, while he had to stay behind, stuck with their chores for a month or more.  Pa had every right to expect him to blunt the force of that anger by taking it on himself.

    Father and son said good night and retired for the evening.  Adam lay on his bed in the dark room, trying to think of the best way to explain to Little Joe why he was choosing Hoss, but the more he tried to come up with reasons that would appease the boy, the more unfair he felt.  Another thing Adam Cartwright prided himself on was fairness, and it simply wasn’t fair to reject Joe out of hand.  Besides, if the decision were really the right one, it would stand up to careful analysis.  So, think it through logically , he told himself.  Weigh the pros and cons of choosing each brother; then decide.  Now, why should I take Hoss?

    It was so easy to tally up the positive points for choosing Hoss.  Hoss was his best friend and would make the most enjoyable companion.  They always got on well together, seemingly understanding one another without words.  With Hoss, there would be no conflicts, no problems to deal with, just a pleasurable journey for both, and Hoss’s interest in inventions would guarantee his fascination with Machinery Hall, which would exhibit the latest mechanisms from around the world.

    Were there any negative points to taking Hoss?  To be totally fair, Adam had to admit that there were.  Hoss was uncomfortable in big cities, even the less rigid ones of the West.  Philadelphia, with its stricter societal mores might be absolute torture for a man most comfortable under open skies.  Then, too, Hoss thoroughly hated being away from home for long stretches of time, almost as if he drew his life’s breath from the fragrance of the pines.  Would a month be more than he would enjoy, even of exciting new inventions?  And what of the other aspects of the Exposition?  Machinery Hall and Agricultural Hall would naturally appeal to him, but the other areas might not, at least not to the same extent.  Reluctantly, Adam was forced to admit that Hoss had neither the interest nor the scholarly intellect to take in everything that the Centennial had to offer.

    Little Joe, on the other hand, was smart as a whip.  Not much got past those ever-active green orbs.  While Joe had always been a reluctant student, there was no doubt whatsoever in Adam’s mind that his youngest brother could more readily profit from the educational experience of the Centennial than Hoss.  It might even be an opportunity to interest the boy in a college education.  Adam had, on numerous occasions, tried unsuccessfully to convince Joe to continue his education, but perhaps a trip east would awaken the boy’s interest, particularly if he visited some colleges and got a feel for what the experience was really like, how it could broaden his life.

    Joe’s youthful exuberance was another point in his favor.  He was more likely to relish a new experience around every corner than Hoss, but taking the kid had definite drawbacks, as well.  There were certain parts of the Exposition that he wouldn’t enjoy any more than Hoss, and if Joe were to receive the full educational benefit, Adam would have to force him to take it all in and that could lead to conflicts.

    Hoss, of course, would willingly go along with anything his big brother suggested, just to be congenial, and try his best not to let Adam see how bored he really was.  With him, there would be no problems, but taking Joe almost guaranteed facing conflict somewhere along the way.  The two of them mixed about as well as—Adam rejected the easy metaphor of oil and water for a more accurate one—coal oil and a lighted match.  Conflict was inevitable if they were thrown together for several weeks without either Pa or Hoss on hand to douse the match before it struck the oil.  Joe’s youthful exuberance, too, was as much a weakness as a strength.  The interest in new experiences could lead just as easily to an education of the wrong sort.  Do I really want to saddle myself with watching out for him in a city with a wider range of temptations than Virginia City?

    That was the dilemma.  Should he selfishly cater to his own pleasure or do the “big brotherly” thing and put the other man—well, boy, in Joe’s case—first?  The decision he had thought would be so easy kept Adam awake late into the night and consumed his thoughts throughout the next day.  He pondered the problem, giving each of his younger brothers careful examination as they worked side by side.  Hoss and Little Joe became increasingly uncomfortable with the feeling of eyes boring into their backs and wondered why Adam seemed so distant.

    Adam spent several hours alone in his room that night, mulling his decision until he was finally certain he’d made the right one.  Hearing his brothers bid each other good night in the hall, Adam made his way downstairs to tell his father which brother would be accompanying him to Philadelphia.  He smiled, taking almost perverse satisfaction in the thought that Pa was about to learn that he didn’t know his eldest quite as well as he thought he did.  Nor, for that matter, had Adam known himself as well as he’d thought, for the choice he’d made had come as a total surprise.  His father’s shocked face when he mentioned Joe’s name made Adam wonder for a moment if he would be allowed, after all, to take his youngest brother with him.

    Ben had obviously been caught completely off guard.  Raking a hand through his silver hair, he fell back into the leather chair and stared at the man seated on the fireside table before him.

    “Surprised?” Adam asked with a sportive smile.

    “‘Flabbergasted’ might be a better word,” Ben admitted.  “I never gave a moment’s thought to your taking Joseph.  I just assumed you meant Hoss.”

    Adam pinched his nose bridge.  “Yeah, I know.  That’s why I thought I’d better discuss this with you before I said anything to Joe.”

    Ben smiled wryly.  “Thank you for that, at least.”

    Adam stood, took a step toward the fire and turned to face his father.  “Look, I’ll confess I had Hoss in mind when we spoke before, but, just to be fair, I tried to look at both of them, and I think Joe will benefit more from the trip.”  He went on to describe the process of reasoning that had led to his decision.  “So how about it?  Can I take the kid?” he asked when he’d finished.

    Ben motioned for Adam to take a seat and when the young man was once again perched on the table, he leaned forward, laying a hand on his son’s muscular thigh.  “You say you’ve considered potential problems.  Have you also considered that Joseph may not respond at all the way you hope he will to these ‘educational opportunities,’ that he may, in fact, resent your bringing up this issue of college yet again?  He has been adamant that he has no such interest.”

    Adam nodded slowly.  “I know, but he has no factual basis for forming that decision, just his own stubborn belief that it’s not for him.”

    Ben shook his head.  “Nevertheless . . . ”

    “Look, Pa, it will still be his choice,” Adam insisted.  “I’ll make that clear.  I just want him to make an informed decision.”

    Ben frowned, concerned that he already saw the basis for a continuing clash between his two sons.  “Have you also taken into consideration just how difficult your young brother can be to handle?”

    The expression on Adam’s face was almost smug.  “I’ve had to handle him many times before.”

    The furrows in Ben’s brow deepened.  “Yes, but not for such an extended time,” he reminded his eldest.  “You’ll be completely on your own.”

    “I can handle that boy, Pa,” Adam assured him.

    He hadn’t said, “Better than you,” but Ben could read it in his son’s almost cocky expression, and he arched a critical eyebrow.  Fool boy, always has thought he could do a better job of parenting than me.  Serve him right if I did make him put that theory to the test.  Might end up having a bit more respect for his poor, befuddled father.

    “Besides,” Adam chirped on, blithely unaware of the affront he’d given, “maybe some time alone together will help us toward a better relationship.”

    Or an open break, Ben thought, but feeling trapped by his earlier agreement that Adam could take whichever brother he chose, he reluctantly gave his permission for his youngest son to accompany his eldest to the Centennial Exposition at Philadelphia.  “Provided,” he added firmly, “that Joseph wishes to go under the conditions you set down and agrees to put himself under your authority.  I’ll make it clear that I am delegating my authority to you, but whether he’ll respect that when I’m a continent away is something I cannot guarantee.”

    “Don’t worry, Pa,” Adam chuckled.  “We’ll do just fine.”

    As he watched his son climb the stairs to bed, Ben shook his head in consternation, scolding himself for his lack of foresight.  Should have seen this coming.  So like Adam to make that decision based on what would be best for his brothers.  Been looking out for their welfare before his own his whole life.  Should have known he wouldn’t just pick for his own pleasure.  Well, maybe fathers weren’t meant to be clairvoyant; maybe that was strictly the purview of the Almighty.  He stood and stretched, then headed for bed, still wondering what the outcome of this adventure would be.  Adam and Joe, together for four weeks or so—would it be the unifying experience Adam envisioned or the disaster his father dreaded?

    The Cartwright brothers worked apart the next day and arrived home that evening at separate times.  Hoss and Little Joe, though, got there within fifteen minutes of each other and had already started evening chores when Adam rode in.  “Look who’s tryin’ to get out of his share of the work by comin’ in late,” Joe scoffed as his oldest brother led Sport into a stall and began to unsaddle the white-stockinged chestnut.

    Adam tossed the saddle over its curved wooden stand and pulled the blanket from the horse’s back.  “For your information, little brother, I have done more than my share of the work today, so mind your tongue.”

    “Aw, Adam it just seems like more work ‘cause it’s harder to do at your age.”  Joe ended the quip with a high-pitched giggle.  “Better hustle through your chores, though, old timer, or you’ll be missing your supper.  Hop Sing don’t cotton to folks bein’ late to the table.”

    “Well, since you’re feeling so spry, sonny, maybe you’d like to take over my chores for me,” Adam jibed back.

    Joe folded his arms across his chest and regarded his older brother with a saucy smirk.  “Nope, doesn’t appeal to me at all.  How about you, Hoss?”

    Hoss leaned on the pitchfork he’d been using to rake out one of the stalls.  “Nope, don’t appeal to me none, neither.”

    “Since when does work appeal to either of you lazy louts?” Adam commented dryly, picking up a curry brush.

    “I just follow the example set before me, older brother,” Little Joe observed with a grin.

    “Oh, if only you did!” Adam laughed as he began to brush the glossiness back into Sport’s coat.  “Listen, Joe, I need to talk to you privately after supper.”  He intended to talk to both of his brothers that evening and had decided to start with the younger one.  Though he felt certain Joe would agree to accompany him to Philadelphia, he’d been fooled on other occasions when he’d tried to figure out which way the quixotic little scamp might jump.  If Joe were foolish enough to turn down a marvelous opportunity like the one his big brother was about to offer him, Adam would be having an entirely different kind of conversation with Hoss than he at present envisioned, so talking to Joe first was a wise precaution.

    As if to prove how quickly his moods could swing, Little Joe bristled abruptly.  “Listen, older brother, if you’ve got any complaints, you just spit ‘em out now.  I’ve done every bit of work Pa set out for me today, and as far as I know, I haven’t done anything to rile a single soul.  ‘Course, some rile easier than others.”

    “And you easiest of all,” Hoss grunted.  “You just pull in them horns, little brother; Adam didn’t say nothin’ ‘cept he wanted to talk to you.”

    “Privately,” Joe snorted.  “Sounds like a dressing-down to me, and I don’t got one comin’.”

    Despite his irritation, Adam managed to hold his temper, but he couldn’t resist correcting the younger boy’s grammar.  “You don’t have one coming, and as far as I know, that’s true.  Why do you always assume the worst, boy?”

    “Experience, brother, experience,” Joe grumbled, still clinging to his offended stance.

    Adam came close to laughing in his face.  “Yeah, well, don’t bank on it this time, kid.  I have an idea I want to discuss with you, that’s all.”

    Curiosity sparked in Joe’s eyes.  “Yeah, what?”

    “After supper, Joe—my room—be there,” Adam said and turned his attention back to grooming his horse.

    Seeing that he wasn’t going to be able to pry anything more out of his stubborn oldest brother, Joe rolled his eyes at Hoss, who just shrugged and went back to his chores, figuring that if Adam needed to talk to Joe private-like, it was none of his business.

    Adam went to his room directly after supper, while Joe dawdled around downstairs, mostly to demonstrate that he wasn’t at anybody’s beck and call.  Curiosity, however, prevented his keeping up that pretense for long and within half an hour he was tapping on his older brother’s door.  When Adam called, “Come in,” Joe did, closing the door and leaning against the jamb.

    “Come on in; I won’t bite,” Adam teased.  When Joe stepped forward, Adam nodded toward the bed.

    Joe took a seat.  “Okay, I’m here.  What’s this all about?”

    Adam pulled the chair out from his desk and straddled it backwards, facing his younger brother.  “I talked Pa into letting me go to Philadelphia this summer for the Centennial.”

    Joe cocked his head.  “Yeah?  Well, that’s real fine, Adam.  Much as you’ve talked about it, I guess it means a lot to you.  Look, if this is about me takin’ over your chores while you’re gone, I don’t figure Pa’ll give me much choice about that, anyway.”

    Adam laughed.  “You just don’t ever credit me with an unselfish thought, do you?”

    “Well, sure—sure I do,” Joe protested.

    “Uh-huh, sure.”  Adam folded his arms on the back of the chair.  “Well, believe it or not, I’ve had one.  Of course, an objective scrutiny might only confirm that I’ve taken leave of my senses, but—”

    “Are you gonna get to the point or not?” Joe demanded.

    “I’m trying to,” Adam said tersely, “if you could avoid interrupting me.  I’m trying to tell you that I asked Pa if I could take you with me and he said yes.”

    Joe’s mouth dropped and his eyes grew large.  “You want me to go,” he babbled, “and—and Pa said I could?”

    Adam sat back, savoring the astonishment on his little brother’s face.  “That’s right.”

    “Hoss, too?”

    Adam shook his head.  “No, Pa said he couldn’t spare you both, so I picked you.”

    Joe’s eyes narrowed with suspicion.  For Adam to choose him over Hoss—for anything, much less something as marvelous as this trip sounded—was so far out of the ordinary that it definitely required further investigation.  “What’s in this for you, Adam?”

    Adam lifted his eyes to the ceiling; then he looked directly at his brother.  “You can’t believe my motives are altruistic?”

    After straining a moment to recall the meaning of a word he’d learned in school, but rarely used, Joe shook his head.  “Nope, not in character for you at all, big brother.”

    Adam licked his lips.  “All right, I have to admit there is a price tag.”

    “Aha!” Joe ejaculated in triumph.  “And just how high is it?”

    Adam shrugged.  “Depends on your attitude.  In my opinion you’re getting a bargain.  I will pay all the expenses of the trip: rail fare, lodging, food, whatever you need.  In return, I want you to visit a few college campuses.”

    The match of Adam’s ambitions having been touched to the coal oil of Joe’s resistance, the younger boy’s temper flared.  “I might have known you’d have something like that in mind!  I made my decision about college already, big brother.”

    “Yes, but that was an uninformed decision,” Adam argued.  “You have no idea what college is really like.”

    “I know what school is like, Adam!”

    “Not at that level,” Adam stated calmly.  “It’s a different world, Joe, and you owe it to yourself to see it before you turn it down.”  He opened his hands, palms up in a gesture of conciliation.  “Look, it will still be your decision.  All I’m asking is that you give the issue a fair consideration.”  He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them.  “Frankly, boy, I think looking at a few college campuses is a small price for what you’ll get in return, several weeks’ vacation from your chores and a chance to visit places you’ve never seen. Just being there will broaden your education, without your even trying, and I don’t intend it to be all work.  You’ll have a good time, Joe.”

    “How many colleges?” Joe demanded, obviously trying to calculate the exact cost before committing himself either way.

    Adam threw up his hands in exasperation.  “I don’t know; I haven’t had much time to think it through.  We’ll be attending Commencement at Yale, so that’s one, although it’s more for me than for you.”

    Joe’s mood abruptly brightened.  “Well, that’s okay,” he said.  “I’d like to see where you went to school, Adam.”

    “Then there’s the University of Pennsylvania,” Adam went on.  “Since we’ll be staying in the town where that’s located, it makes sense to visit it.  Those two might be enough, or we might work in one or two more if you’re interested.”

    “I won’t be,” Joe stated bluntly.

    “Don’t be so quick to decide,” Adam admonished, raising a hand to silence Joe’s attempt to interrupt yet again.  “It’s your decision, but I do ask that you try to keep an open mind.”

    Joe shook his head, incredulous that a man as smart as Adam could find it so hard to understand a simple “not interested.”

    “Just try,” Adam urged.

    “Okay, I’ll try,” Joe conceded grudgingly.

    Adam rolled his eyes.  You’d think I was suggesting he try out a medieval rack, instead of offering him the opportunity to broaden his understanding of the world!  “I think you’ve made a wise decision,” he said, keeping his darker opinion to himself, “and one that will bring you a large measure of enjoyment, as well.  If you’re willing to listen to another word of wisdom, youngster, I suggest you save your pennies between now and late June.  For one thing, you’ll need some dress clothes suitable for the East and appropriate footwear.  I can assure you, little brother, that you do not want to walk the streets of Philadelphia or the twenty-five or so miles of walkways on the Centennial grounds themselves in a pair of boots made for riding horseback.”

    Joe’s nose crinkled as he tried to calculate just how much this “free” trip might set him back.

    Adam laughed.  “Of course, you can probably wheedle Pa into paying for that, the way you have him wrapped around your little finger.”

    There was a hint of jealousy in his tone, and Joe’s alert ear caught it.  “I don’t get everything I want from Pa,” he muttered, sounding peeved.

    Adam arched an eyebrow.  “More than the rest of us, boy, and you know it!  You’ll want to save up for souvenirs, too.  I think it would be especially appropriate to bring home some nice remembrances for Hoss, since you’re getting to go and he isn’t.”

    Joe smiled softly.  “Yeah, I’d want to do that.”  His expression brightened.  “And Hoss’s birthday will be coming up right after we get back, too; I could get him something nice—and—and Christmas presents, real special ones, huh?”

    Adam nodded.  “Yes, you definitely could find some unique gifts from practically anywhere in the world, so I’d watch how much I wasted on beer and poker if I were you.  I also think you should bone up on your early American history.  You’ll be seeing some of the places where history took place, and it will be more meaningful if you have a fresh recollection of the key events of the Revolution.”

    Not wanting to admit that his brother’s suggestion was a reasonable one, one that would probably enhance his enjoyment of the trip, Joe forced a soft moan.  “Older brother, you can find ways to make even a vacation seem like extra chores.”

    Chuckling at the exaggerated scowl with which Little Joe had met his final word of advice, Adam stood up.  “Do it, anyway.  I’m gonna break the bad news to Hoss if you’re sure you’re willing to accept the conditions of going with me.”

    Joe frowned.  “You already got me looking at colleges and reading up on the Revolution.  You mean there’s more?”

    “Just one more, and it comes from Pa,” Adam replied, folding his arms and eyeing his young brother with a patronizing air.  “You can only go if you agree to put yourself under my authority and give me the same respect and obedience you’d give him.  Is that agreed?”

    Joe’s first reaction was an angry outburst.  “Oh, this just gets better and better!”  It took only two seconds, however, for him to realize the inevitability of minding Adam while he was away.  Protective Pa would ask that of him, no matter where he went, even if it were only to Virginia City, so he quickly agreed and scurried out to tell Hoss that Adam wanted to see him next.

    Joe had left the door to Adam’s room ajar, so Hoss merely opened it enough to poke his head through and ask, “What’s up?  Joe’s lookin’ like the cat that ate the canary.”

    Adam waved his brother in and gave him an amused smile.  Hoss’s expressions might be colloquial, but they also tended to hit dead center.  “I don’t doubt it for a minute.  Sit down, Hoss.”

    Hoss settled on the foot of Adam’s bed, and Adam sat down near the head, facing him, with one leg tucked under the other, which rested on the floor.  “You know how interested I’ve been in the Centennial,” he began.

    Hoss grinned broadly.  “Been kinda hard to miss, big brother.”

    Adam uttered a soft, self-deprecating laugh.  “Yeah, I guess so.  Well, I finally talked to Pa, and he agreed to let me go—and to take one of my brothers with me.  I just told the canary-eating cat that he was my choice.”

    Though Adam wouldn’t have thought it possible, Hoss’s grin grew even wider.  “Hey, that’s great!  I’m mighty proud for the both of you,” the big man said enthusiastically.

    The genuine warmth of the response caused Adam to stutter.  “Hoss, I—I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I couldn’t take you both.”

    Hoss leaned forward, grasping Adam’s shoulder in a solid, supportive grip.  “Aw, no, no, Adam, don’t feel bad,” he said.  “You done right, pickin’ Joe, ‘stead of me.  The youngun’ll get more out of it than I ever could—and enjoy it more, too.  You know I ain’t much for big cities and fancy doin’s.”

    Adam blinked back the drops forming at the corners of his eyes.  While Hoss was listing reasons he himself had used in making his decision, Adam knew that Hoss was saying most of this for his benefit, and he loved his brawny brother all the more for his unselfish generosity.  “Buddy, you know if I were deciding strictly on whose company I’d actually enjoy, you’d win, hands down,” he said with all the warmth he felt toward this man who was his closest friend, as well as his brother.

    “Don’t sell the youngun short, Adam,” Hoss advised.  “He can be right good company, if’n you let him.”

    Outside the door, crimson-faced and ears flaming, stood the “youngun” in question.  Deeply wounded by words Adam had intended only for Hoss’s ears, Little Joe crept down the hall to his own room, closed the door and flopped disconsolately down on the bed.  So Adam didn’t really want him.  Well, he’d known that, deep down.  In fact, though he could only now admit it to himself, that suspicion was exactly what had motivated him to eavesdrop on what he knew to be a private conversation.

    Ought to march right in there and tell him what he can do with his fancy trip east , he groused inwardly.  It would be the right thing to do, to let Hoss go in his place and let Adam have the brother whose company he really wanted, but Joe couldn’t bring himself to make the sacrifice.  He’d never been back east or much of anyplace outside home territory.  A few trips to California with Pa or one of his brothers, a few a short ways east, but never past the boundary of his own state.  He’d heard about those places in stories told by Pa and Adam, but he’d never seen them for himself, and he wanted to—badly.

    Joe tried to make himself think of Hoss, who had never seen those things, either, but anger was fogging his mind with too dark a cloud for the light of generosity to penetrate.  Adam may not have wanted him, but with a rigid set of his jaw, Joe determined to make doggone certain his older brother lived up to his bargain and to drive as hard a one as he could while he was at it!  Adam would pay for giving such a wonderful gift with such a miserly spirit—oh, yes, he would pay!

    Over the next several weeks Adam began to plan his trip to Philadelphia, with input from the other traveler neither requested nor desired.  Careful perusal of back issues of his journals quickly apprised Adam of an oversight, and it was with hesitance that he requested an extension of his time away from the Ponderosa to attend the National Convention of Mining Engineers, which would convene in Philadelphia on June 20th.  Ben had scowled at being left shorthanded an additional ten days, but as mining was an adjunct to their timber business, as well as a personal interest of his eldest son, he felt he had to agree.  The convention was being held so close to the time that the boys would be in Philadelphia anyway that it seemed illogical to refuse.

    Though no one had consulted him about the change of plans, Little Joe was delighted at the thought of ten extra days of vacation.  To him, it meant more time to see more sights and the chance to have more fun, and while Hoss grumbled about taking on his brothers’ chores even longer than he’d bargained for, it was good-natured grumbling.  Knowing how much Adam wanted to see the Ponderosa involved in the mining business, Hoss viewed the convention as a natural outlet for that interest, and it didn’t bother him one bit to see his little brother get some extra fun packed into his trip, either.

    No longer did Adam have to force discussion of the Centennial on his family.  Little Joe’s attitude evidenced the most marked change, of course, now that the national celebration actually did have something to do with him.  Both Ben and Hoss found themselves caught up in the nightly discussions, as well, for each was interested in what the other two would be seeing and doing during their time away.  Adam dragged out every issue of every journal he had that contained even a smidgen of information about Philadelphia or the festival to be held there.  After rereading them himself he passed the magazines on to his youngest brother and found him much more responsive than usual to the offer of reading material.  “Start with this one,” Adam suggested as he handed Joe the July 1875, issue of Manufacturer and Builder.  “It should give you a good overall view of the buildings themselves.”

    “Okay,” Joe agreed readily and started to scan the short article.  “This says the Main Building covers twenty acres!” he exclaimed a few paragraphs into the text.

    “And every acre covered with fascinating exhibits from around the world, little buddy,” Adam reminded him.  Joe’s face fairly beamed with enthusiasm, which quickly faded at Adam’s next comment.  “In order to get the full benefit from the experience, I’m working out a plan to cover the entire exhibition in a thorough manner, charting each day’s activities in a logical sequence.”

    “Oh, that sounds like fun,” Joe muttered with a sarcastic edge to his voice.

    Adam’s head shot up, and only the awareness of his father’s watchful eye kept him from giving the impudent kid the tongue-lashing Adam felt he had coming.  With strained patience he waited for Joe to make eye contact before saying, “You’ll have plenty of fun, Joe”—his voice grew firmer—“but I don’t want to hear any complaints about seeing things you’re not interested in.  It’s my trip, too.”

    Joe’s innate sense of fairness brought a blush to his cheeks.  It was Adam’s trip in every way that mattered: his idea, his money funding the trip, his invitation the only reason Joe was included at all.  Embarrassed by the ingratitude he had been showing, Joe murmured an apology.  “It’s only right for you to do the planning, Adam, since you’re the one footing all the bills.”

    “I’m glad you realize that,” Adam responded, going back to his own reading.  He completely missed the look of exasperation his father gave him, as well as the discouraged sigh with which Little Joe returned to the journal article.

    By the time the brothers had absorbed everything in the journals, a book Adam had ordered as soon as he’d received permission to make the trip arrived in the mail.  Every night thereafter found the two brothers sitting side by side, perusing with avid attention a guidebook to Philadelphia.  Though Adam had visited the Quaker city during his sojourn in the East, much had been forgotten and much had changed, so he had felt a recent book noting the city’s attractions to be a prudent investment.  From time to time he would point out places he considered worth seeing, but when Little Joe suggested that Colonel Wood’s Museum and the zoological park sounded interesting, Adam merely hooted his contempt for his young brother’s childish choices.  Within moments Joe moved away from Adam and challenged Hoss to a game of checkers.  Adam felt the snub, but chalked it up to another display of childish petulance.

    By the time Joe had defeated Hoss at three straight games, his good temper was restored, and the two younger Cartwright brothers headed off to bed, teasing each other about who would win the next night’s contest.  Yawning, Adam laid aside the guidebook.  “Guess I’d better turn in, as well.  We have a lot of work lined out for tomorrow.”

    “I’d prefer you stay,” Ben said, taking a final draw on his pipe before laying it aside.  “I want to talk to you, Adam.”

    Something in his father’s tone gave Adam an uneasy feeling.  “Something wrong?” he asked.

    Ben folded his arms across his chest as he settled back in the leather chair.  “Not yet, but there will be if you continue on this course you’ve set.”

    Adam exhaled slowly.  “If we’re going to play guessing games, we’ll be up far later than is conducive to an early start tomorrow.”

    Disturbed by his son’s apparent inability to see what was painfully clear to his own eyes, Ben shook his head.  “Do you honestly not realize what you’re doing to your brother?”

    Adam pursed his lips.  “I presume you’re talking about Joe?”

    “Then you do know what I mean,” Ben said, watching Adam’s face carefully.

    Adam lifted his palms toward the ceiling.  “Not really.  I just know that if there’s a problem, it’s bound to be with Joe.  Hoss and I don’t have problems.”

    “That’s obviously due to Hoss’s skill with people, not yours,” Ben grunted.

    Adam sat up stiffly.  “What does that mean?”

    “It means, young man, that you are shutting your young brother out of the planning of this trip,” Ben stated bluntly.  “Adam, you told me that you hoped this time with your brother might draw the two of you together.  Well, son, if you keep charting the same course, I can guarantee that ship will crash upon the breakers, and you will find yourself cast into some very choppy water.”

“You’re talking in riddles again,” Adam accused.

    Ben groaned.  For an intelligent man, sometimes his oldest son could be amazingly obtuse.  “Why do you automatically assume that all of your ideas are correct and all of Joseph’s are wrong?” he demanded.

    A stubborn glint flashed in Adam’s dark eyes.  “Because I have a better understanding of the options we have to choose between.  We can’t do everything, Pa; we don’t have the time.  That makes it incumbent on me to make the best possible use of what we do have.  I’m going to show the kid a good time, but I want it to be a profitable one, as well.”

    “What’s so unprofitable about a museum—or a zoo?” Ben pressed.

    “The museum he mentioned is decidedly inferior to others in the area, more of a popular pleasure place than an educational experience,” Adam argued.  “I suppose there might be some profit in a visit to the zoological gardens, if I can find the time to work it in.”

    “Make time,” Ben said.

    The statement was less than a command, but more than a suggestion, and Adam’s face clearly showed that he understood his father meant what he said.  “All right, Pa,” he murmured.  “I’ll take the kid to see the monkeys.  May I go to bed now?”  The question, tinged with sarcasm, demonstrated, as he fully intended it to, Adam’s disgust with being treated like a small child.

    Feeling that there was little point in further conversation, Ben waved his son off to bed.  I’d need a chisel to break through that granite head of his , he told himself, which means I’ll have to come down harder on Joseph, instead.  He sighed, glad that he had a few weeks to prepare that final lecture to his youngest son on obedience and submission to his brother’s authority.  Considering Adam’s arrogant attitude, it would have to be a firm one, and Ben was likely to need every minute of the intervening time to find just the right words.

    March drifted into April, and Ben and Hoss became accustomed to the atypical sight of Little Joe curled up on the sofa each evening, nose buried in a history book.  Having decided that Adam wasn’t listening to anything he had to say, anyway, Joe ignored the plans for the trip and turned his attention to other things.  Doing the reading assignment Adam had suggested was high on his list.  Joe viewed it as a condition of the trip and intended to give Adam no reason for withdrawing his magnanimous offer.  Besides, although Joe did not for one minute consider admitting it, he was enjoying the stories of the early days of his country, now that he didn’t have to concentrate on memorizing dates and other useless information for some test in school.  After all, the events of 1776 were on everyone’s tongue in this centennial year, and Joe had found, to his surprise, that girls were impressed by the gems of knowledge he dropped into conversation from time to time.

    Adam noted with satisfaction the diligence with which Joe refreshed his grasp of history.   In his view, however, far too little of his young brother’s time was spent in such worthwhile pursuits and far too much in playing checkers with Hoss or squiring some cute skirt to a local dance or dawdling over a beer or a poker table in the Bucket of Blood.   In fact, as April turned into May, Adam began to be concerned that Little Joe was not making the proper personal preparations for the journey.  “Have you even seen a tailor to be fitted for a proper suit?” Adam asked irritably one evening while Hoss was out making a final check on the stock before going to bed.

    Stretched out on the sofa, Joe took another bite of a juicy apple and mumbled, “Nope.”

    “Well, don’t you think it’s time you did?” Adam persisted.

    “Nope.”  Joe grinned back amiably.

    “I do not intend to walk the streets of Philadelphia next to someone wearing grubby range trousers,” Adam cautioned, “so I would advise you to start putting your wardrobe together, boy.”

    Joe bounced up, eyes snapping.  “Mind your own business, Adam!  I’ll do my shopping when and where I see fit.”

    Ben cleared his throat and both boys turned toward him.  “You probably shouldn’t put it off much longer, Joseph.  By the time spring roundup is finished, you’ll only have about a month, and if you delay too long, you may get tied up with other things.”

    Turning his back on Adam, Joe directed his response solely to his father.  “Pa, I was thinking that I might just wait ‘til I got to Philadelphia to get the fancy clothes Adam seems to think I need.  I mean, the guidebook says some of the biggest and best department stores in the country are in Philadelphia, and Adam’s gonna be tied up in that mining meeting the first two days we’re there, so I’d have plenty of time to do my shopping then.”

    Ben nodded, considering the idea, but Adam immediately interrupted.  “No, that won’t do,” he said sharply.  “If you think I’m turning you loose on the streets of Philadelphia alone, little boy—”

    Joe swiveled to glare at his brother.  “Don’t call me that!  I’m not some little kid who can’t find his way around, Adam.”

    Adam looked down his nose at his irate younger brother.  “Joe, it’s a huge city; you have no idea how easily you could become disoriented.”

    “Look, Adam, you can’t expect me to just sit in a hotel room for two days!”  Joe snapped.

    “I expect you to do as you’re told!” Adam shouted back.  “Frankly, boy, I wish I could have a couple of days to rest up from that long train trip, instead of having to take in those meetings the day after we arrive.”

    “Breakers ahead,” Ben growled.  Little Joe merely gave his father a blank look, but Adam, who recognized the metaphor from the earlier discussion, slumped with frustration.  Why couldn’t Little Joe—or Pa, for that matter—see that he had the boy’s welfare at heart?

    “Isn’t the purpose of that guidebook, Adam, to acquaint those unfamiliar with the city with how to get around?” Ben suggested.

    “Well, yes, of course,” Adam acquiesced grudgingly, “but do you really want to see your baby son running the streets of a major metropolis all by himself?”

    Joe’s hands tightened into fists.  “Oh, now we’ve gone from ‘little boy’ all the way down to ‘baby,’ have we?  Keep it up, Adam, and that smart mouth of yours will get a taste of this baby’s knuckles!”  He shook his left fist toward his older brother.

    “Put that down,” Ben ordered tersely, and Joe let the fist drop, his fingers slowly uncurling under Pa’s reproachful gaze.

    Adam smiled.  “You see?  Can you really trust anyone that childish on his own in the second largest city in the United States?”  He lifted a supercilious eyebrow in Joe’s direction.

    Noting Joe’s crestfallen face, Ben smiled gently at him.  “I don’t have a problem with it so long as he stays within a proscribed area,” he said and was rewarded by the tender glow of emerald eyes.  “You’re staying downtown, near the business district, aren’t you?” he continued to query Adam.

    Adam nodded in reluctant agreement.  “At the Washington Hotel, yes.  It’s a central location, part of the reason I chose it.”

    “So Joseph could do his shopping without going more than a few blocks from the hotel, couldn’t he?” Ben prodded.

    Adam exhaled with exasperation.  “Yes, of course, but you’re overlooking another pertinent fact.”

    “And that is?”

    Adam tried to keep his tone reasonable.  “The very fact that I will be tied up in meetings for two days means that I won’t be available to supervise his purchases.”

    “I don’t need you to supervise my purchases!” Joe retorted.  “I know how to pick out a pair of pants, older brother.”

    “I just want to make sure you get the proper garments and that no one takes advantage of you, kid,” Adam tried to explain patiently.

    “I can take care of myself!” Joe shouted.

    “Lower your voice,” Ben admonished.

    “But, Pa . . .”

    Ben silenced the protest with an upraised hand.  Hearing his oldest son chuckle at the curbing of his youngest, however, he turned severe eyes toward the man in the blue chair.  “I believe Joseph is perfectly capable of selecting his own clothes, Adam, so I will expect you to acquaint him with the business area, give him some reasonable boundaries within which he’s required to stay—by my order, Joseph—and leave it at that.  Is that clear?”

    The smug grin faded from Adam’s face and reappeared on Joe’s.  “Yes, sir, that’s clear,” the older boy stated tersely, his tone indicating that while his opinion had been overruled, it had not changed.

    Around the middle of May, Little Joe turned nineteen, and all the gifts he received related to the journey that he would be making a month later.  Hop Sing delivered his gift early that morning, as Little Joe was dressing for the day.  Opening the slender box, Joe found a gray silk cravat.  “Silk come all-a-way from China,” the Cantonese cook announced. “You wear with fancy suit so not fo’get Hop Sing when gone.”

    Joe feigned offense at the suggestion.  “As if I would!  Hop Sing, you know I’d take you with me, except my poor brother Hoss would pine away without you here to keep him going.”

    “How you pay fo’ Hop Sing ticket when Mistah Adam have to pay fo’ yours?” Hop Sing asked tartly.  His attempt to cover his emotion failing, he added, “You be a good boy, Little Joe.”

    Joe pressed his palm to his heart.  “Good as gold—just like always,” he vowed, then threw his head back and cackled.

    Hop Sing wagged his head at what he typically referred to as “foolishment” and turned away quickly so Little Joe would not see the merriment twinkling in his almond eyes.  “Hmph!  You good like fool’s gold,” he scoffed, using a simile he’d picked up from Adam.

    Recognizing the source, Little Joe poked his tongue at the back of Hop Sing’s head, but he didn’t really mind it when Hop Sing said the words.  Knowing his friend spoke them in jest, the words didn’t carry the same sting they did when his much-too-critical eldest brother uttered them in complete sincerity.

    The family’s celebration, a private one this year, took place after a supper of Joe’s favorite foods.  His father presented him with a plain white envelope, which contained a brief, but valuable letter, informing Joe that the family tailor would be expecting him for a fitting within the week.  “I thought you should have one proper suit before you left home,” Ben explained, “in case what you buy in Philadelphia can’t be altered as quickly as you have need.  You pick whatever style and fabric you want, son, and have Mr. Barton send me the bill.”

    Joe flashed a grateful smile and thanked his father before opening Adam’s gift next.  As he had expected from the size and shape of the box, it contained a comfortable and stylish pair of balmorals.  Despite his insistence that he wanted to do his shopping in Philadelphia, Joe had done some investigation in the stores of Virginia City, and he knew that these shoes were of better quality and higher price than he would have considered buying himself.  His expression of thanks to Adam was heartfelt and hearty.

    Hoss’s gift aroused almost as much curiosity in the youngest Cartwright as had his father’s, for Joe had no more idea what aid to his trip the bulky bundle might conceal than he’d had about the contents of that unassuming envelope.  It turned out to be a new carpetbag, the first Little Joe had personally owned.  On previous travels he had always borrowed whatever luggage he needed from another member of the family and had planned to do so for this journey, as well, but he was delighted to have a bag of his own and told Hoss so.

    Hoss crinkled his nose in the self-effacing way he had.  “Just figured you’d need an extra, with havin’ to pack for such a long trip,” he said.  “Or maybe you’ll just wanna save this one for totin’ back them fancy duds you buy back east.”

    Joe flung an arm around his bulky brother.  “Not on your life,” he declared.  “I’m using this for my on-train clothes.  I want to keep it close to me.”

    Hoss blushed with pleasure and, to take attention off himself, suggested that it was time for Joe to blow out his candles and cut the cake.  A couple of loud amen’s met this suggestion, and with a happy grin Joe moved toward the table, where Hop Sing stood ready with matches to light the nineteen candles.

    The next four weeks flew.  Both Adam, in business matters, and Little Joe, in his horse-breaking responsibilities, were diligent in making sure that their work was caught up so the load on those left behind would be as light as possible.  On the night of June 12th both excused themselves directly after supper to complete their packing, for the long-anticipated journey would begin early the next morning.

    Little Joe had just finished laying out what he would wear on the train when he heard a rap on his door and called, “Come in.”

    Though Joe had expected to see Adam, come to offer yet another piece of unwanted advice about what he should pack in his bag for the train and what should be checked through to Omaha, he was pleased to see his father, instead.  “Hey, Pa, come on in,” he said with a bright smile.  “I wanted a chance to say good-bye.”

    “No need for that now,” Ben said as he closed the door behind him.  “You can do that at the depot tomorrow.”

    “You gonna see us off?” Joe asked, eyes glowing.  “I figured you wouldn’t want to get up that early.”

    Ben reached out to caress the back of his son’s neck.  “I’m not the one who has a hard time getting up in the morning, young man,” he teased.  “Besides, I want to keep you in sight as long as I can.  I’m going to miss you, son.”

    Joe moved into his father’s arms.  “I’m gonna miss you, too, Pa.”

    “Now, you’re not getting homesick already, are you?” Ben chided playfully as he broke the embrace and took a seat at the foot of Joe’s bed.

    Joe plopped down companionably next to him.  “Naw, that’s for kids.”

    “Oh.”  Ben smiled wryly, amused, as always, by Joe’s deep-seated need to be considered a man.  He patted the boy’s knee.  “It’s nothing to be ashamed of, you know, longing for your loved ones when you’re far from home.”

    Joe shrugged as he offered his father a sheepish smile.  “I guess.”

    “Getting excited?” Ben suggested, to point his son’s thoughts in another direction.

    Joe almost bubbled.  “Oh, yeah!  So much I don’t know if I’ll sleep a wink tonight.  Been looking forward to this for so long, I can’t believe it’s really happening.  I was kind of scared I’d manage to bang myself up somehow and have to miss it, after all.”

    “Oh, Joe,” Ben commiserated.  “I wish I’d known.  That’s not a good frame of mind to have when you’re breaking horses.”

    “I did a good job,” Joe murmured defensively.

    “You did an excellent job,” Ben praised warmly, “but if I’d known how you were feeling, I could have gotten you some more help, so you wouldn’t have had to do so much of that bronc-busting yourself.”

    “I wanted to do it myself,” Joe assured him, “and I was extra careful.  Just a silly little idea nibblin’ at the back of my mind, that’s all.  Nothing to it.”

    Ben drew an envelope from inside his vest.  “I have something for you.”

    Joe took the envelope and gave his father a cheeky smile.  “I don’t think I have time for another visit to Mr. Barton, Pa.”

    Ben laughed at the reference to the birthday gift he’d given his son.  “No, but about half the money in that envelope is intended to go toward your clothing purchases in Philadelphia, the rest being an advance on your next month’s wages.”

    Joe whistled at the sum inside the envelope.  “Thanks, Pa, this’ll really help.  I—uh—haven’t done quite as good a job as I intended of saving my pennies, as Adam puts it.”

    “I know,” Ben said, a touch gruffly.

    Joe glanced up hesitantly, wondering if Pa knew that he had not only failed to save his pennies, but had, in fact, lost a goodly number of them at the poker table.  The look on Pa’s face clearly showed that he did know, so Joe didn’t bother trying to hide his failings.  “Seemed like a good way to make more pennies at the time,” he sighed, “but I came up short, instead of ahead.”

    Ben had to laugh.  Joseph, at barely nineteen, was simply too young to have developed a proficient poker face.  His open countenance instantly told opponents whether his hand was a good one or he was trying to bluff through a bad one.  “Let that be a lesson to you, young man,” Ben said lightly and then grew more serious.  “Try to stay out of poker games while you’re away, Joseph, and don’t go near anything riskier.”

    Joe squirmed a little.  “Hey, I don’t think I’ll have much chance to get into trouble with that old watchdog of a brother along,” he quipped.

    “That old watchdog is filling that role at my behest,” Ben stated firmly.  “I want you to remember that while you are away, you are to give the same obedience and respect to your older brother that I would expect you to give me.”

    “Pa, I know,” Joe said.  It was not the first time he’d heard that lecture and saw no reason for another repetition.  “I’ll mind Adam best I can.”

    Ben arched an eyebrow.  “You will mind him totally, Joseph.”

    Joe straightened up and nodded briskly.  “Yes, sir, that’s what I meant.”  Seeing his father’s smile, he loosened up.  “Thanks again for the money, Pa.  I sure never expected anything like this.  It’s an awful lot of money for you to throw away on your slapdash son.”

    Ben brushed the comment aside.  “Far less than I would have spent on your college education, had you chosen to go that route, and I figure this trip will stand in place of that as an opportunity for learning.”

    Impulsively, Joe grabbed his father for another hug, his heart brimming with gratitude that Pa, at least, understood his feelings about college and held out no expectations that this trip would change them.  Now, if he could just convince stubborn old Adam.

    Ben brushed a quick kiss behind the boy’s ear, and then stood up.  “Better turn in soon, Joe,” he advised.  “It’ll be a short night, as it is.”

    “I will,” Joe promised.  “Good night, Pa.”

    “Good night, son,” Ben said with one final ruffle of the boy’s chestnut curls, an indulgence he knew he couldn’t allow himself at the depot tomorrow.

    Ben moved down the hall to the room of his oldest son and knocked on the door.

    “That you, Joe?” Adam called.

    Ben opened the door.  “No, it’s me, son.  I know you’re busy, but I’d like a moment of your time.”

    “I’m finished,” Adam said, gesturing for his father to enter, “but I probably should check on Little Joe one last time.  I’ve tried to give him good advice about his packing, but I don’t think he’s been listening.”

    “Leave him be, Adam,” Ben advised.  “He’s not likely to make any mistakes he can’t live with, when it comes to simply packing a carpetbag.”

    “I suppose not,” Adam admitted.  “Is that what you wanted to tell me, to go easy on Joe?”

    Ben frowned, and his voice carried an air of irritation as he began, “I don’t want you ‘to go easy’ on him, but”—the tone softened to an entreaty—“be good to him, son.”

    Adam sat on his bed, folding his arms behind his head and leaning back against the headboard.  “I was under the impression that I was already being rather expansively ‘good to him,’” he observed.

    Ben shook his head.  “You’re being expansively generous—with your money.  I just wish you could be as generous with your heart, Adam.”

    Adam bristled.  Though Pa rarely brought up the issue, he had, on other occasions, admonished his eldest son about what he called Adam’s “inclination toward aloofness,” his tendency to hold even those he loved at arms’ length.  Adam slowly sat up, prepared to defend himself if his father broached that uncomfortable subject yet again.

    Seeing the reaction, Ben softened his counsel.  “Enjoy your brother’s company, Adam.  Most people do, you know, and there must be some reason.  I think it’s time you discovered it.”  He pulled from his vest an envelope identical to the one he’d given Little Joe.  “This contains your wages for the time you’ll be gone,” he explained, “as well as a bonus to spend as you see fit.  I just gave Joseph a similar sum, which I expect him to spend on clothing.”

    “I’ll see to it,” Adam assured him.

    “No need,” Ben said firmly.  “I trust Joseph.  Adam, I’m sure there will be plenty of instances when you have to pull him up on a short rein, but don’t make problems for yourself by yanking the bit when you don’t have to.”

    Adam smiled at the image of a bit in his little brother’s mouth.  It would make him so much easier to control!  As that was not a thought he could share with his father, he said, instead, “It’s good advice, and I’ll bear it in mind, Pa.”

    Ben nodded at the envelope in his son’s hand.  “Don’t be afraid to ask for more if you need it; it’s a once-in-a-lifetime experience, and I want you to enjoy it fully.  You’ve always been trustworthy and frugal, Adam, but I don’t want you to stint yourself—or Joseph—unnecessarily.  And as we’ve discussed before, make whatever purchases for the Ponderosa you deem worthwhile.  I have implicit faith in your judgment, son.”

    Though less open emotionally than the other Cartwrights, Adam glowed under the warmth of his father’s praise.  “I’m sure I won’t need any extra money,” he told his father, “but I do appreciate your ‘expansive generosity,’ and I thank you, especially, for your trust.  It means a lot to me, Pa, and I’ll do my best to be worthy of it.”

    Ben rested a hand on Adam’s shoulder, as much physical contact as his eldest normally was willing to accept.  “Best turn in soon,” he said softly.  “You don’t want your little brother dragging you out of bed in the morning.”

    “That’ll be the day!” Adam laughed.

    An apricot glow was peeking over the amethyst horizon as the Cartwright buckboard pulled into Mill Station, the closest stop on the Virginia and Truckee Railroad, which would carry Adam and Joe as far as Reno.  Ordering Little Joe to unload the luggage, Adam hopped off the wagon and headed inside the small depot to purchase two tickets.

    Joe swung down from his black and white pinto, tying the reins to the rear of the buckboard.  “Beginning to think the real reason he asked me along was to fetch and carry,” he muttered as he stroked Cochise’s muzzle.

    Hoss, who was tying his big black next to the smaller pinto, heard the complaint and gave his little brother a playful chuck under the chin.  “I’ll give you a hand,” he offered, “if’n you’ll wipe that scowl off your face.”

    Joe flashed a grin.  “You got a deal.”  Adam did have other things to take care of, after all, and it was too early to get riled over something as silly as toting a few bags.  His mood improved even more when his father gave him a pat on the back and reached for one of the bags, too.

    Adam returned in time to supervise the loading of their luggage into the baggage car.  Then, since the train was scheduled to pull out in just a few minutes, he shook hands in farewell, first with Hoss and then his father.

    Little Joe started to imitate the grownup behavior, but a sudden realization of how long it would be until he again saw Pa or Hoss washed over him, and, instead, he impulsively flung himself into his father’s embrace.

    “Be a good boy, Joe,” Ben chuckled, twining his fingers through the freshly shorn chestnut curls on his shoulder, “and have a good time.”

    “I will,” Joe promised; then he pulled away to exchange a quick hug with Hoss.  “Take care of Cooch for me,” he urged.

    “You know I will,” Hoss assured him.  He had no time to say more, for Little Joe, embarrassed by his public display of emotion, broke free to bound for the long yellow passenger coach, gripping his new carpetbag by its padded handle.

    “Take care of him,” Ben charged Adam, smiling as he gestured with his head toward the departing figure of his youngest son.

    “Oh, I will,” Adam replied easily.  From the lofty peaks of adulthood, he found Little Joe’s child-like behavior amusing, but he felt a touch of wistfulness, as well.  Although he almost never expressed himself with his little brother’s affectionate abandon, there were times when he wished he could.  Moments like this headed the list.

    Noticing the small hamper still sitting on the wooden platform, Hoss picked it up and handed it to Adam.  “Hey, don’t forget your lunch,” he said.  “Hop Sing done fixed you up an extra nice one.  I know; I peeked.”

    “And there’s still food in it?” Adam teased.

    “Well, I did snitch one cookie,” Hoss confessed.  “Don’t you be tellin’ on me now, older brother.”

    “My lips are sealed,” Adam promised, raising his hand as if taking an oath in court.  With a final wave he headed toward the train.  Entering the passenger car, he found that Little Joe had already snared the spot next to the window on the red velour seat and was pressed up against the glass, waving to Pa and Hoss.

    “Homesick already?” Adam sniggered softly, as his brother continued to wave until the train pulled out of the depot and the other Cartwrights faded from view.

    Little Joe’s nose crinkled, Adam’s question having a completely different feel than when Pa had uttered the same query the night before.  Joe was used to his big brother’s brand of teasing, though, and didn’t really take offense.  “Naw, ’course not,” he alleged, brushing the comment aside, “but I will miss them.  Won’t you?”

    Adam nodded companionably at the younger boy.  “I have to admit I will.”

    While Adam, yawning, stretched back with his eyes closed, Little Joe watched the miles rush past the window, but not for long.  Since it was only twenty-four miles to Reno, the first leg of the grand expedition took just under an hour.  Joe could hardly contain his excitement when the train pulled into the Reno depot, for here would begin the real adventure as they transferred to the Central Pacific Railroad for the next stage of the long journey.

    Adam seemed determined to squelch that enthusiasm, however.  At least, that’s how his younger brother viewed the order to bring the bags to the check-in window and then run fetch a copy of the State Journal, the local newspaper.  Joe chafed under the imperious attitude, but did as he was told, reminding himself that Adam was busy with final arrangements for the trip: buying tickets, checking bags through to Omaha, securing their sleeping berths and whatever else needed to be done before they boarded. Don’t be a baby, Joe, he scolded himself.  Buying a paper is nothing compared to all that.  Disgruntlement reared up again for a moment, though.  Just don’t like being ordered around, is all.   Then, with a determined effort, he swept the sour disposition aside and was all smiles again when the conductor called, “All aboard!”

    Joe scampered up the steps ahead of Adam and down the carpeted aisle, aiming once again for a seat by the window, but Adam took a firm grip on his elbow and pulled him back.  “Not this time, little boy.”

    “Aw, come on, Adam,” Joe wheedled.  “I’ve never seen any of these places.  You have.  Besides, you’re just gonna read.”  He tapped the journal in his brother’s hand.

“Precisely why I need the window seat, for better lighting,” Adam stated matter-of-factly as he settled in next to the window.  “I paid for these seats, boy; I will decide who sits where.”

    Little Joe flopped down next to his brother, folded his arms and sulked, which produced no effect on Adam except mild amusement.  The train crossed the valley and started up a mountain—so far, all scenery that Joe had seen from horseback at one time or another.  The cars plunged down that mountain to lush Truckee Meadows below and then up another, for Nevada was composed of range after parallel range of mountains, stretching north to south across its width.  Joe gave some attention to what he could see of the mountains streaked in variegated shades of white, red, yellow and pale green clay, but this, too, was scenery he’d seen before.  Bored with the familiar and weary of acting glum for Adam’s benefit, he began looking around the car, watching his fellow passengers with interest and eventually striking up brief conversations with those nearest him.

    They’d been traveling about an hour when a boy of thirteen or fourteen came down the aisle, hawking candy, nuts, fruit, newspapers and magazines.  Deciding to follow his older brother’s example and maybe merit a share of the light from the window, Joe stopped the boy and asked what he had to read.

    “Oh, I got all the latest magazines and dime novels, sir,” the train boy said, eagerly rattling off a few titles.  “And I’ve got Croffut’s Trans-Continental Guide, too.  Tells you all about what’s coming up down the track, that one does, and it’s only twenty-five cents.”

    “All right, I’ll take one of those,” Joe decided, reasoning that Adam would probably not poke his nose out of his own magazine long enough to give his brother any kind of information.  He also selected one of the dime novels, The White Chief; or, The Track of the Avenger by Joseph F. Henderson, in case he wanted something light to read later on.  It had been a tough choice between that and the most recent addition to Beadle’s New Dime Library, The Squaw Spy; or, The Rangers of the Lava-Beds by Captain Charles Howard, and Joe’s final decision had been based solely on his sharing a first name with the author of The White Chief.

    Glancing at his brother’s choice, Adam rolled his eyes.  Trash, utter trash.  Didn’t the kid ever want to fill his mind with something more substantial than pabulum?  He was, however, glad to see Little Joe set aside the salmon paperback and open the railroad guide first.  That, at least, was a wise investment, something he himself might like to skim through when his brother was finished.

    The rails crossed the Truckee River just before pulling into Wadsworth, a town of only four hundred people, but a base of operations for the Central Pacific with a twenty-stall roundhouse and a machine shop where engines could be entirely rebuilt.  One end of the shop was fenced in, enclosing a bottle-green oasis in the dry terrain.  A central fountain provided enough water to sustain a few trees, as well as alfalfa and bluegrass, proving the wonders that irrigation could produce in Nevada’s arid climate.  That dryness was again evident as they pulled away from town.  On both sides of the track, wind had whipped sand around scattered clumps of sagebrush, making mounds similar to the hills in which farmers of more moist regions planted corn or potatoes.

    Leaving the mountains behind temporarily, the train began a long pull across an unappealing stretch of desert, with Humboldt Lake providing a much-needed break in the barren landscape.  In an effort to see the salt-rimmed expanse with pelicans and wild geese sporting around it, Joe craned his neck toward the window, practically draping himself across Adam’s lap.

“Do you mind?” Adam asked dryly, and Joe pulled back, again folding his arms in childish discontent as the train passed the reddish brown Trinity Range on the left.  Growing warm, Joe twisted out of his corduroy jacket.  Both he and Adam had dressed in their comfortable range wear for the early part of the trip, although, at Adam’s insistence, each had a suit packed in his carpetbag to change into before reaching Philadelphia.

    When the train stopped at Humboldt for the noon meal, the Cartwright boys had been on the road for almost six hours since leaving Reno, and breakfast had been about three hours before that.  “I am famished,” Little Joe announced as Adam pulled the lunch hamper from beneath his seat.

    “Small wonder,” Adam commented, “considering what little justice you did to your breakfast.”

    “Aw, don’t you start ridin’ me about that, too,” Joe grumbled.  He’d been too excited to eat, and Hop Sing had flown into an almost apoplectic rage at sight of the food remaining on Joe’s plate.

    “I have a feeling I have you to thank for the abundance in this basket,” Adam sighed.  “I tried to tell Hop Sing packing a lunch was unnecessary, but he wouldn’t listen.  Now not only do we miss the chance of dining at what is supposed to be one of the best eateries on the line, but we have a completely unnecessary basket to juggle around once it’s empty.”

    “He meant it as a kindness, Adam, so we wouldn’t have to rush around, getting off the train for food,” Little Joe said, quick to defend his friend.  He pulled a fried chicken leg from the basket and sank his teeth into the flavorful flesh.

    “I know that,” Adam replied.  “It was, of course, very thoughtful of him, and you’re right; I shouldn’t complain.  After all, we can eat here on the way home.”

    “Sure,” Joe said brightly.  “That’ll be something to look forward to.  Hey, the train’s gonna be here awhile, isn’t it?”

    “Thirty minutes,” Adam informed him.

    “I want to get out and stretch my legs a little,” Joe said, standing up.

    “All right,” Adam agreed, “but be back here in fifteen minutes.  I don’t want you getting left behind; it would be no end of trouble getting back together again.”

    Joe rolled his eyes, frustrated by the amount of control his big brother seemed to think it necessary to exert.  “I’ve got some sense, older brother!”

    “And absolutely no experience!” Adam declared.  “You do as I say, boy.”

    “Yeah, sure,” Joe muttered, figuring fifteen minutes would be enough.  After all, he was hungry and eager to explore the depths of that amply packed hamper.  Grabbing a wing with his right hand to go with the leg in his left, he ambled down the aisle toward the exit, munching as he went.

    I need to talk to that boy about his manners, Adam observed, but then he shook his head.  No, that was probably the kind of thing that would cause his father to mutter, “Breakers ahead,” if he were here.  Better save my lectures for more serious offenses.  No doubt the opportunities will be plentiful!

    Little Joe wandered down the plank platform, sniffing the air appreciatively.  If you could go by your nose—and Hoss always said you could—the fare at the Humboldt House was probably as good as its reputation.  Not, Joe was sure, as good as Hop Sing’s, though, and he, for one, was grateful to have one last home-cooked meal before trusting himself to the mercies of roadside restaurants.  The only thing he regretted was not dipping into that hamper sooner.  Sort of defeats the purpose of carrying your food with you, to wait ‘til almost one o’clock, like folks that got no choice.  Surprised old Adam didn’t think of that, except he’s so caught up in whatever he’s reading that his belly’d probably have to rumble louder than a train engine for him to notice.

    Joe walked over to look at the fountain outside the building to which his fellow travelers were headed for dinner.  The fountain was surrounded by an iron fence, but the gate opened easily and Joe went in to dabble his hands in the lukewarm water, washing away the chicken grease and bathing the back of his neck with the few drops that clung to his fingertips.  Grinning at the gold fish in the basin of the fountain, he bent to test the texture of the bluegrass growing around its base.  Here, as back in Wadsworth, water made all the difference between fruitless desert and nourishing meadow grasses, fit for fattening cattle.  Joe smiled, recalling with pride that his father had been among the first cattlemen to irrigate pastureland and plant it with alfalfa, thus extending the range available to their cattle.  The fine feed was one of the reasons Ponderosa beef was considered the best in the West.

    He spotted an apple orchard down a slight slope and was tempted to take a walk beneath its shady green canopy, for the day was growing hot.  The time limit Adam had imposed was almost up, however, and the aromas wafting from the Humboldt House reminded Joe of how hungry he was.  More for that reason than from obedience to Adam, Joe tripped back along the boardwalk and onto the train, though he did relish the smile of approbation from his older brother as he took his seat within the time designated.

    Joe polished off another piece of chicken before the train departed and was doing all the justice Hop Sing could have wanted to the oatmeal cookies when he caught sight of a freckled-faced boy three rows down the aisle.  The kid was staring with obvious yearning at the cookie in Joe’s hand, so with a grin Joe held one up and called, “Want one?  I’ve got plenty.”

    Pulling on his mother’s arm, the boy pointed at Joe and whispered a plea for permission to take the treat.  The mother smiled and nodded, and before Adam knew what was happening, his little brother was sitting beside the lady, holding the boy in his lap as they both gawked out the window at the changing scenery.  Joe caught Adam’s eye and tossed him an sassy smile, as if to point out the contrast between his mean-spirited brother and the unselfish lady, who probably needed the light for her knitting, but had without grudging given her little boy and the charming stranger the window seat.

    As the train pulled into Winnemucca, the ten-year-old boy with hair the color of ripened wheat gasped at the size of the city.  “Wow, that’s the biggest place I ever seen!” Petey declared.  “You ever seen one bigger, mister?”

    Winnemucca, boasting a population of only twelve hundred, wasn’t really all that large a city, but Joe didn’t want to put the boy down by pointing that out.  He just answered the question directly.  “Yeah, I’ve been to San Francisco, and it’s lots bigger than this.”

    “Bet it don’t got as big an engine house, though,” Petey argued.  “Ain’t that a whopper?”

    Joe smiled, enjoying the kid’s enthusiasm.  “Yeah, sure is.  San Francisco’s the end of the line, so it might have a good-sized one, too, but this is a big one ‘cause it’s the end of a division.  I read that in the railroad guidebook.”

    Petey’s eyes widened in awe.  “Say, mister, you know ‘most everything!”

    Joe couldn’t resist flinging a frown at Adam.  “Some folks think I know next to nothing,” he muttered.

    “Well, they must be plumb dumb, huh, mister?” the loyal boy declared.

    Joe giggled.  “In the things that count, I’d have to agree.  But what you mean by calling me ‘mister’?  We’re friends, aren’t we?  Call me Joe.”

    Petey flashed a crooked grin and thrust out his hands.  “Yeah, friends.  Shake on it, Joe?”

    Solemnly, Joe gave the small hand a firm shake, and he and Petey turned their attention back to the window.   There weren’t many sights to see, though, and when the boy’s head came to rest on his shoulder, Joe handed him to his mother and took his seat at Adam’s side, peeking over his shoulder at what his older brother was reading.

    Feeling the eyes boring into him, Adam shifted uneasily.  “Must you?” he asked tartly.

    “What’s it about?” Joe asked.

    Adam sighed.  “It’s a treatise on new mining techniques, sure to be discussed at the convention.  I’m trying to absorb them so I’ll be able to make appropriate comments, if I’m asked.”

    Joe scowled, wondering how Adam could possibly be interested in anything that sounded as dry as that.  “Can I read the newspaper, then?” he asked.

    Adam shot him a perturbed look.  “If you ask for it properly, you may.”    Joe rolled his eyes at his brother’s ability to catch every grammatical mistake he made.  “May I read the newspaper now, older brother, sir?” he asked, uttering the request with word-by-word care.  Adam smiled in self-satisfaction and handed over the copy of the Reno State Journal that Joe had purchased for him that morning.    The paper didn’t hold Joe’s interest long.  There wasn’t much going on in Reno that he didn’t already know about, at least nothing that he was interested in.  Pulling out The White Chief, he opened the thin book and glanced inquiringly toward Adam.  “Don’t suppose you’d be willing to share that window light?”

    Adam just hooted.  “I don’t intend to encourage your reading such trivial trash!”  In truth, he had no real faith that even such light reading material would long hold Joe’s flighty attention and sighed at the realization that this was going to be a very long trip with this restless child at his side.

    Joe read for about an hour; then, as Adam had predicted, he was up, wandering the aisles, talking to other passengers and, before Adam realized it, had left the car to stand on the platform at its end.  Adam finished one article and had just turned the page to begin another when he noticed that his little brother was nowhere in sight.  By instinct, he headed for the door at the end of the enclosed car and exited to find the boy leaning over the rail.  “What do you think you’re doing?” Adam demanded.

    “Just lookin’,” Joe replied, turning to face his brother and propping his elbows on the rail behind.  “It’s a better view, even, than that window seat you won’t share.”

    Adam jerked him away from the edge.  “You are not supposed to be out here; it’s against company rules.”

    Joe twisted his arm free.  “It ain’t the company makin’ the complaint!” he retorted hotly.

    “Get back inside this instant,” Adam ordered sharply, pointing his index finger toward the door, “and don’t let me catch you out here again!”  Fool kid, doesn’t he realize those rules are meant for his safety?  Oh, what am I thinking?  When has the little idiot ever understood the purpose of any rule?

    “Okay, okay,” Joe growled.  Wonder if old Adam knows how ridiculous he looks with his feathers all ruffled.  The thought made him giggle, a sound a glowering Adam read as disrespect for his authority.

    Back inside, Adam again opened the mining journal, thumbing through it to find the article he intended to read next.  Joe, tired of reading, even though the plot was exciting, made an attempt to strike up a conversation with his brother.  “Is this the way you came west with Pa?” he asked.

    Adam, whose eyes were growing tired, laid the magazine aside.  “Not the precise route,” he replied, “but the paths do cross here and there.  Mostly, we followed the Humboldt River through this section, sorry excuse that it was.”

    “Yeah, it’s rough country,” Joe agreed sympathetically.

    “Yeah,” Adam recalled.  “Dry, dusty days with nothing to quench your thirst but water so full of alkali you had to make it into coffee, just to disguise the taste.”

    “You were just a kid,” Joe snickered.  “You probably drank milk.”

    “Couldn’t,” Adam muttered, leaning against the window to face his little brother.  “Cow was nearly dry, and what little she gave had to be saved for Hoss—after Inger died, that is.”

    “Yeah,” Joe said softly.  “I wish I could have known her.  From what I can tell by looking at her picture and what Pa’s said, she was a real sweet lady.”

    “The sweetest,” Adam whispered.  “Left a big hole when—when she was gone.”

    Joe folded his right leg up on the seat, in imitation of his older brother, and asked shyly, “Did Pa take it hard, like when my mother died?”

    “Yeah, he took it hard,” Adam said, gazing past Joe as if seeing the scene afresh.  “Just kept stumbling through the desert in some kind of daze, but he had to keep going out here.  We all did.”  The muscles in his cheeks tightened.  “It was different when your mother died.   He sort of holed up inside himself for a while.  He had people to take over for him that time, so he could afford to let himself go—or so he thought.”

    The trace of bitterness in his voice made Joe wonder how Adam had felt about taking on that responsibility, but he couldn’t ask directly.  “I guess it was hard on you,” he hinted, hoping to open up the conversation.

    Adam swung his leg off the seat and looked away, obviously uncomfortable with talking about his feelings.  “I want to read a little more before the light fails, Joe,” he said, picking up the mining journal once more.  “I’d advise you to do the same.”

    Little Joe knew he was being brushed aside and it hurt.  His own memories of that time were painful, especially in regard to what Adam called Pa’s holing up inside himself.  He could remember Adam holding him, though, supporting him through the first difficult days when Pa had seemed so distant.  Now he found himself wondering if Adam, who had been such a rock of solace at the time, had resented taking on that responsibility.  Does he blame me? Joe asked himself.  Is that why he’s always so hard on me, ‘cause I was such a burden to him back then?  He didn’t dare ask his brother, who seemed as holed up inside himself now as Pa had been long ago, so as Adam had suggested, Joe again took out his dime novel and began to read.

    The train made a brief stop at Battle Mountain around 4:30 in the afternoon.  Adam stood up to stretch, looking down at his brother, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last couple of hours.  “You can either eat here,” Adam told him, “or wait ‘til we get to Elko about eight o’clock.”

    Joe groaned.  “So I’ve got a choice of a supper that’s too early or one that’s too late, huh?”

    Adam smiled sardonically.  “Something like that—or you could just save me the money and skip both.”

    Joe sneered at the suggestion, since saving Adam money was precisely the opposite of his intentions.  “I’ll wait ‘til Elko, but I’m definitely going to eat, older brother.”

    Adam’s brow furrowed as he pondered why his younger brother suddenly seemed incapable of taking a little ribbing.  Tired, probably, as he was himself.  Adam shook his head.  If the kid were already this cross after only one day’s travel, what would he be like by the time they’d been on the rails for almost a full week?

    “Hey, is there anything left in that hamper?” Joe asked about half an hour after the train had departed from the station.

    “Are you kidding?” Adam chuckled.  “Hop Sing packed enough to feed a small army.  There’s not any more chicken, but plenty of cookies and even a fried pie or two.”

    “That’s what I want,” Joe said with a grin, taking out one of half-moon pastries filled with apples in sweet cinnamon syrup.  Glancing down the aisle, he noticed that Petey had finally awakened from his long nap.  “Adam, you mind if I give one of these pies to my friend?” Joe asked.

    “Huh?  Oh, sure, go ahead,” Adam agreed readily.  “Get me a couple of cookies while you’re in there.”

    “Here you go,” Joe said, handing his brother the cookies and making his way toward the beaming little boy.  Presenting Petey with the fried apple pie, he leaned close to whisper, “You share some with your mama, you hear?  That’s a big pie for someone the size of you.”

    “I got a big appetite,” Petey said with a gap-toothed grin, “but I’ll share.”

    “Thank you, young man,” his mother said, smiling at Joe.  “You’re very generous.”

    Joe shrugged.  “Aw, no, ma’am, it’s nothing.  Our cook is so used to feeding my brother Hoss, who isn’t along on this trip, that he packed enough to feed this entire train.”

    “Horse is a funny name,” Petey giggled, pastry flakes cascading from his open mouth.

    “Don’t talk with your mouth full, Petey,” his mother admonished, “and it isn’t polite to call anyone’s name funny, although”—she struggled to keep from laughing herself—“I do believe that’s the most unusual name I’ve ever heard.”

    “It’s Hoss, not Horse,” Joe laughed, “and it’s just a nickname.  His real one is Eric.”

    “Now, that’s a fine name,” the lady said with a decided nod.  “It has a strong and manly sound.”

    Joe grinned.  “Yes, ma’am, and that’s just how he is, too.  Well, I guess I’ll see if I can grab another oatmeal cookie before my other brother gobbles them all up.  See you later, Petey.”

    Mouth full, Petey could only respond with bright eyes and a brisk bob of his head.

    The orange orb of the sun began to drop behind the distant peaks of the Cortez Mountains, and the temperature soon fell to a level that had all the passengers pulling on the coats and jackets they’d discarded during the day.  Yawning, Joe looked around the car with a puzzled expression.  “Hey, Adam, I thought these seats were supposed to make into beds,” he said.  “They don’t look like they would.  How’s that work, huh?”

    Adam gave him an impatient sigh.  “They don’t, Joe; I chose not to pay for a silver palace car.  This is just a day coach.”

    “You mean we gotta sleep sittin’ up for a week?” Joe squawked.  “You’re hard, Adam, doin’ that just to save a little money.”

    Adam chuckled, shaking his head from side to side at the foolish fear.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Joe.  I’m not that tight-fisted,” he assured the younger boy.  “They’ll attach a sleeper when it’s time for you to go beddy-bye and drop it off in the morning after you get up.  Considerably cheaper than riding in the hotel car, but quite comfortable, from all reports.”

Joe sported a cheeky grin.  “Oh, they’re workin’ that all around me, are they?”

    “That’s right, little brother,” Adam observed dryly.  “The entire world revolves around you.”

    Not sure whether Adam was teasing or expressing more bitterness, Joe scowled back, folded his arms crossly and settled back in his seat.  Adam just laughed at this latest demonstration of his young brother’s immaturity.

    The road began to climb steadily until, by the time the train reached Elko, it was almost a mile above sea level, according to the railroad guide.  “Supper, at last!” Joe chirped, bouncing out of his seat almost before the train pulled to a stop.

    “I hear it’s a long stop, so we’ll have plenty of time to get a hot meal,” Adam stated as he followed his brother out.

    “Sounds good,” Joe replied, jumping off the final step.  “Feels good to get off that train awhile, too.  I mean, it’s comfortable and all, but I get tired of sitting still so much.”

    Adam chuckled, wrapping an arm around the boy’s slim shoulders.  “So I noticed.   Well, get your legs a good stretch after supper, youngster, and if you like, you can crawl right into bed.  They’re attaching the sleeper car now.”

    Shoshone Indians, feathers in their felt hats and paint on their faces, greeted the departing passengers, each one’s hand stretched for a handout.  Joe was surprised to see his brother press a silver coin into the palm of two or three as they walked toward the nearby hotel.  “Wouldn’t’ve thought you’d want to encourage begging,” Joe commented.

    “I don’t, especially in your case,” Adam said brusquely, “but I do make exceptions when I know people have been deprived of their normal means of livelihood.”

    “Yeah,” Joe agreed, looking back at the natives with more sympathy.  “Kind of sad, seein’ ‘em painted up like that, like they were at war.”

    “Fitting in with the way the white man chooses to see them,” Adam muttered bitterly.

    Uncomfortable with his brother’s darkening mood, Joe made a deliberate attempt to turn Adam’s thoughts back to the more pleasant prospect of supper.  “Boy, am I hungry!” he announced.  “You reckon this place is as good as that one back in Humboldt?  I sure hope so, ‘cause it’s been a long time since dinner.”

    “But not that long since apple pie and cookies,” Adam teased, giving the younger boy’s shoulder a squeeze.  “I don’t know anything about the diner here, but I doubt you’ll starve.”

    Crowding in with the rest of the passengers, the Cartwright brothers managed to find a table in the back corner.  Joe perused the menu carefully, searching for the most expensive item on it, to begin his campaign to make Adam pay dearly for not wanting his company.  To his chagrin, Joe learned that at eating establishments patronized by the railroad, the price for any meal was a uniform dollar per plate.  Setting aside his ulterior motive, he simply picked a meal that looked appetizing: pot roast, with potatoes, carrots and onions cooked with the meat, and green beans, seasoned with bits of bacon, on the side.

    When the boys finished eating, it was almost time to re-board the train.  As they stood side by side, watching the Humboldt River tumble down from the snow-capped East Humboldt Mountains, however, neither felt eager to exchange the cool mountain breezes for the stifling, stale air of a full passenger car.  “A promise of better scenery ahead,” Adam observed.

    Joe burst out laughing.  “Oh, fine!  We’ll sleep right through it, big brother!”

    Adam smiled.  “Not all of it.  You’ll see some fine sights tomorrow, Joe.”

    Joe’s eyes lit up hopefully.  “Does that mean I get to sit by the window tomorrow?”

    Adam frowned and then relented.  “Well, maybe for a little while.”  He yawned and stretched.  “I’m for bed as soon as we board.  It’s been a long day.”

    The yawn was contagious. Putting his hand over his gaping mouth, Joe nodded.  “Yeah, me, too.  We sure got an early start this morning.  Hope it’s not gonna be like that tomorrow.”

    “Not too bad tomorrow,” Adam consoled him as they walked toward the train.  “We get into Ogden about 8:30, so I’ll wake you about an hour before that.”

    Joe yawned prodigiously.  “Okay, whatever you say.”

    Adam chuckled.  Joe’s rare cooperation was a sure sign that he was about to fall over.  They returned to their seats to pick up their carpetbags; then Adam led the way to the sleeper car and pointed out the berths assigned to them.  “You get the top one, sonny,” he decreed.

    “Sure, grandpa,” Joe snickered.  “I know how hard it’d be for an old fellow like you to hop up there.”

    “Keep a civil tongue in your mouth,” Adam snorted.

    Joe cocked his head to scrutinize his brother’s expression and smiled when he realized that Adam was only teasing.

    “The gentleman’s closet is down that way,” Adam suggested as he opened his own bag.

    “You gonna change?” Joe inquired.

    “I most certainly am, and so are you,” Adam ordered.  “Those clothes will get gamy enough without wearing them day and night.”

    Joe snickered.  “I think some of the folks travelin’ with us have been wearin’ theirs a whole lot longer than that.”

    “Yes, and it’s probably been a lot longer since they had a bath,” Adam said wryly, “but it isn’t particularly mannerly to say so.”

    “I’m not sayin’ it to them, Adam,” Joe protested.

    “All right,” Adam said with a conciliatory pat on his brother’s back.  Taking a gray-striped nightshirt from his carpetbag, he headed toward the gentlemen’s closet to change.  Joe quickly dug his own sleeping garment out and followed.

    Only one other man was in the gentlemen’s closet at the time, so the Cartwrights were able to change in relative privacy.  Dressed for the night, they both visited the gentlemen’s lavatory across the aisle before returning to their berths.  Adam watched Little Joe pull himself into the upper one and stretch out in the body-length space.  Well, for Joe it was body-length.  Since the cubicle was only six feet long, Adam would have to curl up a bit to fit inside.  “Good night.  Pleasant dreams,” he whispered, for others were already sleeping in the darkened car.

    “Night, Adam,” Joe whispered back.  “Sleep good.”

    “‘Well,’ sleep ‘well,’” Adam hissed as he drew the floor-length, wine-colored curtains enclosing both his berth and Joe’s.

    “Uh-huh, you, too,” Joe yawned.

    Shaking his head in amusement, Adam crawled through the curtains into his lower berth and drew the gray wool blanket up to his chin.  Though the car was heated, the stove was near the other end, where the ladies’ lavatory and closet were located.  Nights turned chilly in the mountains, so the warm cover would be much appreciated.

    Little Joe had fallen asleep almost immediately, but when the train rolled to a stop, he woke with a start.  Doggone that Adam, he said he’d wake me , Joe grumbled inwardly, assuming that the train had pulled into Ogden and it was time to get off.  “Sure felt like a short night,” he mumbled as he pulled the curtains back and swung one leg over the side.  He halted abruptly.  The car was pitch black, and Joe immediately realized that it wasn’t morning yet.  Why had the cars stopped, then?  Curious, he dropped to the floor, being careful not to wake Adam, and pattered down the carpeted aisle to the door at the end of the car.  The sign on the depot revealed the mystery, for it said, “Wells.”  From his perusal of the railroad guide, Joe knew that this was a water stop for the steam locomotive.

    Adam never knew what had wakened him: the snores of his neighbors, the cessation of movement or just some innate sense of something wrong.  Probably the latter, for his first thought was to check on Little Joe.  Uncurling his long legs, he stood in the aisle and felt his heart leap into his throat at the sight of the empty upper berth.  Hastily he threw on his robe and slippers, and after checking the lavatory, which was completely empty, he went outside, where he found his young brother on the platform of the railcar.  “What are you doing out here?” he asked, concerned.

    “Just getting some air,” Joe said, adding defensively, “The train isn’t moving, Adam.”

    “I can see that,” Adam chuckled.

    Joe smiled, glad to see that his older brother wasn’t upset with him.  “So, what are you doing out here?” he returned lightly.

    Not wanting to admit the worry that had driven him from his bed, Adam shrugged.  “Just felt a need to stretch,” he alleged.

    “Uh-huh.”  Joe didn’t for one minute believe Adam’s explanation.  In fact, he was sure he knew the real reason that Adam had come looking for him. He don’t trust me not to fall off the train in the dark, like some fool kid.   It was too late and he was too tired to argue, however, so he kept that opinion to himself.

    A gust of wind whipped Joe’s beige and blue plaid nightshirt around his legs, drawing Adam’s attention to his bare feet.  “Where are your robe and slippers?” he chided.

    “Packed in that bag you checked through to Omaha,” Joe answered matter-of-factly.

    Adam regarded him with a wry smile.  “Well, that figures.  You must have packed your brain in that bag, too—running around barefoot in this chilly night air, wearing nothing but a thin nightshirt.”

    “It’s not that cold,” Joe argued, but the goose pimples on his legs told a different story.

    “Come back inside,” Adam urged, taking his arm.  “You’re shivering, and it looks like the train will be starting up any minute.”

    “Yeah, I guess I’ve had enough air,” Joe said with a saucy smile.

    Adam cuffed his neck and pointed him toward the door.  Back at their berths, he watched Joe climb into bed, and then tucked the covers around him with exaggerated tautness.  “See that you stay there this time,” he commanded with a teasing lilt.

    “Don’t worry, big brother; a water stop won’t fool me again,” Joe yawned as he wriggled to loosen the blanket.  “Thought we were in Ogden already and you’d forgot to wake me.”

    “Joe, Joe, it’s barely midnight,” Adam laughed softly.  “Pleasant dreams,” he said once again.

    “You, too, older brother,” Joe murmured as he snuggled under the warm blanket, “and thanks again for bringing me on this trip.  I’m havin’ a great time.”

    Adam drew the curtains together and climbed once more into his own berth.  Curling up, he chuckled to himself.  Only Joe, with his zest for life, could enjoy a long, dreary train trip.  Let’s see how much he’s enjoying it by the time we get to Philadelphia, Adam mused, or even Omaha, for that matter!

    As Adam rose the next morning, he missed by a whisker smashing his face into the foot dangling down from the berth above.  Though sorely tempted, he resisted giving the protruding limb a quick jerk that would toss his younger brother onto the carpet.  Instead, he pulled back the curtains of the berth, took hold of and tickled the sole of Joe’s foot.

    Eyes still closed, Joe moaned softly, trying to wriggle his foot free, but Adam grasped the ankle firmly and continued the torment until Joe squinted and hollered, “Doggone you, Adam, cut that out!”

    Adam gave the bare sole a solid slap and turned loose. “Up and at ‘em, Sleeping Beauty.  We’re almost to Ogden, where we have to switch railroads—unless, of course, you want to head back home, ‘cause that’s where you’ll be going if you don’t get off this train.”

    The threat was sufficient to propel Little Joe, always a reluctant riser, into action.  Pulling his shirt and pants from the carpetbag at the end of his bed, he hopped down and headed for the gentlemen’s closet to change.  Adam was right behind him, black clothes and shaving kit in hand.

    Both the dressing area and the lavatory across the hall were crowded, for everyone on the train would be leaving, to make connections with either another train or a stagecoach, Ogden being the end of the line for the Central Pacific Railroad.  Little Joe dressed and then squeezed his way through to the lavatory.  Spotting his brother at one of the washbasins, he called, “Hey, Adam, can I borrow your razor?”  He’d been so anxious to get dressed that he’d left his own kit back in his carpetbag.

    “What for?” Adam teased.

    A general ripple of laughter flowed through the room.  “Yeah, what for, sonny?” a man with a prodigious set of rough black whiskers snickered.  “You don’t need a razor; you need a cat’s tongue to lick off that peach fuzz.”

    Joe’s visage darkened, and he pushed men aside to grab the burly farmer by the straps of his overalls.

    Adam spun around, wrapped an arm around his younger brother’s waist and yanked him back, easily lifting him off the floor.  “Don’t even think about it,” he growled.

    Joe’s opponent folded his arms, staring at the boy, and then let loose a booming laugh.  “I think, maybe, I make your little boy mad, mister.”

    “I’m not his little boy,” Joe protested, struggling to get free; then he wilted as another round of laughter greeted his inadvertent acceptance of the juvenile designation. “I—I mean, I’m not anybody’s little boy,” he sputtered.  “I mean, I’m not a little boy; I’m—”

    Another passenger guffawed.  “I don’t think the little lad knows what he means!”

    “I’m nineteen and I do shave!” Joe yelled, lunging forward, only to be grabbed back once more by Adam’s strong arm.  “Settle down, boy, and I do mean now,” Adam demanded.

    The farmer laid a ponderous paw on Little Joe’s shoulder.  In the open palm of his other hand he held a straight razor.  “Here, sonny, you borrow mine,” he said.  “I wasn’t meanin’ to make you mad.  I still don’t see much whiskers on you, but if you wanna shave, that’s your business, huh?”

    “Yeah!” Joe announced to the general assemblage in the lavatory.  “My business!”  Thanking the farmer, he took the razor, elbowed Adam out of his way and began to wet his face with the water in the basin.

    Adam just folded his arms, leaned against the wall and waited.

    Joe cut his eyes to the left and saw Adam sporting that catlike grin that usually meant his big brother was two steps ahead of him.  “Uh, could I borrow your shaving soap and brush, brother?” he asked sheepishly.

    Adam arched an eyebrow and waited again.  Seeing that Joe didn’t have a clue to what he was waiting for, he whispered, “Grammar—and manners.”

    Joe rolled his eyes.  “May I please borrow your shaving soap and brush, sir?”

    With a chuckle Adam produced them.  “Get a move on,” he directed.  “There are other men waiting for this basin and mirror, and you’ve put on quite enough of a show for one morning.”  He left the room and went back to his berth to pack his nightshirt and razor and sat down to wait for Joe.  It would obviously not pay to leave him unsupervised this morning.  Considering the state the kid was in, he was likely to walk off without his carpetbag—or worse, without returning his brother’s shaving equipment.

    Joe came loping down the aisle, smiling broadly.  “I feel like a new man,” he announced cheerily.

    Taking his brother’s chin in his right hand, Adam turned the smooth face this way and that.  “Nope, looks like the same baby-faced boy to me,” he said with a needling smile.

    Joe’s jaws tightened.  “You’d better cut it out, Adam,” he warned.

    “All right, all right,” Adam appeased, patting the boy’s cheek.  “We don’t have time for this nonsense, anyway.”  He took his shaving soap and brush from Joe and placed them in his own bag.  “Get your gear together and meet me in the passenger car.  We’ll be pulling into Ogden any minute now, and we’ll have exactly one hour to get our things transferred and have breakfast.  No dawdling, Joe.”

    Joe popped a sassy salute.  “Yes, sir!”

    Smirking, Adam saluted back.  “Dismissed.  Now, get to work!”

    The transfer proved to be remarkably easy.  Most of the luggage had been checked through to the end of the line and was automatically shifted to the baggage car of the Union Pacific train that would take the Cartwrights to Omaha, Nebraska.  Since they were through passengers, their seats and berth assignments remained the same, so all that was necessary was to deposit their carpetbags and the now empty, but still cumbersome picnic hamper either under their new seats or in the overhead storage compartment.  “Wish there were some way to check this thing through,” Adam grumbled under his breath.

    “What are you griping about?” Joe muttered.  “I’m the one who had to carry it.”

    Palm pressed to his chest, Adam feigned innocence.  “Why, I thought you’d want to, to keep the memory of home alive in your young breast.”

    “It’s not young folks that have memory problems,” Joe snorted, “but, then, you wouldn’t remember that, would you, old codger?”

    Adam laughed.  “Come on, let’s get some breakfast, or did you forget we’re working under a time limit here?”

    “Nope, my memory’s working just fine,” Joe grinned back, “and I definitely remember being hungry.”

    As they walked toward the Beardsley House, Joe smiled at the beauty of the surrounding mountains.  “Nice place,” he commented.

    Adam, who had visited the town several times on cattle-selling trips for the Ponderosa, nodded.  “Yes, a very pleasant, well-planned community.  I’ve always enjoyed staying here.”  Ogden was a town divided into two parts: the lower, where the depot and most businesses were located, and above that, on a shelf adjoining the mountains, the residential area with its landscaped yards, shaded by beautiful trees leafed out in gowns of apple green.

    “So this is where they drove the Golden Spike, huh?” Joe asked.

    Adam chuckled.  “No, that was about fifty miles back, buddy.  You were asleep when we went through Promontory.”

    “Aw, shucks,” Joe muttered.  “I kind of wanted to picture Pa standing there with all those railroad bigwigs.”

    Adam took his elbow to steer him toward the restaurant.  “Maybe you can see it on the way back, depending on which train we take.  It was quite an honor for Pa to be invited to that ceremony uniting the tracks of the two companies that make up the transcontinental railroad.”

    “Well, Pa deserves great honors, doesn’t he?” Joe remarked.

    Adam laughed.  “Oh, yeah.  Just for putting up with you, he deserves great honors.”  He held open the door to the Beardsley House and motioned for Joe to precede him.

    Joe scowled at him and went inside, wondering if his face might freeze forever in that position before this trip was over.  His countenance brightened quickly, however, when he heard a youthful voice calling his name.  Joe grinned, waved and wove his way through the tables, Adam trailing in his wake.  “Hey, Petey, how you doin’ this morning?” Joe asked, ruffling the wheat-gold hair.

    “I’m doin’ great!” Petey declared and then asked eagerly, “You gonna sit with us?”

    Joe glanced inquiringly at Petey’s mother.  “Please do join us,” she said, “you and your brother.”

    Adam felt perturbed when Little Joe simply pulled out a chair and sat down without inquiring into his wishes, but since there really was no reason to decline the gracious invitation, he thanked the woman and sat down.  “I don’t believe we’ve met,” he said suavely.  “My name is Adam Cartwright.”

    The woman smiled.  “Your brother’s told us so much about you that I feel as if I knew you already, Mr. Cartwright, even without a formal introduction.  I am Mrs. Peter Conners, but please call me Marian.  My son is named after my husband, but we call him Petey to differentiate.”

    Little Joe felt foolish, not only because he had failed to make proper introductions, but because it had never even occurred to him to refer to Mrs. Conners as anything but “Petey’s mother.”  It was the kind of thing kids did, and it reminded him of all the teasing about his youthfulness that he’d taken that morning in the gentlemen’s lavatory.   He covered his discomfort by burying his nose in the menu and was soon ready to order.

    “What you havin’, Joe?” Petey asked, the expression in his eyes clearly communicating that whatever his friend was having would be his choice, as well.

    “I’m havin’ flapjacks and sausage, with stewed apples,” Joe said, with a wink at Marian Conners, “and, of course, a tall glass of milk to wash it all down.”

    “Me, too,” Petey said at once, as every adult at the table had anticipated.

    Mrs. Conners smiled her gratitude at Joe, and then turned to Adam after all their breakfast orders had been placed.  “I understand you’re traveling to Philadelphia, Mr. Cartwright, to see the great Centennial Exhibition.  How I envy you that opportunity!”

    “It’s Adam,” the elder Cartwright brother replied.  “You’re not going that far yourself, I take it?”

    “No, Adam, we leave the train at Evanston,” she explained.  “We’re visiting my sister and her family, who live there.”

    Again Little Joe felt a moment’s embarrassment.  Why hadn’t he thought to ask Petey’s mother—Marian, he corrected himself—what her plans were?  He’d just rattled on about himself, mostly to Petey.  What a childish way to act!  Maybe he should start taking to heart some of Adam’s oft-repeated criticism of his manners.

    Adam’s next comment effectively put that idea out of his head. “I do hope my young brother hasn’t been making a nuisance of himself,” Adam said to Mrs. Conners.

    “Indeed, not,” Marian responded swiftly, noticing how Joe bristled at his brother’s words.  “He’s been delightful company and has definitely made the miles go faster for my son.  A trip of this length is so hard on an active youngster.”

    “Yes, so I’ve observed,” Adam said, cutting a glance toward Joe as he took a sip of coffee.

    Hot words were on the tip of Joe’s tongue, and only the timely arrival of the food kept them there.  Ignoring Adam, he said, “Boy, doesn’t this look great, Petey?”

    “Yeah,” Petey agreed, “and I want lots of syrup on my cakes.  You like lots of syrup, Joe?”

    “Only way to eat pancakes, Petey.  You gotta drown them in a whole pool of maple syrup and let the sausage take a swim in it, too.”

    Petey giggled.  Pouring an excessive amount of syrup over the stack of pancakes, he lifted a sausage patty to its top and made it dive off into the maple pool below.

    “Petey, your breakfast is not intended to be a plaything,” his mother chided.

    “Nor is yours, Little Joe,” Adam reprimanded, pointedly emphasizing the diminutive.

    Joe regarded his brother with a narrowed gaze before turning to his friend’s mother.  “Sorry.  I didn’t mean to make trouble.”

    “No harm done,” she said with a smile, “although a good example of how to clean one’s plate would be appreciated about now.”

    Joe grinned.  “Oh, I’ll be happy to set that, ma’am—uh, I mean, Marian.”

    Adam frowned, but said nothing, resolving to speak to Joe about that breach of etiquette later.  He waited until they’d left the restaurant and were alone on the street.  “Joe, Mrs. Conners did not give you permission to address her by her first name.”

    “Yes, she did,” Joe protested.

    “She was talking to me,” Adam insisted, “and it is inappropriate for you to assume that she was including you when it’s obvious you were not on a first-name basis before.  It’s improper for a boy of your age to—”

    “A boy!” Joe squeaked.  “When are you gonna realize I’m a man, Adam?”

    “When are you going to realize that you’re not?” Adam replied firmly.  “Now, you will address Mrs. Conner and all other elders by title and surname unless given specific permission to adopt the familiar, is that clear?"

    Joe shook his head in disgust.  “Yes, that’s clear,” he muttered through gritted teeth.  “Look, we’ve still got some time before the train pulls out, don’t we?  Okay if I look around town a little, Mr. Cartwright?”

    Adam laughed and rumpled his brother’s unruly curls.  “You’ve got fifteen minutes, kid, so whatever you can see in that time, you’re welcome to look at.”  He flipped a dime toward Joe, who deftly caught it in the air.  “Pick up a newspaper while you’re at it,” Adam directed, “and make sure it’s the Ogden Freeman and not the Daily Junction.”

    “There’s a difference?” Joe asked with a tinge of impertinence.

    Adam arched an eyebrow.  “Obviously, or I wouldn’t be telling you which to buy.  The Junction is little more than a vehicle for the Mormon Church, while the other has a more secular slant, which I prefer.”

    Joe tossed him an impish smile.  “Not interested in any sermons but your own, huh?”

    Adam playfully boxed his ears.  “Oh, get going or you won’t have time to buy either one.”  After Joe scampered off, Adam spotted some street venders and wandered over to see what was available.  As he’d suspected, many of the market carts held fresh fruit, which grew in abundance locally, and he laid in a small stock of apples, peaches and pears to eat on the train.

    Little Joe scurried back at almost the last minute, and Adam handed him the bag of` fruit in exchange for the newspaper.  Joe took a peek inside.  “Hey, thanks, Adam!  These’ll come in handy.”

    “And so will that hamper Hop Sing saddled us with,” Adam chuckled.  “Maybe he knew what he was doing, after all.”

    “Well, of course, he did,” Joe declared loyally.

    “On board, boy—now,” Adam ordered, snapping his left index finger toward the train.

    Joe grinned and climbed the steps to the passenger car of the Union Pacific train.

    Departing the depot, the cars began to climb steadily upward, with the scenery growing more majestic by the minute.  When they stopped in Weber, twenty-five miles down the track, a number of passengers left the train.  “This is as close to Salt Lake City as the train goes,” Adam replied in answer to Joe’s inquiry about why so many were getting off at this seemingly insignificant town.  “A lot of people are curious about the Mormon way of life, so it’s common for travelers to make a side trip of a day or two.”  He pointed to the sign over a local business.  “That’s a sure indication you’re in Mormon territory,” he observed.

    Joe leaned across Adam to see what he was referring to.   “‘Z.C.M.I’—what’s it mean, Adam?”

    “Zion’s Cooperative Mercantile Institution,” Adam replied.  “All Mormon businesses are required to be members and to pay tithes on their profits, and all Mormons are expected to patronize the Z.C.M.I. stores.”

    Joe’s nose wrinkled in distaste.  “Sounds like a way to fix prices to me.”

    “That’s one of the complaints,” Adam told him, “but they have a right to set whatever laws they choose regarding their own adherents.  There’ve been some charges, however, that gentile merchants in the area are being coerced to tithe their profits to the church, as well, and that is where I think the line must be drawn.  No one should be forced to support another man’s religion.”

    After depositing tourists and locals, the train pulled out, and for the next seven miles or so the road moved around several short curves and then past a group of balanced rocks that looked as if they were ready to topple into the valley below.  Since Adam was still maintaining proprietary right to the window seat, Little Joe wandered down the aisle to sit with his friend Petey and his mother.

    The train steamed through a couple of tunnels, and Joe, sighting a landmark noted in the railroad guide he’d purchased the day before, pointed out Devil’s Slide to the boy on his lap.   Two parallel ledges of granite, turned on their sides, jutted out fifty feet from mountainside, about fourteen inches apart and eight hundred feet high.  “Wouldn’t it be fun to slide down that, Petey?” Joe suggested.

    “Yeah!” Petey quickly agreed with a bounce of enthusiasm.

    His mother peered out the window at the serrated edges of the “slide” and clucked her tongue at both boys.  “And tear your pants for your mother to mend,” she teased as she lovingly stroked the back of her son’s head.

    “Sorry, ma’am,” Joe apologized sheepishly.  “I seem to be full of bad ideas this morning.”

    “No danger involved with a temptation so inaccessible,” she laughed, “so I don’t mind his indulging in a little make-believe.  Just see to it you don’t try anything that risky yourself, young man.”  She wagged a playful finger before his face.

    “No, ma’am, I won’t,” Joe assured her.  “That place looks like a broken bone about to happen, and doctors and me don’t get along real well.”  He licked his lips nervously.  “Uh, Mrs. Conners, I—I just wanted to apologize for being forward before.”

    “I don’t know what you mean,” she said.

    “Uh—when I called you by your first name at breakfast, ma’am.  My brother said it was wrong for me to assume you were including me when you said he could call you Marian.”

    She patted his shoulder.  “Nonsense.  Of course, I meant you, too.”

    Joe grinned, relieved.  “Yeah, I thought so, but old Adam’s got some pretty strict notions of right and wrong and manners and such.”

    Marian smiled.  “You’re very fortunate, then, to have someone who cares enough to instruct you in right and wrong—and manners and such.”

    “I’ve got a pa for that, ma’am—Marian.  Trouble is, Adam has trouble remembering that it isn’t him!”

    “But he is a good brother, now, isn’t he?” she probed persuasively.

    “Yeah, most of the time,” Joe conceded.  Sunshine sparkling in his emerald eyes, he added, “Did I tell you that he’s paying for everything, so I can come on this trip with him?”

    “There now, I knew I was right!” Marian said, laughing at Joe’s sudden change of disposition.

    Joe nodded, smiling.  “I guess I just have to keep reminding myself whenever he gets too bossy.”

    Marian patted his hand.  “Well, I’m glad I could help remind you today.”

    “Hey, Joe!  Look at that,” Petey exclaimed, pointing out the window.

    Joe looked and saw a tree with a sign nailed to its trunk that read “Omaha 1000 miles.”  He set Petey down and stood up.  “I think there’s something about that in my guidebook,” he said.  “I’m gonna get it.”

    He bounded down the aisle and took the guidebook from the hamper, where he’d stored it for easy access.  “We just passed Thousand-Mile Tree, Adam,” he informed his brother.  “So it’s a thousand miles to Omaha, huh?  How long ‘til we get there?”

    Adam replied without looking up from his journal.  “Day after tomorrow, Joe, for supper.”

    “Okay, thanks,” Joe said and took off down the aisle once more.  Back in his seat with Petey perched in his lap, he opened the book and showed the boy what it had to say.  “I’ve got to ride the train two more days before we get to Omaha.”

    “That’s a long time,” Petey said, sounding awed.  He turned to his mother.  “How much longer we gonna stay on, Mama?”

    “Just ‘til noon, sweetheart,” she answered.

    “Aw, shucks,” Petey pouted.  “I’m gonna miss you, Joe.”

    “Hey, me, too, pal,” his older friend said earnestly.  “You sure have made the trip a lot more fun for me.”

    Marian laid her hand over his, which was resting on Petey’s thigh.  “As you’ve made it for him.  Thank you, Joe, for your kindness to my little boy.”

    Joe shrugged off the compliment.  “Sure, ma’am.  Like I said, it’s been a pleasure to me, too.”

    “Joe, Joe, look!”  Petey again called his friend’s attention to an interesting sight out the window.

    Joe peered through the pane, seeing a high bluff on the right with a multitude of wind-worn holes near the top.  Nests filled the crevices, and eagles were perched atop them, wings spread protectively over either eggs or chicks.  From this distance, Joe couldn’t tell which.

    “It’s called Eagle’s Nest Rock,” Petey informed his friend excitedly.  “I just read it in your book.  Ain’t they something!”

    “Uh, yeah,” Joe muttered.  A slight sliver ran through him.  Near home was a precipice of almost the same name, and for some reason Joe had never been able to fathom, that place had always had the same effect on him.

    The locomotive rounded another rocky point, revealing gray rocks so close to one another that they looked as though they were carrying on an intimate conversation.  “Those are called ‘The Witches,’” Petey said, again consulting the guidebook.  “Creepy, huh?”

    Joe just laughed, though he wondered why an eerie image like a witches’ conclave didn’t bother him when something as commonplace as an eagle’s nest did.  “Naw, they look more like gossiping sisters to me,” he snickered.  “Kind of remind me of these two ladies I know back home.”

    “For shame, young man.  What would your mother say if she heard you gossiping about those women?”  An indulgent smile softened Marian’s reprimand.

    “I don’t have a mother, ma’am,” Joe said softly.  “I mean, she died when I was about half the age of Petey here.”

    Marian’s gaze grew more tender.  “Oh, I’m sorry.  I should have realized, since you’ve only mentioned your father and brothers.”

    “It’s okay, ma’am.  Can’t miss what you never had.”  Joe shrugged.

    Only a mother’s eye would have spotted the slight hesitance preceding the words and motion.  “Can’t you?” she asked gently.

    Joe glanced at the floor.  “Well, yeah, sometimes,” he conceded.  He looked up and spoke in quick defense.  “But my Pa’s been as much a mother to me as any man could—and then there’s Hop Sing.  He’s our cook, the one who made that great food we brought with us yesterday, and he takes real good care of us.”  With a mother’s instinct, Marian patted his hand and gave him a tender smile, and Joe’s disarming grin was back.

    The train entered a lovely valley, cradled between the hills, its carpet splashed with flowers of blue, yellow and purple; then the road steepened as it curved southeast to enter a narrow opening where rocky cliffs seemed to press in on either side.  When the travelers passed Castle Rock station, they were six thousand feet above sea level, and a little east of the station, Joe and Petey, almost simultaneously, spotted the landmark for which it was named.   “You can almost see knights in armor riding through there, can’t you?” Joe suggested, pointing to the arched doorway on one corner, its red sidepieces capped with gray.  Nearby a series of needle-sharp rocks aimed skyward like the shafts of a knight’s lance, another fanciful observation Joe shared with Petey.

    “Such grand scenery,” Marian sighed with deep content.

    “Yes, ma’am, it sure is,” Joe agreed, looking at her.  “I read in that book that Echo Canyon here is just about the most impressive sight there is on the whole fifteen hundred miles of the railroad.  Good thing you got to see it before you got off.”

    Marian smiled.  “Yes, a very good thing.”  As the train reached a point level with the top of the rocks, it began a slight descent into Evanston on the west bank of the Bear River.  “We’ll be parting company here, Joe,” she said.  “Let me say again what a pleasure it’s been to travel with you.”

    “The pleasure’s all mine, ma’am,” he responded politely.  For some reason, perhaps because she’d been acting so motherly toward him, he didn’t feel right calling her by her first name, even though he knew he had her consent.  “I’m really going to miss you.  Not just Petey—you, too.”

    When the time came to part, Petey clung to Joe, almost inconsolable at the imminent separation.  Then Joe spotted a boy a couple of years older than his friend, standing beside the man waving to Mrs. Conners.  “Hey, Petey, would that be your cousin, maybe?” he suggested.  “I bet the two of you are gonna have tons of fun together.”

    Petey followed Joe’s pointing finger and a grin split his face.  “Yeah, that must be Cousin Aubrey; he’s the one just older than me.  I gotta go now, Joe.”

    Joe gave him a light swat on the backside.  “Yeah, me, too.  You have yourself a great visit with your folks, you hear?”  The words faded on the wind as Petey took off to meet his cousin.

    Seeing his brother’s slightly disheartened countenance, Adam put an arm around his shoulder.  “We’ve only got half an hour, Joe.  Come on and have some lunch.”  He steered Joe toward the Mountain Trout Hotel, where both boys ordered the specialty of the house, speckled trout.  Both beamed with pleasure as the Chinese waiter slid plates of crispy fish and slices of fried potatoes with the almost-universal green beans before them.  This time the vegetables were seasoned with onion, as well as bacon and both Cartwrights considered it a flavorful addition.

    “Bet there’s some great fishing around here,” Joe commented between bites.

    “Oh, yes.  The Bear River’s full of these beauties,” Adam agreed.  “This is one meal I knew we would enjoy.”

    “And, for once, you were right!”

    Adam cleared his throat.  “For once?”

    Joe just returned a saucy grin.

    Adam pursed his lips and nodded his head gravely.  “You’d better hope I’m right more than once, boy, since I’ll be choosing where you eat your meals for the next month or so.”

    “Aw, come on, Adam,” Joe complained.  “I ought to get to pick once in a while.”

    Adam patted his lips with the napkin.  “My trip, my choice.  I have no intention of leaving myself to your tender mercies, boy.  You have all the culinary discrimination of a hog at the feeding trough.”

    Joe was stung by what he considered unfair criticism.   He knew good food when he tasted it, and just because Adam had been exposed to more fancy fare didn’t make him some kind of expert on where to eat.  Well, maybe it did, when it came to food back east, Joe conceded, but he still felt disgruntled.

    Adam cast an appraising eye over his brother’s dark countenance.  What’s the matter with the kid?  Can dish it out, but can’t take a little teasing in return? Or maybe he misses his little friend more than I thought.   Neither brother shared his thoughts with the other, however, and both returned to the train with unresolved feelings.

    Crossing the Bear River, the grade continued to climb, and the track passed under a twenty-four-mile logging flume like those the Cartwrights were familiar with back in the Sierra Nevada Mountains of home.  High hills lined either side of the track as the locomotive steamed up a ravine after going through a cut.  Finally reaching the summit of the mountains, the train began to descend, passing through a series of snow sheds.  The need for these was obvious from the snow still visible on the mountains to the right, which never melted at this altitude, but in winter was deep enough to stop trains without this protection.

    Rough, broken terrain edged both sides of the track, with high buttes thrusting up to the clear cerulean sky.  As the track met Black’s Fork of the Green River, the valley, thickly covered with sagebrush and greasewood, grew broad in places ‘til a high projecting tower north of the track crowned a bluff six hundred and twenty-five feet above the river, signaling the next stop.

    Here, at Green River, the sleeper car was attached while the travelers dined, but as it was only 6 p.m. when they re-boarded, neither Adam nor Joe felt ready to retire.  About eight o’clock, both turned in, for the rhythmic motion of the darkened cars began to have a soporific effect, especially on the younger of the two brothers.

    “Joe, Joe, wake up,” Adam urged, shaking his brother’s shoulder with what seemed to Little Joe unconscionable persistence.

    Joe opened one eye and muttered, “Go ‘way; it’s still night.”  The eye closed once more as Joe buried himself in the pillow.

    Adam gave him another shake.  “If you want breakfast, Sleeping Beauty, you’d better rise and shine.”

    Joe groaned and edged up on his elbows.  “It’s too early,” he complained.  “I know it’s earlier than we got up yesterday.”

    “It is,” Adam admitted, “but that’s the railroad’s doing, not mine.  It’s an early breakfast stop today.”

    “These irregular hours can’t be good for digestion,” Joe crabbed.

    Adam laughed.  “I’d have to agree, but there’s nothing you can do about it, kid—except starve.”

    “Nope, not a chance,” Joe said, yawning and stretching.  Maybe the meal would only cost Adam a dollar, but Joe intended to squeeze every one possible from his miserly spirited big brother.

 “Come on, then,” Adam ordered, giving Joe’s thigh a smart slap.  “They’re going to detach this sleeper car—and you with it—as soon as we get to Laramie, if you don’t haul out of that bunk now, kid—and if you want a shave, take your own kit this time.”  Gathering his own gear, Adam disappeared down the aisle.

    Sitting up, Joe ran his hand across a virtually smooth cheek.  Truth was, he really didn’t need to shave every day, though he preferred, most days, to indulge the fiction that he did.  Not wanting to be the center of another scene like the one that had transpired in the gentlemen’s lavatory the day before and in view of his early morning grogginess, he decided to forego a shave this time.

    Primarily because of the altitude, the air was crisp and cool as the Cartwright brothers got off the train.  The streets of Laramie, which nestled next to the river of the same name, were laid out in a regular pattern at right angles to the railroad, and Adam and Joe walked a short way down one of them to the large hotel run by the company.  They enjoyed a filling breakfast of ham and eggs with hot, buttered biscuits and blackberry jam and were ready to board the train again after Joe picked up the obligatory morning newspaper for his older brother.

    Laramie was situated over seven thousand feet above sea level, and as the rail cars left the town and its three thousand inhabitants behind, the tracks continued to climb into the snowcapped mountains.  Then they traveled over Great Laramie Plain, some forty miles broad, with the sharp-pointed cones of the Diamond Peaks of the Medicine Bow Range rising on their right.  The train was less crowded this morning than it had been previously, so Little Joe was able to take a window seat facing Adam and enjoy the majestic mountain scene for almost one hundred miles without peering past his brother’s head.

    As the road curved left, Adam grew visibly excited.  “Look, Joe,” he said, pointing down the track ahead.  “Isn’t it splendid?”

    Joe looked through the window.  “The water tank?” he asked skeptically.

    “No, look past that,” Adam urged.  “It’s Dale Creek Bridge, one of the wonders of the transcontinental route: six hundred fifty feet long, a hundred and thirty high and completely constructed of iron.  Isn’t it a wonder, Joe?”

    Joe shrugged.  “I guess so, Adam.”

    Adam laughed.  “Well, to an engineer, it is.  I assure you the engineering journals resounded with praise when it was constructed.  I’ve been looking forward to seeing it for myself—and it’s given no cause for disappointment.”

    Joe smiled and, for Adam’s sake, made an effort to appear interested.  “It’s a real fine bridge, Adam”—he paused to point at the mountains still edging the plain—“but I’d rather look at those.”

    Adam gave his brother a nod of concession.  “Yeah, they had a pretty terrific Engineer, too.”

    “The best!” Joe exclaimed, smile widening into a grin as his brother smiled back.

    Two miles past the bridge, the train pulled through Sherman, the highest point on the transcontinental railroad, and began to descend out of the mountains.  Just outside town stood a set of balanced rocks, and half a mile to the left a lone pine tree on a rugged peak stood guard over the landscape below.  Snow sheds became more frequent on this stretch of track, but would be left behind shortly after the train made its dinner stop at Cheyenne, Wyoming.

    “From what I’ve read, this is one of the best-kept hotels between our two coasts,” Adam observed as he and Little Joe got off the train in what the guidebook referred to as the “Magic City of the Plains.”

    “Sure looks fine,” Joe commented, as they entered the elegant dining hall, decorated in rustic flair with the heads of antelope, elk, mountain sheep, black-tailed deer and buffalo hanging on the walls.  The trophies were indicative of the choices available on the menu, and the Cartwrights feasted on antelope steaks, although thirty minutes scarcely seemed enough to properly enjoy such a delicious meal.  Soon they were rumbling down the track once more through countryside much like that through which they’d been traveling all day—a rugged, broken landscape, awesome in its beauty.  Even Adam found it impossible to keep his nose buried in a book when there was so much of interest to see outside the window.

    The elevation dropped with each mile traveled, until by the time the brothers reached the supper stop at Sidney, Nebraska, they were three thousand feet closer to sea level than when they had awakened that morning.  The food here suffered by comparison with that in Cheyenne, but neither Adam nor Joe was interested in more than a light meal, anyway.  Sitting in a train all day simply hadn’t provided sufficient exercise to work off what they’d already eaten earlier in the day.

    When they re-boarded, Little Joe noticed that they had lost a large number of fellow travelers.  “What’s going on?” he asked.  “It’s not that big a town.”

    Adam smiled as he handed Joe his carpetbag and gave him a light push toward the newly attached sleeper car.  “It’s not the town itself that’s the attraction,” he explained, “but its proximity to the Black Hills.”

“Oh, yeah, the gold strike,” Joe muttered.  “I read about that.”

“And don’t get any ideas about going off to prospect yourself,” Adam dictated, half in jest.

“Shoot, no!” Joe exclaimed.  “You couldn’t pay me to work underground.”

“Not even if we owned a mine ourselves?” Adam queried probingly.

“That is your dream, brother, not mine,” Joe insisted, plopping his carpetbag on Adam’s lower berth, so he could take out his nightshirt before tossing the valise up to his own bed.  “Me, I’d rather ride a fast horse across the ground than plunge down a steam hoist into its belly.”  He gave a shiver, not noticing the look of disappointment that crossed his older brother’s face.  It had been a long day, so the brothers bid each other good night as soon as they’d changed, and both were almost immediately lost to the land of dreams, each man’s vision of a nature markedly different from that of his sibling.

    The next morning, for the first time, Little Joe woke without assistance.  Leaning his head over the edge of his berth, he saw the empty bed below him and panicked.  Practically tumbling to the floor, he hurried to the closest window and discovered that the sun was well up.  The mountains had been left behind during the night, and the train was now crossing an open prairie, the view unobstructed by the high bluffs that had bordered the path heretofore.

    “Oh, you’re up,” said a voice behind him.  “I was just coming to rouse you.”

    “It’s late,” Joe accused.

    Adam ruffled his brother’s sleep-tousled curls.  “Later than yesterday, to be sure, but we won’t reach the breakfast stop until 8:30 this morning, so there was no need to wrestle you out of those cozy covers, for a change.”

    Spirits quickly brightening, Joe grinned.  “That’s a mighty fine change, brother.”

    “Well, don’t get too used to it,” Adam laughed.  “There are some more early mornings in your future, my boy.”

    Joe pretended to pout, but he felt much too well rested and, therefore, in too pleasant a mood to hold the expression for long.  As soon as the train pulled up to the depot at Grand Island, he bounded into the aisle.  “Come on,” he hollered back to his brother.  “I’m half-starved.”

    Adam chuckled, although he was having the same difficulty regulating his appetite to the convenience of the railroad as was his younger brother.  Here, the hotel and restaurant were new, having been built by the company only the year before, but the fare was much as it had been at every breakfast stop along the route, adequate, but little more.

    “I suppose you want me to trot out and get you a newspaper,” Little Joe offered after tucking away a substantial amount of scrambled eggs and sausage.

    Adam flipped a coin at him, which Joe deftly caught.  “You learn slowly, sonny, but I’m gratified to see that you do learn.”

    “Any special variety this time?” Joe asked as he stood and pushed his chair under the table.

    Adam laughed.  “No, just buy whichever looks thickest.  Lot of flat country to ride through today, and I can use the extra distraction.”

    Joe sported a puckish grin.  “Probably be chock full of society news in a big ole town like this.”

    Adam displayed a twisted smile.  “No doubt!”  He finished a second cup of coffee after Joe left, paid the bill and then walked toward the train, looking this way and that in search of his younger brother.  Though Joe had never boarded ahead of him, he entered the passenger car to check.  Joe wasn’t there.  Consulting his pocket watch, Adam frowned.  Three minutes until departure.  Where could the kid be?  He stepped out onto the rail car’s platform and scanned the street in both directions—no Joe.

    In fact, the wheels of the train had started to roll slowly forward when an anxious Adam finally spotted his brother and gestured imperiously for him to hurry.  Joe sprinted toward the train, grabbed the hand his brother stretched toward him, jumped aboard and stood grinning at the end of the car.  “Whew, that was close!” he cried.

    “What happened?” Adam scolded.  “Did you see some pretty skirt you just had to chase?”

    Joe pouted eloquently.  “I was doing you a favor, big brother, remember?”  He handed Adam a copy of the Independent.  “Just took me awhile to decide which was thickest.”

    Adam shoved him through the door into the rail car.  “Getting yourself left behind might be considered doing me a favor, little brother, but I’m afraid my ears would be burning by the time Pa got through with me.”

    “Oh, shut up,” Joe growled grumpily at this further reminder that Adam would be happier without him.

    Adam frowned, but decided to overlook the kid’s bad temper, chalking it up to the weariness of the journey.  After all, this would be their fourth full day on the train, and he was feeling a little frazzled at the edges himself.  Settling into his seat next to the window, he opened the newspaper and began to read.

    When he finally folded it, Joe, who had grown bored with the sameness of the prairie scenery, asked to read it, and when Adam willingly handed it over, asked if he could sit by the window.  Adam nodded and they switched seats.

    Joe read the newspaper with greater attention than was his custom, but when he’d read all that struck his interest, the prairie still stretched endlessly from horizon to horizon.  While the grassland held a beauty of its own, the monotonous flatness lulled Joe to sleep, and his head came slowly to rest on Adam’s shoulder.  Adam impatiently shrugged it off, and, without waking, Joe curled the other direction, his head falling against the windowpane.  He didn’t wake until the train stopped at Fremont for the noon meal.

    “You hungry?” Adam asked his yawning brother.

    “Little bit,” Joe said, reluctantly admitting, “but I couldn’t eat a full meal.”

    “That’s what I figured, since we had such a late breakfast,” Adam said.  “We’ll be pulling into Omaha around 4:30 this afternoon, so we could have an early supper.”

    Joe gave a catlike stretch.  “Yeah, that sounds good, but I could use a bite or two now if you don’t mind.”

    “Of course, I don’t mind,” Adam responded, sounding slightly perturbed.  “I said I’d feed you, and I haven’t failed yet of my promise, have I?  Why don’t you grab something for both of us at the lunch counter and we’ll eat it here.”

    Joe scowled and finally voiced a complaint he’d felt since leaving Mill Station.  “Sometimes I think you brought me along just to be your personal servant, Adam.”

    “Oh, you’re really hard used, aren’t you, boy?” Adam laughed.  He pulled a silver dollar from his pocket and tossed it to Joe.  “That should more than cover anything your little heart desires.”

    Joe scowled again, but playfully this time.  He didn’t really mind running errands, at least not too much.  After all, an old man like Adam couldn’t be expected to hop fast enough to get the job done in the time the railroad’s unrelenting schedule allotted them.  He ran out to the lunch counter, one of which was attached to every eating station on the line for passengers wanting a lighter meal, and returned minutes later with a ham sandwich and boiled egg for both himself and his brother.  Not being particularly hungry yet, Joe ate only the egg, dropping the sandwich into Hop Sing’s handy hamper for later.

    Not long after the dinner stop, another train boy hawking food and reading matter passed down the aisle, as one of his breed had done almost hourly throughout the journey.  Having already finished the dime novel he’d bought the first day, Joe selected another to wile away the dreary hours when there was nothing to see out the window except one windmill after another.  Finally, the conductor announced, “Next stop, Omaha—end of the line,” and all the passengers put away their books and other diversions in preparation for leaving the train.

    Right on schedule, the Union Pacific pulled into Omaha, and Adam sent Joe to the baggage car, brass claim check in hand to fetch their bags.  “What are you going to be doing?” Joe grumbled.

    Adam ticked off his duties on his fingers.  “Purchasing tickets for Chicago, checking departure time, inquiring as to whether we can check our bags tonight or need to take them to the hotel with us.”

    “Boy, I sure hope we can leave them here!” Joe exclaimed.

    “Just go get them, please, so we’ll be prepared in either event,” Adam directed sternly, “and don’t leave this platform until I come back for you.”

    Joe gave a weary salute.  “Yes, sir, Captain Brother, sir.”

    “Scat!” Adam snorted and emphasized the order with a swat on Joe’s rear.

    Joe came back, loaded down with luggage.  There was no sign of Adam, but Joe felt quite content to simply wait until his brother returned.  Omaha was a large enough city that Joe realized he could easily lose himself if he were to try to track Adam down.  He’d begun to grow concerned, but the emotion quickly faded when his brother rounded a corner and headed toward him.  “So, can we check all this tonight?” he asked hopefully.

    “We can,” Adam replied.  “We just need to carry it to the Chicago and Northwestern depot.”

    Joe groaned.  “‘We’?  Don’t you mean me?”

    Adam chuckled.  “I’ll give you a hand.  Relax, kid; it’s not far.”

    Joe smiled in relief as he handed some of the bags over to his older brother.  “Where are we gonna stay tonight, Adam?” he asked.  “You know any good hotels here in Chicago?”

    “Just by reputation,” Adam admitted, “but I planned to stay at the Grand Central.  It’s supposed to be one of the best-run hotels between here and San Francisco.”

    Joe grinned.  “Only the best for the Cartwright brothers, right?”

    Adam smiled wryly.  “Actually, I chose it because of its proximity to the depot, and since we economized by going second class on the train, I felt I could afford to splurge on the comfort of a decent mattress.  The dining hall at the hotel is reported to be superb, as well.”

    “That sounds great, brother,” Joe sighed in contentment, “but don’t even mention the word ‘train’ to me tonight, okay?  My bones start aching every time I hear it!”

    “Well, I’d advise you to turn in early, little buddy,” Adam suggested.  “You’ll be getting up bright and early tomorrow.”

    “How early?” Joe demanded.

    “The train leaves at 5 a.m., so if you want breakfast . . . ” As his voice trailed off, Adam tried to keep a straight face, although Joe looked so pathetic, he could only do so with significant effort.

    Joe moaned, debating whether he preferred to travel sleepy or hungry.  “I may have to get up early, older brother, but I can guarantee I won’t be lookin’ bright.”

    They had arrived at the depot of the railroad line they would board the next morning, and Adam once again supervised the checking of their bags, pocketing the claim checks for safekeeping.  Then, leading the way to the Grand Central Hotel, he rented one of the least expensive rooms.  Joe grumbled as he toted both his carpetbag and his brother’s up to the top floor, but no sign of his professed exhaustion showed as he trotted down the same four flights to the dining hall.  After a satisfying meal, Adam recommended that Joe follow his example and take a bath before retiring.  As he planned to change into fresh clothes in the morning, Joe readily agreed and gratefully accepted Adam’s offer to let him go first.  Returning from the bath down the hall, he went straight to bed, having decided that he did want breakfast the next morning.  Adam took a long leisurely soak in a hot tub and after reading for a few minutes, just to unwind, followed his own advice.

    Boarding the Chicago and Northwestern Railroad, the Cartwrights left Omaha the next morning and crossed a bridge over the Missouri River.  Since the sun had not yet risen, however, they couldn’t really see it.  Both boys were feeling sleepy from the short night and dozed during the first couple of hours of the trip.  Finally, the warmth of the sun on his face woke Little Joe.

    “Good morning, Sleeping Beauty,” Adam chuckled.

    Joe stretched his arms over his head, yawning.  “Don’t you ever get tired?” he complained.

    Adam laughed aloud.  “I’ve only been awake about twenty minutes, kid; so, you see, your big brother is quite human, after all.”

    “Glad to hear it,” Joe said, still sounding somewhat grumpy.  “Where are we?”

    “On a train,” Adam replied with a sly grin.

    Joe groaned.  “You know what I mean.”

    Adam rubbed the scruff of his brother’s neck.  “That’s as close as I can come, Joe.  Somewhere in Iowa, judging by the time, but I was asleep when we went through the last town.”

    Joe peered past his brother at the passing countryside with its vast unfenced fields in varying shades of green, depending on whether they were planted in grass or grain.  Herds of cattle grazed in the verdant meadows or rested in the shade of pale yellow-green willows, while occasionally an isolated village introduced the hand of man into the bucolic setting.  Though Joe would never have chosen this flat land over the mountains of his home, he had to admit it was restful to the eye to see the green expanse stretch from horizon to horizon.

    The fertility of these lowlands was amply demonstrated by the abundance of fresh produce on the menu at their dinner stop, and the entrees featured farm-raised meat, instead of the game dominating the restaurants at which they had dined in the mountains.  At Adam’s suggestion, Joe ordered ham, for which the Midwest was famed, and added liberal helpings of peas, corn on the cob and buttery cabbage.

    Throughout the afternoon homes grew closer together, but the scene was still largely rural.  Adam, who had consumed the early edition of the Omaha newspaper that morning, purchased a copy of a Chicago paper from one of the train boys and spent the afternoon perusing it, page by page.  Little Joe, scorning such boring fare, lost himself for several hours in The Bear-Hunter; or Davy Crockett as a Spy.  Though the Harry Hazard dime novel had been out since April, it was a title Joe had not as yet read.  He had hoped that Adam might approve, since the story concerned an early American hero, but his older brother had merely snorted in derision and informed him that there was probably not a single paragraph of truth in the whole “dime drivel,” as Adam called it.

    Over supper, Adam reiterated a message he had preached the last couple of nights, the necessity of turning in early, now that the sleeper car was available.  “Within the hour,” he commanded.

    “That’s awful early, Adam,” Joe grumbled.  “Sure, I’m tired, but I’m not sure I’ll sleep if I turn in that early.”

    “You’d better hope so,” Adam said firmly, “because it will be a short enough night as it is.  We’ll be traveling straight through to Philadelphia, with only a few hours layover in Chicago, and I didn’t feel the expense of renting a hotel room was warranted, no longer than we’d be using it.  I probably shouldn’t even have taken berths for us on the train, since we won’t get their full benefit, either, but I felt we needed to get some sleep tonight!  Now, you’re going to bed, and I don’t want to hear any further argument on the subject.”

    “Okay, okay,” Joe acquiesced.  “What time do we get into Chicago, anyway?  Too late to do any sightseeing, I guess.”

    Adam laughed.  “The train arrives around 2:30 in the morning.  The only sights you’ll see, kid, are a couple of train depots.”

    Joe groaned.  “We’ve got to switch trains?”

    “Yes, of course,” Adam explained with strained patience.  “This line only goes as far as Chicago.  We have to transfer to the Fort Wayne and Pennsylvania line to reach Philadelphia.”

    “You know, big brother, turning in right after supper is sounding better all the time!”  Joe sighed as he envisioned himself stumbling sleepily from depot to depot, buried beneath a pile of baggage.

    When they left the train in Chicago, however, it was Adam who struggled under the load of luggage, for Joe was too groggy to provide much assistance.  In fact, Adam had to virtually lead the younger boy by the arm to the depot of the Fort Wayne and Pennsylvania Railroad.  “Good thing I let him sleep in his clothes,” Adam muttered to himself, “or I’d have had to dress him like when he was a little fellow.”  He couldn’t help smiling indulgently, however, when he deposited Joe on a bench at the depot and the boy immediately curled up, his countenance that of a sleeping cherub. Brushing his hand through the cherub’s tousled locks, Adam went to buy their tickets and check their bags.

    Though Little Joe had confiscated the greater part of the bench, Adam chose to sit beside him.  There were vacant benches where he could have stretched out full-length, but it just went with the territory of big brotherhood to stay close, hovering protectively over the younger boy, even in sleep.  The depot was near enough to Lake Michigan that the wind off its surface, breezing through whenever anyone opened a door, was chilly, and it also went with the territory to keep the kid warm. Draping his own jacket over his brother, Adam slumped down to rest his head on the end of the bench, arms wrapped tight to his chest, with one leg bent at the knee near Joe’s head and the other falling to the floor.

    He’d bought tickets on Express Train No. 2, which departed at nine o’clock the next morning.  That meant he had a little more than five hours to sleep.  The awkwardness of his position almost guaranteed that Adam would not get even those five hours, however, and he awoke to find his younger brother using him as a mattress.  He let Joe sleep a little longer; then, lifting the boy ’s head from his lap, Adam roused him and suggested he visit the men’s lavatory and wash the sleep from his eyes.  “We board in about an hour, so if you hurry, we’ll have time for breakfast,” he informed Joe.

    “Breakfast sounds good, brother,” Joe said.  “I’ll hurry.”

    He was true to his word, and the Cartwright brothers were able to enjoy a leisurely breakfast and still board the train about ten minutes before its departure.  “Adam,” Joe said after they’d been traveling awhile, “is it my imagination or is this train going a lot faster than the ones west of the Missouri?”

    Adam glanced up from the newspaper.  “It’s faster,” he said.  “Trains on the transcontinental railroad only travel about twenty-two miles per hour, while the ones back east can reach speeds up to forty.”

    Joe shook his head in awe.  “Forty miles an hour!  Did you ever think anything would move that fast, Adam?”

    “Yes, of course,” Adam responded a bit curtly, turning the page of his paper.  “I’ve kept up on engineering developments.”

    Joe frowned.  “No, I meant—oh, never mind.  I guess it’s a good thing, considering how big this country is, but I think I enjoyed the trip more at the slower speed.”

    “Hmm?”  Adam wrestled his attention from the printed page and back to his brother.  “Oh, yes, I suppose it is more enjoyable, especially when there’s so much scenic grandeur, but I’m weary enough of train travel that I frankly wish it could go even faster.”

    “Faster!” Joe hooted.  “Adam, that’s crazy.  Nothing’ll ever go faster than forty miles an hour!”

    Adam laughed.  “Someday it will.  You may even live to see it, kid.”

    Joe shook his head, grinning.  “Big brother, with an imagination like that, you should be writing dime novels.”

    Adam clapped his hand to his forehead and gave a melodramatic shudder.  “Heaven forbid,” he uttered in tones of direst dread.

    Not until the train reached Fort Wayne about 2:30 in the afternoon did it stop for dinner.  Declaring himself famished, Little Joe was dismayed to learn that he would have only twenty minutes to eat.  He opted, as did Adam, to grab a sandwich and fried peach pie from a nearby lunch counter and eat with less haste as the train continued east.

    By the time they finished their supper at Crestline, the sun was starting to go down, and Adam, who’d had almost no sleep the night before, headed directly to the sleeper car.  He did not, however, insist that Joe turn in at the same time.  After all, the kid had slept more, if not better, than had his older brother.  Joe tried to stay awake, but growing bored with sitting alone in the dark, he retired about half an hour after Adam and fell asleep almost at once.

    He woke to see Adam leaning over him, arms folded on the edge of the upper berth.  “What time is it?” Joe asked.

    “Six o’clock,” Adam replied.  “I thought you’d want a little extra time to dress this morning, since you’re changing into your suit.”

    Joe smiled, knowing that meant they were on the final leg of their journey.  “Gettin’ close, huh?”

    “Well, we’re in Pennsylvania, at least,” Adam chuckled, “although we won’t arrive in Philadelphia itself until middle of the afternoon.”

    “A real bed tonight,” Joe murmured wistfully.

    “What are you complaining about, Shortshanks?” Adam teased, borrowing Hoss’s name for their brother.  “At least, the berth fits you.”

    Frowning at that reminder of his less-than-normal-for-a-Cartwright height, Joe swung his legs over the side, knocking Adam’s arms aside.  “How you like them short shanks?” he growled.

    “Boy, did you get up on the wrong side of the berth this morning!” Adam exclaimed, stepping back.

    “There isn’t any other side,” Joe grunted, dropping to the floor, carpetbag in hand.

    Adam swung the arch of his foot toward his brother’s backside, but Joe, who moved fast once he got going, was already out of reach, even for his older brother’s long leg.

    “You look very nice,” Adam complimented as they waited for their breakfast order to arrive at a restaurant in Altoona.

    “Thanks,” Joe said, smiling.  “You, too.”  Though he would have preferred wearing his comfortable ranch clothes on the train, he could see that he and his brother blended into the general populace much better in their dark suits, white shirts and string ties.  In fact, Joe almost wished he had worn the new suit Pa had provided, but that was in the bag checked through to their final destination.  He was wearing an older and somewhat outdated suit today, as was Adam, and both were a bit crumpled from their six-day residence inside the carpetbags.  Adam assured his brother, however, that the wrinkles would be smoothed out by the time they reached Philadelphia.

    Since they had eaten a filling breakfast before leaving Altoona at 7:30 a.m., neither of the boys was really ready for dinner when the train stopped at Harrisburg four hours later, but as the restaurant was a fine one, they both ate heartily.  “Towns sure are getting thicker,” Joe commented over his steak, smothered in onions and gravy.  “Bigger, too.”

    “Wait ‘til you see Philadelphia,” Adam suggested with a smile.

    Swirling a forkful of mashed potatoes through the gravy, Joe grinned, wondering how he could possibly wait to see a city larger than any he’d ever visited before and suddenly wishing that train could go faster than forty miles per hour, like in Adam’s crazy imagination.

    Four more hours brought them to their final stop, as the train pulled into the West Philadelphia depot.  “I suppose you want me to get the luggage,” Joe said glumly, holding out his hand for the claim check.

    “No need,” Adam said with an amused smile.  “It will be delivered directly to our hotel, a service provided by the railroad.”

    A broad smile transfixed Joe’s face.  “Now, that is what I call service, brother!”  As they stood on the platform, he looked around at the buildings surrounding the station.  “So, which one is our hotel?”

    Adam shook his head in dismay.  Had the kid absorbed nothing of what he’d read in the guidebook back home?  “No, Joe.  Our hotel is downtown, remember?”

    Joe stared at the tall buildings closing in the view on all sides.  “I thought we were downtown.”

    Adam laughed.  “Kid, this is nothing compared to the city itself.  Grab your carpetbag, we’ll catch a horse car and you’ll soon see what I mean.”

    Joe had, of course, ridden horse-drawn streetcars in San Francisco, so that was not a new experience.  Consequently, he could focus his full attention on the growing congestion in the streets and the increasing height of the buildings as the car approached the city’s center.  “Oh, wow, Adam,” he whispered, overwhelmed.  “I never—I mean, I—I . . .”

    Adam slipped an arm around his brother’s slim shoulders.  “I know what you mean, kid,” he said, kindly covering Joe’s loss of words and, at the same time, his own rising emotions at being back in one of the cultural havens of the East.

    Forty-five minutes after leaving the depot, the Cartwright brothers were ascending the steps into the Washington Hotel.  By comparison with others they had passed, the building at the corner of Seventh and Chestnut streets seemed unassuming, but it was still as nice as most that Little Joe had seen in San Francisco and definitely grander than any he’d stayed in elsewhere in the West.  With an extra person to pay for, he didn’t begrudge Adam the frugality of renting them less expensive rooms.  Besides, he didn’t plan to spend much time in his!

    As Adam approached the polished walnut counter to the left of the lobby, a pencil-thin man with straight black hair cut well above his ears said, “Good day, sir.  May I be of assistance?”

    “Yes, we’re checking in,” Adam replied.  “Our reservations are under my name, Adam Cartwright from Nevada.”

    “Nevada?”  The desk clerk adjusted his pince-nez and scrutinized the applicants for a room with a frown.  “Well, let’s see,” he murmured, flicking through a stack of cards in a wooden box.  “No, no, I don’t see any reservation for gentlemen from Nevada, sir.  Perhaps you’ve merely mistaken the name of the hotel at which you intended to register.”

    Adam graced him with a supercilious smile.  “I’m not the one who is mistaken, sir.  This is the hotel at which I made reservations, and I expect you to honor them.”

    The clerk straightened to his full five feet, seven inches and looked down his nose at the westerners.  “Sir, as I have said, there is no record of such a reservation, and with the crowds coming to the Centennial Exposition, I simply have no rooms to spare for gentlemen such as yourselves.”

    “Adam?” Joe interrupted with concern, as he began to envision himself spending the night on the street.

    “It’s all right, Joe.  The gentleman is simply mistaken,” Adam said.  He’d noted the disfavor with which the clerk had appraised their simple apparel, as well as the emphasis placed on ‘gentlemen,’ so he gave the word a similar inflection when he spoke its singular.  Suspecting that he knew what lay behind the sudden lack of rooms at the Washington Hotel and feeling certain that it was no mistake, he turned a cool gaze on the clerk as he pulled a thin sheet from his vest pocket, unfolded it and laid it on the counter.  “This, sir, is a registered letter from this hotel, confirming receipt of my reservation and the payment I transferred to secure it.  Now, perhaps, if you adjust those spectacles a bit closer to your eyes, you’ll be able to find that reservation card.”

    With a shaking hand the clerk reached again for the box and began thumbing through its alphabetically arranged cards.  “Let’s see.  Cartwright, you said?  Why, yes, here it is.  I don’t see how I overlooked it.  Two rooms with an adjoining parlor, was that correct, sir?”

    “That’s correct,” Adam said smoothly.  “Shall I sign the register now?”

    The clerk quickly swiveled the guest book and extended an ink pen for Adam’s use.  “If you please, sir.”

    Adam signed his name with a flourish.  “I trust my brother’s name is also on the reservation card.  While I am the financially responsible party, he will undoubtedly be receiving mail.”

    The clerk consulted the card in his hand.  “Yes, Adam and Joseph Cartwright from Nevada.  It’s all here, sir.  All mail will be held here at the desk, and you may call for it at any time.”

    “Thank you,” Adam said.  “Now, may I have the keys?  I presume you do have one for each of us.”

    “Indeed, yes,” the clerk said, taking two from a rack of hooks behind the desk.  “One for each of you, gentlemen,” he said with no arrogant emphasis on the word this time.  “Suite 307.  The elevator is to your right.”

    Adam handed the clerk his brass claim check.  “Please exchange this for our luggage when it arrives and either send it to the room or inform us of its arrival and we’ll carry it up ourselves.”

    “Oh, it will be sent to you, sir, absolutely,” the man insisted.  “I’ll see to it personally.”

    Adam turned, bending to pick up his carpetbag, but Little Joe, eyes alight with admiration, quickly grabbed it.  Resting a hand on his brother’s shoulder, Adam guided him toward the elevator.

    Joe balked a moment.  “I hate rising rooms,” he muttered.

    “It’s three flights up, Joe,” Adam reminded him.

    “Maybe the exercise would be good for us after all that time sitting on the train, Adam,” he hinted hopefully.

    Adam just laughed as he pushed the boy onto the elevator.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll get plenty of exercise when we visit the Exposition.”

    “Sure was smart of you, carrying that letter, Adam,” Joe said as the elevator doors closed and the teenager operating it started the car in motion.  “That fellow must be half blind not to have seen our card the first time!”

    “Don’t be naïve, little brother,” Adam chided.  “A five-dollar gold piece would have cleared his eyesight even more quickly.”

    “You mean he—”

    “Yes, of course,” Adam stated, reminding himself to be patient with his inexperienced brother.  “I’m sure rooms are at a premium in Philadelphia this summer and will become even harder to find as the Fourth of July approaches, so an unscrupulous clerk can probably pocket a tidy sum.  I just don’t happen to approve of bribery for acceptable service.  I do, however, tip for it.”  With a suave smile he handed two bits to the elevator operator when the doors opened at their floor.

    “You handled it so smooth, Adam,” Joe said as they walked down the thinly carpeted hallway.  “I wouldn’t have known what to do, except maybe punch the guy in the snoot.”

    Adam cuffed his brother’s ear.  “All that would have gotten you was a night in jail, little man.  As for handling the situation, it’s all a matter of proper record keeping, the same as I do for ranch business.”

    Joe beamed with pride as Adam turned the key in the door to their suite.  “Yeah, you always do a great job of that, too, Adam.”

    Adam opened the door.  “Why, thank you, Joe.”  It was rare that he heard a compliment from his younger brother, and his warm smile showed how much he enjoyed it.

    Entering, Joe looked around.  The room was simply, but tastefully furnished with an autumn-brown brocade settee and two armchairs, upholstered in a fabric covered with green and gold oak leaves and tawny acorns wearing caps of nut-brown.  A reading lamp stood beside each chair, and another sat on a writing table, with a straight-backed wooden chair, nestled in one corner.

    Adam cleared his throat.  “I trust it meets with your approval.”

    “Huh?”   Then Joe grinned, realizing how strange he must have looked, standing there, staring silently at the furniture.  “Oh, yeah, it’s just fine, Adam.”  Aware again of the weight at the ends of his arms, he asked, “Which room do you want your bag in?”

    “That one,” Adam said, pointing to the one on the right.

    Joe’s eyes sparkled when he saw that Adam had left the room with windows on the street for him.  “Hey, thanks!”

    Adam’s breath caught in his throat for a moment.  Joe obviously thought he was being generous, when the truth was that he personally preferred the quieter room without windows.  Thinking it imprudent to confess that to his younger brother, however, he merely said, “You’re welcome.”

    Thinking of what a good brother he had, after all, Joe dropped Adam’s bag in his room first and then carried his own to the other.

    By the time they’d unpacked their carpetbags, the other luggage arrived and, at Adam’s insistence, those things, too, were put in their proper places for a long-term stay.  “And now, my boy, I suggest you have yourself a little nap,” Adam told his brother.

    “A nap!” Joe squealed.  “How old do you think I am—five?”

    “No,” Adam drawled with a sly smile.  “I just think you act that way.  Seriously, Joe, aren’t you tired?  I know I am.”

    “Well, yeah,” Joe conceded.  “I guess I wouldn’t mind stretching out for a while, but I probably won’t sleep—and don’t go calling it a nap, okay, Adam?  Naps are for kids.”

    Resisting the temptation to say, “And that’s just what you are,” Adam merely nodded and went to his own room.

    Little Joe walked over to the window to take in the view.  It overlooked Chestnut Street, down which stretched block after block of tall, stately business buildings.  Joe couldn’t wait to get shed of Adam and explore them for himself.  Guess I’ll have to wait, though, he admitted as he dropped onto the edge of his bed to unlace his city shoes.  With a gaping yawn he sank into the plump pillow, intending merely to rest his eyes for a few minutes, but he fell into a deep slumber from which he didn’t awaken until Adam roused him to go down to supper.

    They ate in the hotel’s dining room at a round table covered in crisp white linen.  After perusing the menu, Adam observed, “You might like to try the pepper pot soup.  It’s a Philadelphia specialty, and you probably aren’t any more in the mood for a heavy meal than I am.”

    “What’s in it—besides pepper, that is?” Joe asked with a sassy grin.

    “It’s a stew of tripe, potatoes, onions and dumplings, seasoned to a delicious spiciness with cayenne pepper,” Adam answered.  He laughed at the look on his brother’s face.  “It really is good, Joe.”

    “It would have to be, for me to eat cow innards,” Joe snorted.

    “You mind your language,” Adam said sharply.  “That kind of talk is not appreciated at the table in genteel company.”

    “So, who’s in genteel company?” Joe sputtered.

    “All around you,” Adam hissed, leaning forward so his voice would not carry past Joe’s ear.  “Now, do you behave or do I escort you back to the room without your supper?”

    “Okay, okay,” Joe appeased quickly, glancing at some of their elegantly dressed fellow diners.  “Didn’t mean to embarrass you.  Hey, I’ll even eat your old tripe soup if you’ll start actin’ genteel toward me.”

    Adam released a couple of short chuckles.  “Eat what you like, boy.  I’ve always thought one of the pleasures of travel was sampling unfamiliar foods, but you’re welcome to choose whatever you fancy.”

    Good humor restored, Little Joe decided he would try the pepper pot soup, after all, and although he found the tripe disgustingly chewy, the soup itself was very flavorful.  He ordered coleslaw and sliced tomatoes to round out the meal and finished up with a slice of lemon cheesecake, the most expensive dessert on the menu.

    After supper Adam escorted his brother on the get-acquainted tour of the city that their father had mandated.  Four blocks to the south of their hotel, they entered a five-story brick building with wires running out in all directions and posted a telegram via Western Union to apprise the family back home of their safe arrival.  Then, exhausted from the long journey, both boys went straight to bed.  Adam fell asleep readily, but Joe, excited over the adventure to begin tomorrow, lay awake a long while, listening to the sounds of traffic coming through his open window.

    “There.”  Adam stepped back to admire the expert bow he had just tied in his brother’s gray silk cravat.  “That’s perfect, though I still think you should save this for evening wear.”

    “I want to look my best while I’m shopping,” Joe insisted.  “It makes folks treat you better.”

    Adam cocked his head and nodded once.  He had to admit that his brother had made an astute observation.  Clerks did tend to give more attentive service to someone who appeared to be a man of means, and a customer as young as Little Joe was wise to provide them all the incentive he could muster if he wished to be treated with respect.   The boy looked positively dapper in his new gray broadcloth suit and burgundy vest, and Adam had no doubt that the handsome lad would turn some pretty heads as he walked down the street.

    “I hope you’ll just look today and delay your final purchases until I can be with you,” Adam said.

    The suggestion met almost exactly the response he’d expected, but hoped to avoid.  “Pa trusts me,” Joe sputtered.  “Why can’t you?”

    “I trust you, Joe,” Adam tried to explain, although, in truth, he had some reservations about his brother’s wardrobe wisdom, “but I don’t necessarily trust those you’ll be dealing with today.  Some—like the clerk on duty when we registered, for instance—are more than willing to take advantage of a green kid from the country, and I just don’t want that to happen.”

    It was the same argument Adam had advanced back home, and it was no more effective in Philadelphia than it had been at the Ponderosa.  “I’m not a kid, and no one’s gonna take advantage of me,” Joe asserted tersely.  “I can take care of myself, Adam.”

    “Uh-huh,” Adam drawled.  When did I hear that before?  Oh, I remember, right before the last time the kid got himself into a scrape I had to get him out of!

    “I can, Adam!” Joe insisted.

    “All right, Joe, whatever you say,” Adam sighed.

    The Cartwrights made their way to the hotel dining room for breakfast.  After placing their orders, Adam laid out a strict itinerary for his young brother.  “You’re to stay on Chestnut Street exclusively today, Joe.   If you start one block east of here and work your way west, you’ll cover most of the business district within a few blocks.  Anything east of that is warehouses, not retail shops, so you don’t need to go there.”

    “Chestnut isn’t the only street that has clothing stores,” Joe complained.  “I should be able to go where I please.”

    “You will stay within the boundaries I set,” Adam emphasized, “and as you well remember, that is Pa’s order, not just mine.  You can shop on Market Street tomorrow, but Chestnut, which is the main retail street, anyway, is the limit for you today, boy, and I expect you to adhere to that.”

    Joe frowned, but nodded agreement.  “Yes, sir.  Are you going to meet me somewhere for dinner?”

    The waiter arrived with their orders, so Adam delayed his answer until they were alone again.  “No, I’m sorry, Joe, but you’ll be completely on your own today.  A luncheon is being provided by the convention, so I’ll be dining there.”

    “No problem,” Joe said, stretching his palm across the table and doing his best imitation of Adam’s Cheshire-cat smile.

    It paled by comparison with the real thing, with which Adam responded.  “You’ll be in the area.  Come back here to eat and charge it to the room.”

    Joe grimaced, resenting the curtailment of his freedom of choice, but he shrugged it off as something beyond his control.

    “Now, if you grow weary of shopping,” Adam continued as he cut a bite of his veal chop, “you’re welcome to visit either Washington Square or Independence Square.”

    “Oh, but not both?” Joe asked irritably.

    “Or both,” Adam amended.  “I showed you how to get to those last night, and either—or both—will make a pleasant place for you to relax this afternoon.  The only stipulation I’ll make is that you are not to go inside Independence Hall.  I wish to visit it, as well, and the least you can do is wait, so that we can see it together.”

    Joe smiled agreeably.  “Sure, Adam, that’s fine.”  He wanted to spend time with his brother and knew that he would enjoy seeing the historic landmark more if he saw it with Adam.  Besides, he basically considered himself a guest on Adam’s trip and figured it behooved him, for the most part, to be a good one.  “We will have supper together, though, won’t we?” he asked.

    “Yes,” Adam replied.  “I have something rather special planned for tonight, so I want you to meet me at the corner of Eighth and Chestnut at five o’clock.  We’ll need to catch a horse car there, so we can get to Fairmount Park in time to board the May Queen at 5:30.”

    “A boat?” Joe queried.

    Forking a piece of fried egg, Adam nodded.  “A steamer, to take us down the Schuylkill River to the Falls for catfish and coffee.”

    “Now wait a minute!” Joe protested, stabbing a sausage-laden fork toward his brother.  “What if I want something different? You already picked where I’m eating dinner, and now you want to control supper, too?  Just because you’re paying for the meals doesn’t mean you get to pick my food for me!”

    Although he felt more like plowing a fist into his brother’s face, Adam calmly caught the boy’s wrist and lowered his fork to the plate.  “Trust me, all right?  Catfish and coffee is all they serve where we’re going, but you won’t be disappointed.  Even Hoss wouldn’t be disappointed by what you’ll have put before you.”

    “Oh, all right,” Joe muttered, giving in a bit less than gracefully.  Is it my imagination or is he rubbing it in my face that he’d rather have Hoss here?

    They finished their breakfasts and left the hotel together.  “Have a good day,” Adam said, giving his brother’s back a couple of pats in farewell.

    “Hey, you, too, Adam,” Joe bubbled, eager to start his solo adventure.  “Get all educated on that mining stuff.”

    “I’ll try,” Adam laughed, “and you try to stay out of trouble.”

    Joe was sorely tempted to poke his tongue at his exasperating older brother, but since that would be childish, he settled, instead, for what he hoped was a snappy rejoinder.  “Hey, you, too, Adam!”

    Adam smiled as he affectionately shook the youngster’s neck. “Should be easy without you around to drag me into any of your shenanigans.”  He looked intently into his brother’s face.  “Seriously, Joe, take care of yourself.  It’s a big city.”

    Though Little Joe did not appreciate what he viewed as a needless admonition, he saw the genuine concern reflected in Adam’s ebony eyes and was touched by it.  “I will,” he promised.  “See you at five.”

    The two brothers went in opposite directions.  Deciding to follow Adam’s instructions to the letter, at least for now, Joe walked exactly one block east down Chestnut Street, where he almost laughed when he saw the business on the corner, Fred Brown’s Drugstore.  Probably oughta buy some headache powders , he joked with himself, since Adam is bound and determined to give me one!

    He stood on the corner for a few minutes, looking again at the United States Custom House across the street, whose architecture Adam had praised so profusely on their get-acquainted tour of the city the previous night.  The white marble structure was, Joe had to admit, fabulous.  According to Adam, it was an imitation of the Parthenon in Greece and was what his big brother called “one of the most classic examples of Doric architecture in America,” a phrase meaningless to Joe until Adam pointed out the eight fluted columns as characteristic.

    When Little Joe turned to head west, he saw a brunette beauty about his age, walking out of a shop with an older woman, probably her mother.  With an appreciative sparkle in his eye, he tipped his gray felt hat to the girl, and she giggled, but smiled pleasantly in response.  Her mother, however, deliberately pulled her away from the forward young man.  Though he couldn’t hear the lecture the older woman was delivering in the younger one’s ear, Joe was pretty sure it had something to do with the dangers of dallying with strange, albeit dashingly handsome, young men.

    With a shrug he put the girl and her provocative bustle out of his mind and entered the store the women had just left, the four-story dry goods emporium of Morgan, Young, Altemus & Co.  Stepping through the door, his eyes met a daunting display.  While much of what was offered was similar, in type at least, to the goods sold in the general store back home, the mass of merchandise here was so overwhelming that Little Joe didn’t know where to start. His bewilderment must have been evident, for a tall clerk with a brushy mustache appeared at his side to ask if he needed assistance in finding a particular department.

    “Um, I was just going to look around,” Joe stammered, the clerk’s discerning appraisal stripping him bare of any pretensions of sophistication.  “I-I mean I haven’t been in your store before and just wanted to acquaint myself with it.”  Joe shook his head, blushing in self-disgust. Buck naked with “country boy” scrawled all over my chest!

    Choosing to overlook the well-dressed young man’s evident disconcertment, the clerk gave him a congenial smile.  “Ah, a visitor to our fair city, in town for the Centennial, perhaps?”

    The clerk’s kindly manner putting him at ease, Joe nodded back.  “Yes, sir, and in need of some—uh,”—he scrambled for a citified way of expressing his need—“some things to complete my wardrobe, so while I do want to look around, it would help if you could tell me where to find that.”

    “Certainly, sir,” the clerk replied smoothly.  “Feel free to browse all you like.  When you’re ready, you’ll find the men’s haberdashery department on the second floor.  We’re having a sale on shirts today, if that represents one of the additions you need to make to your traveling wardrobe.”

    “Yes, sir, it does.  Thanks a lot!” Joe said, flashing his dazzling smile and thrusting out his hand.

    The clerk looked a bit surprised at the gesture of familiarity, but, captivated by the boy’s charm, took the extended hand and gave it a warm shake.  “You’re welcome, young man, and I trust you’ll find what you desire upstairs.  Ask for Emil should you require assistance in that department.”

    “I will, sir.  Thanks,” Joe said.  He moved around the first floor for a short while, but seeing nothing he needed, he mounted the stairs, grateful that Messrs. Morgan, Young and Altemus had not gone in for the modernized torture chamber folks back home called a rising room.

    He intended only to look, saving his purchases until he’d had a chance to compare quality and price elsewhere, but the shirts on sale struck him as stylish and well worth the price.  He bought two, one for everyday wear and one of crisp linen, with ruffles down the front placket and around the cuffs, which would go well with evening apparel.  Adam had told him they would be attending the theater while in town, so Joe hoped even his mother hen of a brother would agree that the fancy shirt was something he needed.  He gave the name of his hotel to Emil, who promised that the package would be delivered that afternoon.

    Coming out of the dry goods store, Little Joe next noticed the establishment of Henry A. Dreer.  He paused briefly to admire its attractive display windows with baskets of ivy and ferns hanging from their ceilings and over the central entrance to the store, whose sign proclaimed trees, plants and garden tools for sale.  Not being in the market for those items, Joe continued west up Chestnut Street.

    According to the Philadelphia guidebook, some of the handsomest dry goods, clothing, jewelry and book stores in the city were located in the seven hundred block of Chestnut, and Joe went inside each of them, perusing carefully all that was offered.  His only purchase, however, was two new cravats of the style favored by the men he’d seen on the street that morning.  Though he felt more comfortable in a simple string tie, Joe also enjoyed dressing up on occasion, and he suspected there might be more opportunities for that here than at home.  Too, while reluctant to admit it, he knew Adam was right when he said that Hop Sing’s gift was too dressy for daywear; the additional purchases, in less showy fabric, would enable him to save that for special occasions.

    Crossing Eighth Street, Joe noticed another fine building across the street.  Although he had no idea what name to give its style of architecture, he found its arched windows and sharp pinnacles impressive.  “Too fancy to be a store,” he muttered.  “Wonder what it is.”

    “That’s the Old Masonic Temple, young man,” a fellow pedestrian stopped long enough to tell him, “in process of being renovated as a hotel.”

    “Thank you, sir,” Joe called to the departing figure.  He gave the building a nod of approval.  Now, that would have been an interesting place to stay!  Not that there was anything wrong with the Washington.  It just didn’t have the flair of this place or some of the others along Chestnut, especially the Continental, situated just above Ninth Street.   Well, to be honest, that one didn’t have any particular flair about it, either, but according to the guidebook, its accommodations were the best America had to offer and its dining room the finest in the country.  Joe understood why he and Adam were not staying there, since the Continental charged two dollars more per day than their hotel.  He felt a moment’s perturbation, however, because he had entertained the idea of sampling that fine food—at Adam’s expense, of course—one of the two days he was on his own.  Adam had spoiled that plan by his refusal to hand over the cash Joe had requested, but it was probably too much to expect his older brother to cooperate with the scheme to empty his pockets.

    Just above Tenth Street, Little Joe tripped past McCallum, Crease & Sloan’s carpet store and paused to look across the street at Fox’s New American Theater.  Wonder if that’s the one Adam plans on us going to, Joe pondered.  Maybe, since it’s close.  Unanswerable questions weren’t worth much consideration, however, so he just kept walking westward until he reached Twelfth Street.  On its southeast corner was a fine marble building, housing the largest jewelry store in Philadelphia.  Joe wandered inside, out of curiosity, and was pleased by the wide selection of cuff links and stickpins.  Maybe Pa’d like something on that order for Christmas.   It was worth thinking about, although the nice ones cost more than Joe thought he could afford to spend without shortchanging others for whom he planned to buy gifts, too.

    Leaving Bailey’s Jewelry Store, Joe craned his neck to read the words printed on the pennant flying atop the building.  He laughed when he saw “Dental Depot” in bold letters and decided it was definitely time to head back to the hotel when dentists started showing up.  A glance at his pocket watch revealed that it was later than he’d realized, and just knowing that it was almost two o’clock made his stomach rumble.  With a burst of energy, Joe sprinted back to the Washington and almost ran into the dining room—a room virtually empty.

    A man clearing dishes from one of the far tables looked up as Joe entered.  “Dining room closes at two, sir,” he called.

    Joe groaned.  Bet the Continental stays open all day, he groused to himself as he walked to the registration desk, but he knew it was an unfair thought.  It was more likely that all the hotels in the area kept the same basic hours.  “Have any packages arrived for Joseph Cartwright?” he asked the clerk behind the desk, a different man than the one who had greeted them their first day.

    “No, sir.  Were you expecting some?” the clerk asked solicitously.

    “Sometime this afternoon,” Joe replied.  “It was all right to have them sent here, wasn’t it?”

    “Certainly, sir.  Shall I inform you when they arrive?”

    Joe shook his head.  “No, don’t bother.  I’ll be in and out today, so I’ll just check back again later.”

    “Very good, sir.”  The clerk turned back to his paperwork.

    Little Joe decided to go up to his room for a little while, to rest his weary feet.  They weren’t so weary, however, that he was willing to brave that rising room when there was a perfectly good stairway close at hand.  He took the steps two at a time and was soon stretched out on the sofa in the suite’s parlor.  Lying there with his arms folded behind his neck, he had a sudden inspiration and went in search of the picnic hamper.  He found it and, as he’d hoped, two pieces of fruit remained inside.  “Bless you, Hop Sing,” he chirped, grabbing both the pear and the apple.  “Uh, and you, too, I guess, big brother,” he added, as he remembered who had bought the fruit in Hop Sing’s basket.  Flopping back on the settee, he consumed both pieces down to the core and felt his hunger sufficiently appeased to be ignored.

    After relaxing for about an hour, Joe grew bored with lying around the stifling room and decided to pursue the only other option Adam had permitted him, a visit to the nearby public squares.  There were actually seven within the bounds of Philadelphia, but the others were further away and probably not much different, in Joe’s opinion.  After exchanging his cravat for a more relaxed string tie, he skipped down the stairs and walked the half block that separated the hotel from Independence Hall.  Standing on the wide slate sidewalk before the famous building, he admired once more, as both he and Adam had the night before, the white marble statue of George Washington in front of the building.  Though tempted to run inside long enough to see the Liberty Bell, Joe decided it would be imprudent to make waves with Adam this early in their adventure, especially over an issue so insignificant as when he saw the bell.

    Independence Square lay behind the famous landmark, so Joe walked south on Sixth Street until he came to an entrance.  It was marked by a lamppost, with the names of the thirteen original states inscribed on its base and, also, four representations of the Liberty Bell, each surrounded by thirteen stars.  Entering the park, he enjoyed the shade of the lofty trees, for the afternoon was growing increasingly warmer, but he walked straight through the grounds, planning to check out Washington Square before deciding where to spend the next couple of hours.

    Washington Square lay cater-cornered to the other public park, so Joe dodged carriages and a passing horse car to cross the intersection of Sixth and Walnut and was glad he had when he saw the large trees, which provided even finer shade than those in Independence Square.  Spotting a stone fountain with an eagle perched on a globe, Joe took a drink, and then settled on a nearby bench to watch the people passing by.  It seemed to him as if all of Philadelphia were on parade, men in straw hats and women in fashionable bonnets, strolling arm in arm or riding in two-wheeled runabouts or stately black family carriages.  He took special notice of one flashy dark-blue carriage with both a red and a green stripe running down its side.  Wouldn’t the girls’ heads turn if he drove something like that down the streets of Virginia City!  Observing the elegant clothes of the men and women on promenade, Joe was forced to admit that Adam had been right.  He did need different clothes to fit in with these fancy folk, and he resolved to purchase whatever he needed tomorrow, even if he had to dip into his own funds to do it.  He wanted Adam to be proud to be seen with him.

    Thoughts of Adam made him consult his watch.  Thirty minutes left before he was to meet his brother, but having already missed one deadline that day for lack of attention to the time, Joe decided not to take chances.  He started walking up Walnut toward Eighth Street and found himself in a pleasant residential area, the majority of the houses constructed of red brick with white trim and roofs of either tile or slate.  There were no front yards, which Joe thought greatly detracted from their beauty, but white steps led to small square porches, most having two benches that faced each other on either side of the front door.  The houses were, typically, two stories tall with a dormer window in the attic and a narrow roof over the first floor windows, a style Joe had never seen before. Have to ask Adam what kind of architecture this is, he determined.  Bet he knows.  Seems to know ‘most everything ‘bout buildings.

    Joe arrived at the horse car stop well before five o’clock, but Adam came running up to him just as the streetcar pulled up to the corner.  “I was afraid you weren’t going to make it!” Joe exclaimed as he jumped onto the car after his brother.

    Adam shrugged.  “I knew it would be close, but I did have to hoof it to make it here on time.  Glad to see that you did the same, kid.”

    Having had an enjoyable day, Joe was in a good mood and was too excited about the prospective boat trip to take offense at the didactic tone.  “I wouldn’t want to miss the last boat, now would I?” he queried with a grin.

    Adam chuckled.  “Actually, there’s one more, but taking that one wouldn’t leave us much time to eat before the final boat back from the Falls.”  He noted with amusement Joe’s change of neckwear.  “Spill gravy on that fancy silk cravat?” he teased.

    “Couldn’t.  Didn’t have dinner,” Joe grunted.

    “Oh, for mercy’s sake!” Adam castigated.  “If that’s your way of pouting because I wouldn’t give you cash—”

    “It isn’t,” Joe countered testily.  “I just lost track of the time.”  He explained about the restricted dining hours at the hotel.

    “I should have thought to warn you about that.  I’m sorry,” Adam apologized sincerely.  “It just never occurred to me that you’d wait ‘til after two to eat.”

    “Didn’t mean to,” Joe admitted, “but there’s so much to see, even on just that one street, Adam, that I plain forgot.”

    Adam grinned, thinking how like Joe it was to forget food in his interest over other things, but all he said was, “Well, perhaps that will teach you to take out your pocket watch once in a while.”

    “All I can say, brother, is that this catfish and coffee better be as filling as you said,” Joe teased back, “or we’ll be making a second stop somewhere.”

    “Not a chance,” Adam laughed.  “I guarantee you’ll be stuffed like a Thanksgiving turkey.”

    A twenty-five minute ride brought them to the steamboat landing.  Jumping off the horse car, Little Joe eagerly scampered down the dock to the waiting boat, calling, “Come on!” as he waved his older brother on.

    Making a quick check of his watch, Adam saw that the boat was not scheduled to leave for five minutes, so he slowly sauntered toward the eager youngster.  Soon they were steaming down the Schuylkill River, which Adam informed Joe meant “hidden river,” a name the Dutch had given the waterway because ships ascending the Delaware couldn’t see the mouth of the other river until reaching its junction.

    Leaning on the rail, Joe smiled, not so much because of the information—he’d already read it in the guidebook—but because he enjoyed floating lazily past the rustic scenes along the shore.  After a day in the big city, the tree-lined shores of the meandering stream soothed his pastoral yearnings.  “This is nice,” he said softly.  “If I had to live in Philadelphia, I’d come here every day and just . . . breathe.”

    Ruffling the boy’s wind-blown curls, Adam laughed lightly.  “Can’t you breathe in the city?”

    Joe smiled a little shyly.  “I guess I don’t put what I mean into words too well.”

    Adam slipped an arm around his brother’s shoulders and enjoyed the view with him.  “No, I know what you mean.  I prefer open spaces myself.”

    “Do you, Adam?” Joe asked, his voice tinged with a hidden fear.

    “Sure,” Adam replied, missing the meaning behind his brother’s inflection.  “It’s what I chose, isn’t it?”

    Joe nodded, not totally reassured, but not comfortable pursuing a more definitive answer.

    The May Queen landed at the Falls of the Schuylkill and Adam led the way to the Falls Hotel.  The dining room was crowded, but the Cartwright brothers were fortunate enough to get a table by a window overlooking the river.  “Catfish and coffee?” the waitress asked as they took their seats.

    “Yes, please,” Adam said at once.  Looking across the table, he noticed the petulant pout on his brother’s face.  “Straighten up,” he dictated, “or you’ll wish you had.”  Adopting a more pacifying tone, he added, “You know, people have been enjoying catfish and coffee here for over a hundred years, Joe.  In fact, when Philadelphia was the capital of our country, George Washington himself may very well have dined on what you’re eating tonight.  Give it a chance and I doubt you’ll be disappointed.”

    “George Washington, huh?” Joe said, trying not to look impressed.  “Well, I guess if the father of our country lived through it, I can, too.”

    “Live through it,” Adam scoffed.  “Why don’t you quit now before you cough up more words you’ll have to eat?”

    Joe wrinkled his nose, but made no further comment—and a good thing, he decided when the heaping platters of food were placed on the table, for, as Adam had said, he already had enough hasty words to chew on.  “This isn’t just catfish,” he sputtered.  “When did you order all this?”  In addition to the fish he had expected, the table was also spread with beefsteak, broiled chicken and waffles.

    “You heard what I ordered,” Adam laughed.  “This is what comes with catfish and coffee, just a few extras.”

    “A few!” Joe croaked.  “Adam, I’ll bust if I eat all this.”

    Adam found himself unable to resist saying, “I told you so,” but he kept it light and Joe took it well.

“I was wrong, Adam,” the younger boy said earnestly.  “You’ve done real well with your plans so far, and I’m sorry I made such a fuss.”

    “Just try to remember that tomorrow, will you, kid?” Adam suggested with that maddening arch of his eyebrow.

    Joe struggled to hold onto his temper.  He’d admitted he was wrong; he’d even apologized.  Why couldn’t Adam have just left it at that?

    “How was your day?  Any problems?” Adam asked as he carved his steak.

    “What?  Oh, no, no problems,” Joe assured him, pouring maple syrup on his waffle, which seemed, to him, the best place to start.

    “And do you have any money left?” Adam teased.

    “Yeah, sure,” Joe said, irritated, but not wanting to spoil the meal.  “How was the convention?  You learn anything or did you know it all already?”

    It was Adam’s turn to feel irritated.  “Of course I don’t ‘know it all already.’  That’s why I came, to learn, as well as to share what I know.”

    “Okay, so what did you learn?”

    Adam laughed.  “You wouldn’t understand much of what we discussed today, Joe, and I don’t want to bore you.”

    “I’m not stupid, you know, Adam,” Joe muttered darkly.

    “I know that very well,” Adam said, trying to pacify the offended child.  “You have a good mind, when you choose to use it, but you haven’t paid much attention to mining matters, so it’s unlikely you would understand a discussion of its technical problems, isn’t it?”

    “I guess so,” Joe said, cutting off a bite of broiled chicken and forking a piece of waffle to go with it.  “The food’s really good, Adam,” he added in a glaringly obvious attempt to change the subject.

    Recognizing the comment for what it was, Adam immediately dropped the discussion of the convention.  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he said simply and was rewarded by his brother’s brighter countenance.

    “I am; I really am,” Joe said enthusiastically.  With a brilliant smile he popped the chicken and waffle together into his mouth.

    The two brothers dallied so long over the hearty meal that they had to race to catch the final boat back to Fairmount Park.  From there they took the Ridge Avenue line of horse cars back downtown and walked arm in arm to the Washington Hotel.  Joe picked up his two packages at the desk and headed for the stairs.

    “Joe, what are you doing?” Adam called.  “Come take the elevator.”

    Joe shook his head, grinning.  “Race you up,” he challenged.

    Adam chuckled, shaking his head as the boy took off.  Where did the kid find all that energy at the end of a long day?  He rode the elevator up and was not surprised to find Joe waiting for him at the door to their room.  “You know, you really should get over that foolish fear you have of heights,” he scolded.

    “I’m not scared,” Joe insisted.  “I just don’t like rising rooms.”

    “Uh-huh,” Adam said as he opened the door.  Once inside, he looked at the packages in Joe’s hands.  “Show me what you bought,” he directed in a voice that came across more authoritatively than he intended.

    “It’s none of your business what I bought,” Joe snapped.

    “Oh, for mercy’s sake!” Adam fumed.  “Are you so afraid you spent your money unwisely that you can’t even let me see the things?  It rather misses the point of buying new clothes if you have to hide them!”

    Joe sat on the settee and began to unwrap the packages.  “I think I did fine,” he said, his voice carrying a trace of nervousness, “but you’ll probably find fault, no matter what.”

    “I’ll try to judge fairly,” Adam said, gaining control of his own temper, which no one could trigger as easily as Joe.

    Joe showed him the cravats first.

    “Yes, those are more practical than what you wore this morning,” Adam observed.  “How much—never mind; I won’t ask.”

    “Good, ‘cause I ain’t tellin’,” Joe declared firmly.  “It’s my money, not yours.”

“Agreed,” Adam said.

    Joe unwrapped the other package and handed it to his brother.  “I think you’ll approve of this one,” he said, pointing to the ruffled shirt.  “I figured I might need something dressier for the theater and such places.”

    “Yes, you do, and this looks fine, Joe,” Adam praised.  “Excellent quality if the price wasn’t too steep.”

    “It was on sale,” Joe told him eagerly and, disregarding his adamant announcement of a few moments before, he quoted the price.

    “That is a good buy,” Adam agreed.  “In fact, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d like you to pick up a similar shirt in my size tomorrow.”

    Joe was so pleased by the unexpected praise that he bubbled over with cooperative spirit.  “Sure, Adam, I’d be glad to.”

    Adam rolled his shoulders.  “Well, I’m for bed.  It’s been a long day, with another ahead.”

    “Yeah,” Joe agreed.

    Saying good night to each other, the brothers turned in, each pleased with the way his first day in Philadelphia had gone.

    Having finished his breakfast, Adam patted his mouth with his linen napkin and laid it aside.  “Now, are you certain you understand your boundaries for the day?” he asked.

    Joe rolled his eyes.  “Market Street, from Sixth westward, and anyplace on Chestnut I care to revisit.”

    “Very good, my boy,” Adam chuckled, “and do try to remember to eat dinner today.”

    Joe laughed, pushing back his breakfast plate.  “No fear of that, big brother!  I have learned my lesson: I’ll be here at straight up noon.”

    “There’s another luncheon for the convention guests today, with special speakers this time, so it will be somewhat lengthy,” Adam explained, “but I’ll be free after that.  Meet me in the room at two o’clock sharp, and we’ll make a short excursion together.”

    “Where to?” Joe asked, smiling flirtatiously at the waitress pouring him a second cup of coffee.

    Adam held his hand over the rim of his coffee cup to signify that he wanted no more. “Just a brief visit to the Exposition.  I want to check in at several of the State houses.  They’re supposed to have books in each, where I can register the dates we’ll be in town and where we’re staying, in case friends are here at the same time and want to arrange a meeting.”

    “So that’s all we’ll be doing, just signing a couple of register books?”  Joe frowned.  “I’d just as soon stay downtown and do some more shopping or sightseeing, Adam.  None of my friends will be lookin’ me up!”

    “No, I realize that won’t interest you much,” Adam replied, “but I also thought we might make a trip around the grounds on the West End Railway—if you think you can stand the sight of another train.  It’s only four miles long and will give us a good feel for the ‘lay of the land,’ so to speak.”

    The joke brought a good-natured grin to Joe’s face.  “I can probably survive a train trip that short,” he jibed back, “but I ain’t makin’ no guarantees, Adam.  ‘Course now, if I could have the window seat this time . . .”

    Adam put his head back and laughed.  “They’re all window seats, Joe; they’re open, like observation cars.”

    “Oh.  Well, that’s good,” Joe said with a sheepish shrug.

    Adam stood and pushed his chair under the table.  “Have a good day, kid—and don’t be late.”

    “Yeah, yeah, two o’clock.  I remember,” Joe muttered.  Honestly, sometimes Adam acts like I don’t have a brain in my head!

    Per Adam’s instructions, Little Joe trotted one block north to Market Street and then turned south into the six hundred block.  His first stop was a store called Garden and Co., whose merchandise had nothing to do with gardens, Joe noted with amusement.  It was, in fact, a stylish haberdashery, where he bought himself a jaunty-looking braided straw hat with a flat brim, such as he had seen many gentlemen wearing while in the company of lovely ladies the previous afternoon.  In another department of the same store, he purchased a pair of soft kid gloves for eveningwear.  At the suggestion of the helpful clerk, he wore the straw hat and arranged for his gray felt and the gloves to be delivered to the Washington Hotel.  Stepping onto the street once more, he fancied himself quite a dashing young dude, dressed to dazzle all the lovelies of Philadelphia with his new sartorial splendor.

    A bit further east Little Joe entered John Wanamaker & Brown Co., the premier department store in the city.  Though he hadn’t bothered to tell Adam, he had asked the family tailor, Elias Barton, to suggest the best place to purchase suits in Philadelphia.  While disappointed at not getting all of the Cartwright boy’s business himself, Mr. Barton had readily recommended Wanamaker & Brown.  Joe left there the proud owner of two new suits, one a lightweight nutmeg broadcloth and the other a formal black, suitable for nights at the theater.  Both were promised within the week, and Joe urged the tailor to complete the formal suit first, hoping it would be ready by the time Adam chose to attend a theater.  The money his father had allocated for clothing now spent, Joe turned his attention to gifts for others.  He looked around the department store for a birthday gift for Hoss, but nothing struck him as just right for his beloved brother, so he left and made his way to the next place of business on Market Street.

     While bookstores ordinarily didn’t draw his attention, Joe decided that today might be his best chance to buy a Christmas gift for Adam without trying to hide the purchase while its recipient stood right at his shoulder.  And what could be more perfect for Adam than a book?   Joe strolled into Claxton, Remsen and Haffelfinger in hopes of finding something his oldest brother would really like.  The building was five stories tall, but Joe quickly learned that only the first floor dealt with retail sales, the others being devoted to the business of publishing.

    Adam was always hard to buy for, at least in Little Joe’s opinion.  Quickly bypassing anything that he himself would find interesting, he considered a book called simply Studies in Literature, which looked boring enough to capture Adam’s stodgy imagination, with its sketches of the lives of authors Joe had never heard of.  He passed on that, however, when his eye fell on what he was certain would be the ideal present for his studious brother.   The Civil Engineer’s Pocket Book was a costly gift at five dollars a copy, but it was, after all, six hundred and forty-eight pages long and bound in expensive Morocco with gilt edges.  Adam would appreciate its value, as well as enjoying its technical content, and Joe was quite certain that “the Plato of the Ponderosa” had nothing like it at home.  Hopefully, Adam wouldn’t buy anything similar while he was here in Philadelphia, either.  That was the biggest problem with buying gifts for Adam.  While Joe had to admit that his oldest brother earned the higher wage Pa paid him, it meant that Adam could buy for himself almost anything he really wanted, and that made it hard for Joe, with his more meager means, to buy his brother something he’d like.  Little Joe was sure he’d found a winner this time, though.

    He hadn’t expected to find anything for Hoss at the bookstore, but when he spotted a volume entitled The Grey Bay Mare, and other Humorous American Sketches by Henry P. Leland, he decided to buy it.  Hoss wasn’t much of a reader, except when winter kept him housebound, but Joe thought his animal-loving big brother would like this one, and it only cost a dollar and a half.  Although Hoss had a birthday coming up, Joe decided to set this gift back for Christmas, as well, when Hoss would be more likely to enjoy it.  On learning that the bookstore charged extra for delivery, Joe took the books with him.  It was nearing dinnertime anyway, so returning to the hotel was no problem.  Better this way, too, Joe concluded, so I’ll have a chance to hide it before Mr. Busybody sees the package and demands to know what’s in it!

    He walked the two blocks to the Washington Hotel and scampered up two flights of stairs.  Secreting the books in the bottom drawer of his bureau, he ran downstairs to the dining room, having missed his goal of straight up noon by about thirty minutes, but still arriving in plenty of time to be served.  Not knowing what Adam had planned for supper, he decided to eat heartily and ordered a New England boiled dinner of corned beef, carrots, potatoes, turnips, cabbage and squash.  Since no opportunity to run up Adam’s bill should be neglected, he added brown betty, a pudding of apples and breadcrumbs, for dessert.

    Leaving the hotel, Joe stood on the corner for a moment or two, pondering which direction to take.  He’d really had his fill of shopping, especially now that Pa’s gift money had been spent, so the thought of more stores didn’t entice him.  Nor did another visit to the same public squares he’d seen yesterday.  Sure, they were pleasant places to relax, but he wasn’t feeling particularly tired and, besides, he preferred new sights.  Trouble was, there weren’t any new sights within the area to which Adam—with complete unfairness, as far as Joe was concerned—had restricted him.

    Only a few blocks east lay the Delaware River, one of the two waterways that encompassed Philadelphia, and Joe decided he might as well have a look at that.  Sure, it meant breaching the bounds his brother had set, but not by much.  He could stay on Chestnut Street, in fact, so there was no danger of his becoming “disoriented,” as Adam had put it.  He took off in that direction and counted himself fortunate that the sight of Morgan, Young, Altemus & Co. reminded him of his promise to buy a dress shirt for his brother.  Adam had given him the money for that this morning, and Joe knew he would be in for another stern lecture on responsibility if he failed to fulfill the commission.

    Purchase made and information given for its delivery to the hotel, Joe was ready for his exploration of the river.  He took his time, looking at the other businesses along the street as he passed.  They were mostly warehouses, as Adam had said, so he stopped at none of them and soon found himself at the Chestnut Street Wharf on the Delaware.  This was a passenger wharf, and as Little Joe watched people getting on and off the steamers, he wondered where they might be heading, just across the river into New Jersey or perhaps as far as Boston or New York, where they could make connections for Europe.  In his imagination Joe sailed along with those travelers, and then his mind reached further back and he was sailing the Atlantic alongside First Mate Ben Cartwright, seeing all the places his father had described to him and, of course, meeting adventure and beautiful women in every port.

    The blast of a steam whistle disrupted his dreams, and Joe finally thought to take out his pocket watch to check the time.  It was precisely two minutes past two o’clock.  “Oh, I’m in for it,” he yelped and started running up Chestnut Street, hoping against hope that his older brother’s luncheon had lasted longer than expected.

    Adam’s luncheon had, in fact, ended at 1:30, and as he walked back to the Washington Hotel, he was feeling a fine sense of satisfaction.  The convention had afforded the opportunity for an informative exchange of ideas, and he was looking forward to discussing the latest innovations with his friend Jim McKay, superintendent of the Consolidated Virginia mine, when he returned to Nevada.  He’d participated himself in the discussion of hydraulic mining and felt he’d given convincing testimony of its devastating effect on the environment.

    Warm with the respect of his peers, Adam arrived at the hotel about ten ‘til two and was not at all surprised to find the room empty.  Trust Joe to squeeze the last minute out of any time allotted!  When two o’clock came and his young brother still had not appeared, Adam’s mood began to darken, and by the time Joe showed up, twenty minutes late, the older brother was belching steam blacker than any boat the younger had seen at the wharf.

    Joe’s straw hat had blown off, and chasing it down had wasted more precious minutes, so it was with dread that he eased the door to the room open.  His countenance fell as soon as he saw his brother’s livid expression.  “Hi, Adam.  How was the meeting?” he asked edgily.  “Did they feed you good?”

    “Where have you been?” Adam roared.

    Joe jumped back a step.  “On Market and Chestnut, that’s all, Adam.  I-I lost track of the time again.  I’m real sorry, but the boats got me to dreaming and”—he moaned, realizing the words were a dead giveaway to his transgression.

    “What boats?” Adam growled.  “There aren’t any boats within the boundaries I set for you, boy!”

    “Oh, for crying out loud, Adam,” Joe protested.  “I just went down to the Chestnut Street Wharf.  I know it’s further east than you said I could go, but—”

    “You deliberately disobeyed,” Adam snapped, “not only me, but Pa!  You were told where you were allowed to be, but could you keep to a few simple rules?  No, not you!  You’ve got to exalt your judgment over that of your elders and traipse off on your own, no matter what the risks!”

    “So what?” Joe demanded, bristling like a porcupine under attack.  “I didn’t get lost; I didn’t get in trouble.  Why should you care what I do with my free time as long as that’s true?”

    “What if something had happened to you?” Adam argued, flailing his arms passionately.  “Where would I even begin to look in a city of eight hundred thousand people if you’re not where you’re supposed to be?  Have a little consideration for something besides your own pleasure, boy!”

    Joe folded his arms across his chest and stared at his brother, his eyes as hard and sharply faceted as the emeralds they resembled.  “You know, Adam, sometimes you can be worse than Pa!”

    Adam snorted.  “Pa is much too easy on you.”

    Joe’s gaze rolled toward the ceiling.  “Oh, boy, where have I heard that before?”

    Adam grabbed hold of his brother’s arm.  “I’m not sure you ever hear anything that’s said to you, but you are going to hear this: do not flout my authority again, boy, or you will live to regret it!”

    Joe tried to squirm free, but Adam only tightened his grip.  “Ease up, Adam,” Joe pleaded.  “I didn’t mean any harm.”

     “No, you never do,” Adam scolded, still hot.  “You just waltz on your merry way without a thought for anyone else’s plans—”

    “You want to get to that exhibition or just stand here dressing me down the rest of the afternoon?” Joe retorted.

    “Or whether they might be worried,” Adam ranted on, ignoring his younger brother’s interruption.

    Joe finally managed to jerk his arm free.  “All right, Adam, I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to worry you.  I just lost track of the time.”

    Adam barely controlled his urge to slap the boy’s exasperating face.  How could the little fool so entirely miss the point?  But, then, he always did.  “Oh, you’re hopeless,” Adam growled.  “Let’s go.”

    By the time they caught a horse car for Fairmount Park, Little Joe was beginning to see the incident from his brother’s viewpoint, and his apologies took on a more sincere tone.  Adam, however, made no response, choosing to let the kid stew in the juices of his contrition, in hopes that the broth would simmer into a more palatable spirit of submission.  Probably a futile hope, in Joe’s case, but a better alternative, or, at least, one more reportable to their father, than smashing his fist into the kid’s jaw.

    “What’s up?” Joe asked when Adam had them transfer from the Eighth Street cars to the Race and Vine line.  “The streetcar we were on goes out to Fairmount.”

    “Must you question every decision I make?” Adam muttered gruffly.  Then, realizing that the query was a perfectly reasonable request for information, he replied, “We’re going to the opposite end of the park from where we were last night, Joe, and this will deposit us at that entrance.”

    “There’s more than one?”

    “Joe, Joe,” Adam chided.  “I know that was in the articles you read in Manufacturer and Builder."

    “Oh, yeah, you’re right,” Joe admitted with an embarrassed crinkle of his nose.  “Let me think a minute.  Thirteen entrances, right?”

    “That’s right.”

    “I just figured we’d be using the main one,” Joe said, “so I didn’t pay much heed to the others.”

    “We will most of the time,” Adam explained, “but the far west entrance leads more directly to the area I plan to visit today.”

    “Okay,” Joe laughed, trying to jolly his brother into a better mood.  “I don’t care which gate I walk through.”

    But Adam was not quite ready to let the worm wriggle off the hook.  “You don’t care about a good many things,” he observed dryly, “including following instructions.”

    Joe slumped.  His big brother could hold onto a grudge longer than anyone he knew.

    The streetcar dropped them at the westernmost Elm Street entrance, marked by a flagstaff on either side, as were all the entrances to the Centennial grounds.  Adam led the way through the gate labeled “Visitors,” paying fifty cents each for two paper tokens, which he presented to the keeper at the turnstile.  Then they followed the slanting path that led to a second turnstile ten feet away.  “It’s a safety feature,” Adam observed, “so the security officers can easily pull from the line anyone creating a disturbance.”  He pointed to a small building just to the right as they passed through the second gateway.  “There’s one of the Centennial Guard stations close at hand, so I suggest you stay out of trouble unless you want a personal tour of that facility.”

    Seeing the twitch of Adam’s lips, Joe felt relieved.  While he didn’t enjoy being ribbed, at least the teasing indicated that Adam was beginning to get over his fit of anger.  “Yeah, I’ll—uh—do that,” he said, flashing a genuine smile when his older brother chuckled and drew him into a one-armed embrace.

    They passed another small building, this one belonging to Gillander and Son Glass Factory, but didn’t go inside, as today’s visit was only a get-acquainted tour of the grounds.  Continuing east up Fountain Avenue, the Cartwright brothers came to one of the two structures that gave the broad boulevard its name.  The granite platform of the Catholic Total Abstinence Fountain was in the form of a Maltese cross, with steps ascending toward it from all directions.  From the center of a circular basin forty feet across, rose a massive rock topped by a gigantic statue of Moses, holding in one outstretched arm the Ten Commandments.  In the other hand the prophet held the rod with which he had just struck the rock, sending several streams gushing into the basin below.

    At each of the four points of the cross, stood a white marble pedestal, topped by a nine-foot statue of a Catholic leader of either the temperance movement or the Revolutionary War, and at its base was a drinking fountain.  Adam and Joe approached the fountain below the statue of Commodore John Barry, known as the father of the American Navy, and cupped their hands beneath the stream of water spewing from a lion’s mouth.  There was one like it on each of the pedestal’s four sides, and the water, cooled by flowing over a large block of ice, was refreshing on a hot afternoon.

    Following a broad loop that curved north, the brothers passed between a number of State houses, each different in its architecture.  While Adam could have studied each at length, he realized that such an attentive perusal would hold no interest for his younger brother; therefore, he simply paused briefly in front of each, to note its general structure.  When he came to the Japanese government building, however, he leaned against the fence, along with crowds of other Americans, to examine the exotic structure of the low, two-storied, wooden building, roofed in black tiles of ornamental shape.

    Standing beside his brother, Joe, too, stared in fascination at the movable panels that formed the sides of the building and the intricately carved timbers over its entrances.

    “Would you believe it, Joe?” Adam shared, clearly in awe.  “There’s not a single nail in the entire structure.”

    “Oh, there must be, Adam,” Joe scoffed.  “What would hold it together?”

    Adam pointed to one of the corners.  “See there?  It’s mortised and dovetailed together so tightly it doesn’t need nails.”

    “Does look tight,” Joe admitted.  He pointed toward the garden outside the dwelling for the officials Japan had sent to the Centennial.  “What makes those trees so small, huh?  They got some special way of keepin’ ‘em little or is the climate so bad where they come from that they can’t grow tall?”

    Adam chuckled.  “No, it’s deliberate, Joe.   I’m not sure precisely how it’s done, but I’ve read about dwarfing trees and shrubs for ornamental purposes.  That must be what they’ve done here.”  He drew in a deep breath of the grape-scented fragrance wafting from the lavender flowers of an attractive green vine covering the bowers in the Japanese garden.  Just as he was wondering what the unfamiliar plant might be, he overheard a woman with a distinct southern drawl telling her male companion that she absolutely had to have some of that sweet-smelling kudzu for their bower back home.  The gentleman, evidently her husband, remarked that he couldn’t be sure the vine would find their Georgia climate compatible, but he was willing to make the experiment.  Adam pondered for a moment whether kudzu might thrive in the Nevada foothills, for it certainly would look beautiful growing up the posts of the porch and over the roof.  He’d have to check into that while he was here.  Sensing his younger brother’s boredom, however, Adam set the idea aside for later consideration, took Joe’s arm and moved around the loop to the northeast.

    Little Joe pointed to a building atop an elevation known as George’s Hill.  “Hey, look, it’s a restaurant!  Can we give it a try?”

    “Now?” Adam asked, arching an eyebrow.  He frowned.  “You didn’t miss your dinner again, did you?”

    “No, of course not,” Joe declared.  “I had a real fine dinner, but I wouldn’t mind having a piece of pie—just to tide me over ‘til supper.”

    Adam started to laugh, but realized that he, too, was feeling a little hungry, despite the filling luncheon provided by the convention.  “Oh, I guess we could,” he conceded and started up the flower-dotted hill.

    Since he’d thought his brother was still irked with him, Joe had not really expected a positive response and had to trot to catch up with Adam.  “Hey, thanks!” he exclaimed, beaming happily.

    “Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll want to skip supper after this,” Adam chuckled.

    “Oh, I wouldn’t count on it,” Joe joked.  “Walking all over the city works up a fellow’s appetite, you know.”

    Adam caught him by the scruff of the neck.  “You weren’t supposed to walk ‘all over the city,’ remember?”

    Joe looked away.  “I’m sorry about that, Adam, honest.  I hope my tardiness doesn’t keep you from doing all you planned.  I-I mean, I know this is extra, so if you’d rather not stop here, I can make do without the pie.”

    “It sounds good to me, too,” Adam admitted with a smile, “and a piece of pie shouldn’t take too long.”

    Since it was mid-afternoon, the restaurant was not crowded.  The Cartwright brothers quickly found a table, and both ordered a slice of cherry pie, Adam because he particularly liked that flavor and Joe, as he put it, “in honor of George Washington.”

    “That’s an old folk tale, you know,” Adam commented drolly.  “Washington never did chop down a cherry tree when he was a kid.”

    “I cannot tell a lie,” Little Joe jibed, quoting the youthful future President’s supposed words.  “I like the story, even if it isn’t true.  Teaches kids a good lesson.”

    “Some kids, maybe,” Adam said dryly with a significant look across the table.  “Others never seem to learn.”

    “Aw, come on, I was never much of a liar,” Little Joe protested.

    “Not for lack of trying,” Adam chortled.  “You just have a face that gives you away every time, little buddy.”

    Joe, too, laughed, knowing his brother’s evaluation was correct.  When he was younger, he’d wondered why Pa always seemed to know when he was fibbing.  Now he knew he was his own worst tattletale, but he hadn’t yet figured out how to mask his emotions.  What he felt showed, and at times that weakness, as he perceived it, was decidedly inconvenient.

    The pie arrived and was quickly consumed, and the Cartwright brothers were on their way to the next building, a large wooden pavilion shared by California and Nevada, with striped awnings over each window.  They entered a striking hall, its pillars finished in imitation of the native woods of the Pacific coast, and made a brief tour of the agricultural and mineral resources of the two states.  Then Adam signed the register book, noting his temporary residence at the Washington Hotel.  “Why don’t you sign this one, too, Joe?” he suggested.  “It’s possible some of your friends might visit the Centennial.”

    Joe shook his head.  “Naw, anybody from home would have told me they were coming, ‘cause I been talkin’ this trip up for months, and the people I know in California are probably more your friends than mine.”

    “I suppose so,” Adam agreed.  “I’m not really expecting anyone from the western states to look us up, anyway.  I am hoping some of my eastern friends will be in town for the Fourth, though, so I plan to register at the New York and Connecticut State houses.”

    Joe cocked his head and gazed quizzically at his older brother.  “I understand Connecticut, but why New York?  You never lived there, that I know of.”

    Adam stared back at Joe.  “Of course, I did.  Just during summers, of course, but that’s where I got my practical architectural training, on the job with one of the finest firms in New York City.  Surely, Pa told you that, if I didn’t do so myself.”  Because of Joe’s youth during those college days, Adam had kept his letters to the boy short and simple, but while he had no clear memory of any particular letter, he thought he had surely conveyed information as basic as his whereabouts.

    “Maybe,” Joe conceded, “but all I remember is that you wouldn’t come home, even when summer came.  I remember when school let out for Hoss that first year, I kept expecting you every day—until Pa finally told me you just weren’t coming.”

    Sensing the pain the young Joe must have felt long ago, Adam laid his hand on his brother’s shoulder.  “Joe, I couldn’t,” he explained gently.  “I only had two months between terms, and transportation then wasn’t what it is now.  I’d have spent three quarters of that time just traveling back and forth, and money was a lot tighter in those days than it is now, too.  I didn’t want Pa spending money he could ill afford, just for the pleasure of a couple of weeks at home, so it made more sense to stay back here and work during the summers, to help pay my way through college.”

    Embarrassed that his treacherous emotions had once again betrayed him, Joe shifted out from under Adam’s hand.  “Well, at least, now I know why you want to sign up at the New York house.  Best get to it, I guess.”

    “Especially since it’s just next door,” Adam quipped, to lighten the atmosphere for both their sakes.  Though he generally kept his emotions in better control than Joe, he found himself just as uncomfortable with their expression as did his younger brother—or, to be perfectly honest, more so.

    New York’s offices were housed in a light-colored, two-story cottage, surrounded by a wide verandah, studded with pillars and with a central tower rising from the front of the roof.  “We’ll just register and be on our way,” Adam said.

    “To Connecticut,” Joe chuckled.  “Kind of feels like we’re touring the whole country this afternoon, Adam!”

    Again Adam draped an affectionate arm about his brother’s slim shoulders.  “Little buddy, by the time we finish seeing this exposition, you’re going to feel like you’ve toured the entire world!”

    Joe grinned, figuring that this was probably the closest he’d ever come to making a world tour.  He intended to make the most of it.

    While the Connecticut building was also a two-story cottage, it bore no resemblance to the highly ornamented New York facility.  Smaller than the New York house, this one was intended to represent a colonial homestead of one hundred years ago and was exactly forty-feet square with a front composed of octagonal shingles, timber and plaster.  Adam and Joe stepped onto the wooden porch and passed through a door divided horizontally in the middle.  As they entered a room finished with wood smoke-stained to make it appear aged, their eyes were drawn to the old-style fireplace opposite the front door.  Picture tiles surrounded the red brick and brownstone hearth, and above it sat a wooden mantelpiece with two shelves, supported by heavy brackets and showcasing old brass and crockery.  A spinning wheel stood in the chimney corner, with an old clock opposite it, and even the walls were adorned with arms and relics of Revolutionary days.  Furniture such as the antique sideboard contrasted with the more modern melodeon also exhibited behind a railed gallery that surrounded the front and sides.

    Adam had just finished signing the register book when he spotted a man coming from an office at the back of the reception room.  Gazing intently at the man’s features, Adam suddenly smiled and moved toward him.  “Saul Breckenridge, isn’t it?” he asked, extending his hand.

    The man paused, examined the face before him and broke into a wide smile.  “Lieutenant Cartwright!”

    Little Joe, who had been casually studying a Revolutionary musket, spun at the sound of the title and saw a solidly built man enthusiastically pumping his brother’s hand.  Hurriedly, he stepped toward the man, who sported a bushy set of rust-colored sideburns, which extended down the sides of his cheek below the level of his chin and met a mustache above his upper lip.  “Did you know him in the war?” Joe eagerly asked the stranger.

    Adam cleared his throat.  “Saul, I’d like to introduce my brother Joseph,” he said, speaking with assiduous courtesy.  “Joe, this is an old friend, Mr. Saul Breckenridge of New Haven, Connecticut.”

    Reading Adam’s look of mild disapproval as a reminder to watch his manners, Joe extended his hand to his brother’s friend.  “Pleased to meet you, sir.”  He leaned closer to whisper.  “So did you know him in the war?”  Quavering under Adam’s darkening visage, he stammered, “I-I mean you called him Lieutenant, so I thought, maybe . . .”

    Adam worked his mouth and then cocked his head to regard the other man.  “Did I mention that he’s my younger brother?” he asked airily.  “My much younger and hopelessly ill-mannered brother.”

    Blue eyes twinkling beneath thick auburn eyebrows, Saul Breckenridge laughed heartily.  “No need,” he jibed.  “No man with one of his own could fail to notice the unmistakable marks of the breed.”  Seeing Little Joe’s quick flush, he clapped the young man on the shoulder.  “To answer your question, young fellow, I did, indeed, have the pleasure of serving as sergeant under Lieutenant Cartwright during the War of Rebellion.”

    Joe tossed an impish grin toward his brother.  “Well, I don’t want to question your judgment, sir, but I’ve been following this slave driver’s orders for years, and I sure never thought of it as a pleasure.”

    “That’s because you don’t actually follow orders,” Adam observed wryly.  “You spend all your energy trying to get around them.”

    When Joe’s complexion deepened to crimson at the reference to his earlier transgression, Breckenridge guffawed, his voice booming through the small room.  “I’d forgotten that dry wit of yours, sir.  Definitely a pleasure to hear it again.”

    “It’s not ‘sir,’ now,” Adam insisted.  “I’m just plain Adam Cartwright, civilian, now, and I’d be pleased if you called me by my first name.  So, are you visiting the Centennial or are you here in a more official capacity?”

    “Always an astute observer,” Saul chuckled, “just as I remember you.  Yes, that’s my office back there.  I’m one of the state commissioners, so I’ll be here throughout the summer.  And you?  Here through the Glorious Fourth, I presume.”

    “And beyond,” Adam replied.  “I’m planning to attend Commencement at Yale and attempt to interest this barbarian in a college education.”  He inclined his head toward Joe.

    Saul smiled at the younger man.  “Always glad to see a young fellow aiming toward higher education,” he said.  “I’m a teacher myself, though not at the college level.”  He snapped his fingers.  “Oh, I say, I’ve just had a fantastic idea to help advance the lad’s education.”

    Joe groaned, waving aside whatever Adam’s old sergeant intended to say.  “Oh, that’s all right, Mr. Breckenridge.  My brother’s got plenty of ideas of his own when it comes to that—even made me read up on the Revolution before he’d let me come on this trip, so don’t give him any more ideas, okay?”

    Again Saul’s deep laugh boomed forth, loud as a cannon.  “Now, now, you might actually like this, young fellow, if you’ve any interest whatsoever in that history you read.”  He turned to Adam.  “Had you heard about the activities at Independence Hall on July first?”

    “The first?  No,” Adam answered.

    “Oh, it’s the real beginning of the celebration,” Saul declared enthusiastically.  “Leading writers of the Union have been asked to submit biographies of our great Revolutionary men, and while I don’t count myself worthy of inclusion in such esteemed company, I’ll be presenting my own work that morning.”

    “Wonderful!” Adam enthused, his hand gripping the other man’s thick shoulder.  “You always had a way with words, Saul, and I’m sure you fully deserve the honor.”

    “It would be my great honor, sir, if you and your young brother would attend the ceremony as my guest,” Breckenridge offered.

    “The honor is entirely ours,” Adam answered warmly.

    “I’ll have the invitations delivered to your hotel, then,” the Connecticut commissioner stated.  “You’ve registered your address?”

    Adam nodded toward the registration table.

    “Excellent,” Breckenridge said.  “Much as I’d love to continue our conversation, Adam, I’m afraid I was on my way to a meeting, and if I delay longer, I’ll be late.”

    “Please don’t let us hold you back,” Adam said, shaking his friend’s hand in farewell.  “We’ll be looking forward to seeing you on the first, won’t we, Joe?”

    There was obviously only one acceptable answer, but it was also the answer Joe felt in his heart, for he was taken by Commissioner Breckenridge’s jovial manner.  “Yes, sir, I surely will.  Thanks for the invite to the special doings.  They sound right interesting.”

    Adam rolled his eyes at Joe’s colloquial expressions.  “Barbarian” was definitely the correct word to describe his brother.  Outside the Connecticut house, he collared the young offender.  “Are you ever going to demonstrate the manners—or the grammar—you’ve been taught?”

    “Mr. Breckenridge didn’t think I was ill mannered, just you,” Joe snorted.

    Adam smiled sardonically.  “Of course, Saul’s used to dealing with grammar-school children, but that doesn’t mean you should act like one.”

    “I’m not!” Joe sputtered.  “Maybe I did get a little overeager, but I was interested in talking to him, that’s all.  Bet he has some stories to tell on you, and that’s why you jumped in so fast!”

    “Uh-huh, sure.”  Adam took his brother’s arm and steered him up the curving State Avenue.  “We still have a lot of ground to cover, Joe, so you’ll just have to hold your imaginative theories for another time.”

    “I thought we were gonna ride that train around,” Joe complained.  “It’s all footwork so far.”

    “There’s a station just ahead,” Adam said.

    Purchasing two tickets for five cents each, Adam gave them to the guard as he and Joe stepped onto the platform, where they waited behind the protective wire rope for the next train.  Adam had also purchased a topographical map of the Centennial grounds at the same time, and he and Joe swiftly studied it, to help them recognize the buildings they would soon be passing.  Fortunately, the wait was a short one, for the unsheltered platform afforded no protection from the glaring sun, and the heat made them miserable in their black frock coats.  A small locomotive, bearing the name Emma , chugged up to the platform, and entering the open, breezy cars, Adam laughed as he pushed Joe into the outermost seat.  “Now, don’t go tumbling out, or you won’t get the window seat again,” he teased.

    The train pulled away from the station, moving along State Avenue past the cross-shaped United States Government Building, which the Cartwright brothers had already identified while waiting on the platform.  Almost immediately, the tracks crossed Belmont Avenue.  Little Joe pointed at a small building at the intersection.  “What’s that, Adam?” he asked.

    Adam took a quick peek at the map lying open in his lap.  “The Southern Restaurant, I think.”  Then his voice raised in excitement.  “Joe, there’s the Grand American Restaurant!” he cried, drawing his brother’s attention to the large building on their right.

Following his brother’s pointing finger, Joe gaped, open-mouthed. “That’s a restaurant?” he squeaked.

    Adam chuckled, wrapping a protective arm around the younger boy, who was leaning out so far that the elder really did fear he might fall overboard.  “The largest and handsomest on the grounds,” he said.  “Seats up to five thousand people.”

    Joe tossed a cheeky grin across his shoulder.  “Yeah, but how’s the food?”

    Adam lightly cuffed his ear.

    “Will we be eating there?” Joe asked breathlessly.

    Adam nodded.  “Probably.  We’ll hit most of the eating places before we’re done.”

    Joe flashed a delighted smile.  “Great!”

    “Are you sure you’re not Hoss?” Adam asked with a wry grin.

    Joe’s smile disappeared abruptly.  “Yeah, big brother, I’m sure.  Sorry about the mix-up,” he grunted.

    “Huh?” Adam asked, at a loss to comprehend the sudden change of mood.

    “Nothin’.  Never mind,” Joe said.  He quickly pointed to an even larger building opposite the huge restaurant.  “What’s that?”

    “The Agricultural Building,” Adam answered.  The Emma made a wide loop around the extreme northeastern corner of the grounds, passing a number of windmills on a hill overlooking the Schuylkill River.  Joe craned his neck to see if he could spot the restaurant where they’d had catfish and coffee the night before, but before he could locate it, the train swept back to the west, running behind the Agricultural Building this time after passing the adjacent Brewers Building.

    Returning to Belmont Avenue, the train made a left turn and passed between the front of the United States Government Building and the much smaller Women’s Pavilion.  Just beyond, the railroad crossed Fountain Avenue, where Adam drew Joe’s attention to another fountain.  Pointing out the thirteen-sided wooden pavilion housing it, Adam said, “It’s intended to resemble a Greek temple.”

    “So, does it?” Joe asked.

    Adam laughed lightly.  “From the pictures I’ve seen, yes.  Many of the water fountains on the grounds are works of art in themselves, Joe.”

    “Yeah, sure is fancy,” Joe agreed as he took another look at the fountain, whose eight-foot circular basin was surrounded by a passageway for those who wished to drink from its twenty-six self-acting spigots.  He almost missed the next building, but pointed excitedly when he did spot it.  “Hey, look, Adam!  That’s gotta be the French restaurant.”

    “What was your first clue?” Adam teased when he saw the striped awnings of Aux Trois Fréres Provençeaux, as the sign declared.

    “We’ll go there, won’t we?” Joe asked, almost bouncing in anticipation of sampling the cuisine of his mother’s heritage.

    “Well, I don’t know,” Adam began.

    “Oh, Adam, please,” Joe pleaded.  “It—it would mean a lot to me.”

    Adam squeezed the younger boy’s shoulder in understanding.  “I promise you we’ll eat at a French restaurant before we leave, Joe, but not necessarily that one.  It’s just about the most expensive place on the grounds, from what I’ve heard.”

    That information, of course, only made the restaurant more enticing to Little Joe, but he simply smiled his gratitude at his older brother.  For the moment, at least, he was feeling magnanimous, and, besides, there would be plenty of time to work out a plan for getting inside Aux Trois Fréres and ordering the most expensive items on the menu.

    “There’s another fountain,” Joe grinned, pointing to the open square between the two largest buildings on the exhibition grounds.  The train turned left, and Joe stared in awe as they rode past the Main Building of the Centennial.  “I’ve never seen anything that big!” he cried.

    Amused by the boy’s enthusiasm, Adam chuckled.  “Well, how could you, little buddy?  It is the largest building in the world!”

    “No lie?” Joe asked.  “In the whole world?”

    “Eighteen hundred eighty feet by four hundred sixty-four, covering almost twenty-one and a half acres,” Adam quoted from Manufacturer and Builder.  “I thought you were supposed to have read all about the Exposition.  I see you paid the same level of attention that you did in school!  Gonna have to do better, boy, if you hope to carry home anything you learn here.”

    “Aw, come on, Adam,” Joe protested.  “Sure, I remember reading the dimensions, but it’s not the same as seeing them.”

    “No, it’s not,” Adam conceded graciously, “and it’s not the same as walking it, either, little brother.  It’ll take us two days, at least, to do justice to that one building!”

    “Let’s do it first,” Joe urged.

    Adam scowled, half playfully, half irritated.  “Obviously, you need to be reminded that I am calling the shots, and we will not be starting with the Main Building.  That’s what everyone does; therefore, it will be the most crowded place of all.”

    Brow wrinkling, Joe shook his head.  Didn’t Adam realize it would be just as crowded on whatever day they did visit?

    The West End Railway reached the end of the Main Building at the easternmost edge of the Centennial grounds and turned around to again traverse the broad Avenue of the Republic.  This time the Cartwrights focused on the buildings opposite the mammoth one to their left.  They first passed the Photographic Building, dwarfed by Memorial Hall, the art gallery, just beyond it.  “And that’s the Carriage Annex,” Adam told Joe as they again approached the central plaza.

    Beyond it, on the opposite side, lay Machinery Hall.  “That’s where we’ll start,” Adam said.

    “Oh, yeah!”  Joe almost squealed.  “The Corliss Engine, right?”

    Adam chuckled.  “I’m glad to see you remember something of what you read!  We’ll tour it on Monday.”

    Joe really did squeal this time.  “Monday!  That’s almost a whole week away, Adam.”

    “Oh, don’t whine like a little kid who can’t wait ‘til after dinner to lick his lollipop,” Adam scolded.  “It’ll be an all-day sucker when you do get it, little buddy.”

    “But what can we do in town for a week?” Joe demanded.  So far, he hadn’t seen much to do but shop, and while he wouldn’t object to doing a bit more, he preferred to see more closely some of the tempting sights they’d ridden past that afternoon.

    Adam moaned, as if in actual pain, at the ludicrous statement.  There was so much to see in Philadelphia itself—historic landmarks, museums, theaters—that they had no chance of seeing everything during their visit.  His unsophisticated little brother, however, couldn’t begin to comprehend the wealth of culture in the Quaker city.  Remember he’s young and inexperienced with life outside Nevada, Adam reminded himself.  Be patient with the kid .  “Trust me, Joe,” he said as the train pulled into a station in front of Machinery Hall.  “There will be plenty to see and do.  Let’s get off here and walk back to the Elm Street entrance.  We’ve already seen most of what the train will pass from here back to where we got on.”

    “Okay,” Joe said agreeably.

    Adam laughed at the energy with which his younger brother sprang onto the platform.  “This way,” he said, pointing to a narrow path to the west of a small lake.

    “Aw, that’s pretty,” Joe said, smiling at the glassy blue surface.  He spotted a statue and walked over to it.  “Who’s this?”

    “You can read,” Adam observed dryly.

    “Oh, yeah,” Joe said sheepishly, bending to read the inscription on the statue’s base.  “Elias Howe.  I don’t remember reading about him in the history book.”

    Adam almost choked.  “Oh, for mercy’s sake, boy, he’s not a Revolutionary hero; he’s the inventor of the sewing machine.”

    “Huh!” Joe snorted.  “Wouldn’t’ve thought that was important enough to earn a man a statue.”

    Adam laughed.  “Well, getting those suits you bought in short order is pretty important to you, isn’t it?  The sewing machine is what makes it possible.”

    Joe grinned.  “Oh.  Yeah, I guess old Elias is a pretty important fellow, after all, Adam!”

    “Uh-huh,” Adam drawled.  “Anyone who contributes to dandifying you for some pretty skirt gains immediate importance.”

    The little lake stuck a long finger to the northwest.  Following it, Adam and Joe came once more to Fountain Avenue, and at the point the lakeside path intersected the larger boulevard, Little Joe almost danced with excitement.  “Hey, Adam, it’s Paris!” he cried.

    Adam nodded.  “Along with Switzerland, Jerusalem and Naples,” he added.  For a long time he and Joe stood looking down at the miniature depictions of the foreign places, constructed by Colonel Liénard, the distinguished French artist.  “I understand Liénard also has a panorama depicting the Siege of Paris in 1870 just outside the grounds,” Adam told his brother.

    “Let’s go find it!”  Joe exclaimed.

    “Oh, Joe, don’t be ridiculous,” Adam reproved.  “It’s at the opposite end.  Perhaps you can see it, but not today.”

    “Aw, come on, Adam,” Joe wheedled.

    “No,” Adam stated bluntly.  “We’ve seen quite enough for an initial visit, little boy, and I, for one, am getting tired.”  Doesn’t he ever wear out? Stupid question.  Never did as a little kid.  Why would he start now, when he’s nothing more than an overgrown one?

    Pouting, Joe turned his back on the relief plans of the cities and saw a soda water fountain.  It wouldn’t cost much, of course, but Adam deserved to shell out some money to pay for calling him a little boy.  “I’m thirsty, Adam,” he announced.  “Buy me a drink?”

    Adam started to point out that they were on Fountain Avenue, where free ice-cold drinking water could be found only a few steps in either direction, but caught himself.  After all, fifteen cents wasn’t much, and he rather wanted to try the fizzy water, too.  “Sure,” he said, reaching into his pocket.  “Get one for both of us,” he said, handing Joe three dimes.

    “Which flavor you want?” Joe called after a closer look at the soda fountain.

    “Whatever you’re having,” Adam said, smiling back.

    Joe ordered two birch beers, and the brothers thirstily quaffed the refreshing drinks.  “Heat sure drains the strength out of you, doesn’t it?” Joe suggested with a grin.

    Adam chortled.  “I hadn’t noticed its affecting you much!”

    “Oh, yeah,” Joe insisted.  “I’ll probably be needing a lot of this soda water when we’re out here walking around in the hot sun.”

    Something in his tone alerted Adam.  The kid was definitely up to something, although Adam wasn’t sure what.  Well, time would tell, for as he’d observed earlier, Joe was not an adept deceiver.  Sooner or later the kid would give himself away, and in the meantime, so long as it meant nothing more than an overabundance of drinking water, Adam figured he could live with the mystery.

    “Hey, there’s that French restaurant again,” Joe said, pointing up the avenue.  “How about having an early supper there?”

    “Not tonight,” Adam said firmly.  “We’re eating at the hotel.  Come on; it’s time we headed back that way.”  He turned toward the exit, and Little Joe had no choice but to follow.

    “That looks interesting,” Joe said, nodding toward a small, exotic building with a steeply pointed square roof.  “How about . . .”

    “No,” Adam growled.  “You’ll have plenty of time to shop in the bazaar later, as if you hadn’t done enough of that the last two days!  Now, we’re going to march out the gate, catch a horse car and get back to the hotel, is that clear?”  Without waiting for an answer, he headed toward the exit, with Joe trotting to keep pace with his brother’s long-legged stride.
 

    Refreshed by a good night’s sleep, Little Joe was all sunshine and smiles as he waited for his breakfast order to be delivered.  “What are we going to do today, older brother?  Go back to the Exposition?”

    Adam smiled over his coffee cup.  “Nice try.  You know perfectly well that I said we wouldn’t be returning there ‘til Monday.”

    Joe shrugged.  He hadn’t expected to get his way, but it didn’t hurt to remind Adam of where his preference lay.  Sometimes, though rarely, big brother could be worn down.  “So, what are we doing today, then?”

    “We’re going to concentrate on your education for the next couple of days,” Adam said, setting the coffee cup down to await the inevitable.  Though he had anticipated an explosion of protest, Joe merely groaned aloud, so Adam promptly dropped the stern lecture he had planned.  “No, it won’t be that bad,” he assured his young brother with a chuckle, “especially today.  We’re going to visit some of the historic sights in Philadelphia and see if we can’t make colonial days come alive for you.”

    That didn’t sound too bad to Joe.  “Independence Hall?” he inquired.

    “Among others,” Adam replied, lifting his coffee cup again.

    “Woohoo!” Joe exclaimed, almost tipping over his water glass in his exuberance.

    Seeing several of the other diners turn in their seats, Adam castigated Joe soundly for his rowdy behavior.

    Chagrined, Joe murmured, “Sorry.”

    Adam arched an eyebrow in mock severity.  “Getting to be your favorite word, little buddy, or at least the one most frequently employed.”

    Joe sighed.  “Yeah, I know; I’m s-”—he put his face in his hand as the word almost slipped out again.

    Adam grinned, but spared his brother further teasing when their breakfast plates arrived.  The two brothers made short work of the meal and were soon walking north on Seventh Street, Adam refusing to answer Joe’s questions about where they were going first until they arrived at Market.

    Looking at the three-story brick building on the southwest corner, Joe cried, “Hey!  I was shopping here just yesterday.”

    “And paid not a bit of attention to the historic significance, I’ll wager,” Adam snickered.

    Joe studied the building again.  “It’s just a clothing store, Adam.  You’re not gonna tell me George Washington bought his pants here or something stupid like that, are you?”

    Adam rolled his eyes.  “It wasn’t always a clothing store, Joe,” he grunted, then draping an arm around his brother’s slight shoulders, he added, as he pointed to a second story window, “That, my boy, is the parlor where the Declaration of Independence was written by . . .”

    “Thomas Jefferson,” Joe answered in quick response to the test question he’d perceived Adam’s tapering drawl to indicate.  “Can we go up and see the room?”

    “No, it’s privately owned,” Adam replied.

    “We could ask,” Joe suggested.

    “We could not,” Adam dictated firmly, “unless, of course, your goal is to demonstrate what uncivilized boors men of the West are.”

    Joe cocked his head and gave his brother’s face close scrutiny.  “You ashamed of being from Nevada?”

    Shocked by the question, Adam shook his head.  “No, of course not,” he affirmed, “but I would prefer to show people what we’re really like, rather than live up to the popular image.”

    Sporting a saucy grin, Joe stuffed his hands in his pockets and started up Market Street, his legs as bowed as if he were riding Hoss’s big black, Chub.

    Adam snared Joe’s elbow and pulled him back.  “You’re headed the wrong way, pardner.  Independence Hall is back the way we came.”

    Joe cackled and resumed his normal gait as they walked back toward Chestnut and east to the marble-trimmed brick building, which was once the most impressive in the colonies.  “Its architecture is Georgian, a style that originated in England,” Adam stated as his hand swept from one wing of the structure to its mirror on the opposite end.

    “Uh-huh,” Joe muttered, clearly disinterested in a scholarly lecture.  He leaned his head back to gaze up at the tall steeple over the center of the building.  “Is that the Liberty Bell?” he asked, squinting to see into the bell tower.

    “No, it’s been taken down,” Adam explained, “but you’ll see it inside.”

    “Well, let’s go in, then!” Joe urged.

    Adam laughed at the boy’s enthusiasm.  “Seeing as how that’s what we came here to do . . . let’s.”

    Joe grinned and led the way.  Inside, he glanced around in search of the famous bell, but saw no sign of it.  “Where is it, Adam?” he demanded.  “You said—”

    “All in good time, impatient child,” Adam said, steering the boy toward the eastern hall.  They passed through a door, above which hung a medallion with the head of George III, King of England during the time of the Revolution, and began to look at the furnishings.

    Little Joe touched the green tablecloth spread over one of the square tables scattered across the room.  “These really the same things used back then?” he asked, recalling the information from the Philadelphia guidebook.

    “The furniture, yes,” Adam said, running his hand over the smooth wood of one of the spindle-backed armchairs beside the table.  “National treasures, Joe.”

    “Yeah,” Joe whispered with wonderment.

    “Come here,” Adam said, taking his arm.  “This is really special.”  He led his brother to the east end of the room, where an elaborate chair graced a dais. “This was used by John Hancock, President of the Continental Congress,” he told Joe, “but this is what I wanted you to see.”  He touched with near reverence the silver inkstand, from which protruded a white quill pen.  “This inkstand was used by Hancock and the other men who signed the Declaration of Independence; it was only found again last year, so not many Americans living today have ever seen it.”

    Joe whistled, tentatively touching the treasure.  Then, looking at the walls lined with portraits of the signers of the famous document and other Revolutionary War heroes, he murmured, “So this is where it all happened, where we became our own country.”

    Adam rubbed the back of his brother’s neck.  “Where we proclaimed our independence, yes.  As you know, just saying it didn’t make it so.  A lot of men gave their lives to make what was declared here a reality.”

    Overwhelmed with pride in his country, Joe could do nothing more than nod.  He followed Adam to gaze, mesmerized, at the Declaration itself, framed and raised on a stand elsewhere in the room.  “Oh, wow,” Joe whispered and then fell speechless.

    Adam smiled.  Though he had seen the Declaration once before, during his years in the East, he, too, felt the same sense of reverent awe.  For several moments they simply stood there, gazing in silent respect at the inspiring words that began, “We the people;” then Adam tapped Joe’s arm.  “We should move on,” he said.  “Others want to see this, too.”

    Coming out of his reverie, Joe smiled at the people behind him and moved out of the way.  “Now the Liberty Bell?” he queried.

    “Not quite yet,” Adam chuckled.  “Let’s look at the exhibits in the west wing first.”

    With a sigh Joe followed where he was led, wondering why they had to do everything Adam’s way.  As soon as he entered the newly opened Museum of National Relics, however, he became engrossed with all there was to see: furniture, weapons, clothing, silver, china, pictures, embroidery and parchments of the colonial period, as well as visiting cards engraved with names memorable in American history.  He saw the ale mug belonging to naval hero John Paul Jones and General Anthony Wayne’s field glass, but had to laugh at the case containing the baby clothes of President John Quincy Adams.  “Say, Adam,” he asked with a cheeky grin, “has Pa saved any of my baby clothes, just in case I become famous?”

    Adam lightly swatted his brother’s backside.  “Sorry, buddy,” he commented drolly, “but we got rid of your smelly diapers as soon as we could!”

    The joke being as malodorous to him as any soiled diaper, Joe crinkled his nose in distaste and said sharply, “Now who’s acting like an uncivilized boor!”

    “All right, all right,” Adam chuckled, giving the boy’s shoulder an appeasing pat.  “To make up for my boorishness, I’ll let you see the Liberty Bell next.”

    A bright smile lifted Joe’s countenance as the promise was made.  They quickly viewed the few remaining exhibits and left the museum, walking to the ground floor of the steeple, where the giant bell hung suspended from a wooden frame.  Little Joe rested his palm against the cool metal, and Adam placed his hand, in similar position, next to that of his brother.  Joe slid his hand over until it was touching Adam’s, as if only through touch could he share the emotions welling up inside.

    As if inadvertently, Adam brushed his fingers over the back of Joe’s hand and stepped back, folding his arms across his chest.  “Let’s see how much you’ve absorbed about the history of this bell,” he began didactically.  “Can you name some occasions on which it was rung.”

    Joe’s brow wrinkled in thought.  “Well, uh, lots more times than I know about, I’m sure.  Uh, when the Declaration was signed, for sure.”

    Adam arched an eyebrow.  “That’s my little brother, always going for the easy answer first.”

    “Okay, I’m thinking,” Joe protested.  “You didn’t tell me there was gonna be a test!”

    “All of life is a test of what we’ve learned before,” Adam philosophized.  “Now, is there anything else you can pull out of that muddled brain of yours?”

    Joe searched his memory furiously, his face lighting as another response finally flashed through his mind.  “When the war started,” he related hastily, “and, and”—he fought frantically to retrieve the bit of information niggling at the edge of his thoughts—“when Washington was named Commander-in-Chief,” he finished in triumph.

    “Not bad,” Adam assessed.  “Among other occasions, it was also rung after the surrender of Cornwallis, at the proclamation of the Treaty of Peace and when the United States Congress assembled for the first time.”

    “I didn’t know all those,” Joe admitted.  “Are they gonna ring it again for the centennial Fourth?”

    Disappointment flickered in Adam’s eyes and was reflected in Joe’s as the older brother answered, “No, they were planning to, but decided the old bell was just too fragile to be rung, except on very special occasions.”

    “The one hundredth birthday of America isn’t special enough?” Joe demanded.

    “Evidently not,” Adam said quietly.

    Uncomfortable with the somber mood, Little Joe quickly pointed to the stairway ascending the steeple.  “Hey, let’s climb up,” he suggested.  “Bound to get a good view of the city from up there.”

    Adam emitted a startled cough.  “There are easier ways to see the city than climbing up that steeple,” he maintained.

    “Aw, come on, Adam.  You’re too young to be that old!” Joe challenged with an impish grin.

    “All right,” Adam agreed reluctantly.  “I’ll need to get the tickets from the superintendent before we can go up.”  That necessary preparation made, he began to climb upward in his energetic brother’s wake.

    Little Joe reached the top quite a bit before his more deliberate brother and was ready to point out the sights when Adam arrived.  “There’s the Delaware River,” he said, excitedly gesturing one direction; then swinging his arm toward the opposite side of the city, he added, “and there’s the Schuylkill and the Exposition grounds.”

    “At least, we know you don’t need your eyes checked,” Adam quipped.

    “Can’t you see them?” Joe asked, eyes wide with astonishment.

    “Yes, Joe, I see them,” Adam said, pulling his brother close to his side.  “They are pretty small from up here, though.”

    “We going back there tomorrow?” Joe pressed and when Adam shook his head, muttered, “Don’t see why we can’t.”

    “Because it’s not what I have scheduled,” Adam said bluntly.

    Joe started to pout, but the reproachful look in his brother’s eyes made him bite his lower lip, instead.  “Well, okay, as long as there’s other fun things to see.”

    Amused, Adam shook his head.  “Is fun all you ever think about?”

    “Don’t you ever think about it?” Joe countered swiftly.

    Adam gave his brother’s jaunty straw hat a tug.  “Oh, come on.  Don’t tell me you’re not enjoying yourself today.”

    Joe’s mood softened almost immediately.  “No, Adam, I am.  Where to next?”

    “Carpenter’s Hall, where the first Continental Congress met in 1774,” Adam announced.

    “Let’s go, then!”  Joe scampered down the stairs, setting a pace Adam feared to keep.

    “No wonder Pa has white hair!” the older brother mumbled to himself.

    Since Carpenters’ Hall, originally a colonial guildhall, was only a couple of blocks east, the Cartwright brothers were soon standing before it.  “Kind of like a little Independence Hall, isn’t it?” Joe observed.

    “Hmm?”  After looking puzzled for a moment, Adam understood what Joe was saying.  “Oh, you mean the architecture?  Yes, it’s the same style on a smaller scale.”

    Joe threw his palms up.  “That’s what I just said, isn’t it?”

    “Well, sort of,” Adam chuckled.  “And do you remember what this type of architecture is called?”

    Joe moaned, raising a hand in defense against the withering look his brother gave him.  “I know, I know; all of life is a test.  Just wish someone would tell me what’s gonna be on it!”

    Adam delivered his finest smirk.  “Fine.  Architecture will be on it—regularly.”

    “Fine,” Joe spat back.  “Georgian, like that king’s name.”

    “Precisely correct,” Adam said, giving the boy’s cheek a pat of approval, from which Joe flinched away.  “Very popular style in Philadelphia.”

    Now that he’d passed the test, Joe relaxed.  “Yeah, I was noticing that the other day.  I was gonna ask you what kind of houses they were.”

    Adam looked flattered.  “You were?”

    Joe scrunched up his nose.  “I don’t lie worth a hoot, remember?  Yeah, I was; I just forgot.”

    Pleased to see that Joe did have a spark of intellectual curiosity, Adam smiled.  Perhaps his desire of seeing the boy properly educated was not such an impossible dream, after all.

    As it was shortly past noon and their hotel was nearby, the brothers returned there for dinner, where Adam was once more amazed by the amount of food his slender brother was able to pack away.  When they finished eating, Adam escorted Joe to a horse car stop, once again refusing to tell him where they were going.  The destination proved to be the Penn Treaty Monument on Beach Street in Kensington.  Little Joe was less familiar with the earlier period of history from which this landmark derived its existence, so Adam explained how William Penn had made peace with the Indians under the branches of a spreading elm tree.  “Penn did it the right way, buying his land from the Delaware Indians,” Adam commented, “and he never broke the treaty he made with them, although those who came after him were not as scrupulous in keeping it as Penn himself.”

    “There’s no tree here,” Joe observed.

    “No, it blew down in 1810,” Adam told him, “but this monument marks the spot.  It was much revered while it stood.  Even when the British occupied Philadelphia during the war, their commander, General Simcoe, stationed a guard beneath it so the soldiers wouldn’t cut it down for firewood.”

    Joe looked at the simple obelisk for several minutes, and then asked, “Did Pa do it the right way?  The Ponderosa, I mean.”

    “In a manner of speaking, though no money changed hands,” Adam observed.  “When he saved the life of Chief Winnemucca’s son, Winnemucca granted him permission to stay on the land, and you’re aware, of course, of how often Pa has sent food to the Paiutes and the Washos, as well, during hard times.”

    “Tell me again,” Joe cajoled.  He’d heard the stories before, from his father, as well as his oldest brother, but he rarely tired of family tales from the days before his birth and Adam told them especially well.  As he listened to Adam once more recounting those early days on the Ponderosa, Joe reflected that the motto engraved on the simple monument, “Unbroken Faith,” could have been said of the Cartwrights as much as of William Penn, and his heart filled with pride in his family.

    After indulging in lemon ice cream, purchased from a passing wagon labeled Breyers, the Cartwright brothers caught a horse car back to the center of town, where after resting a short time in their room, they again dined downstairs at the Washington.  Over plates of veal cutlets with corn oysters and tender asparagus, dripping with drawn butter, they talked of all they’d seen that day.  “Thanks for showing me all those places, Adam,” Joe said sincerely.  “Like you said, it really makes the history come alive when you see where things happened.”

    Adam couldn’t resist the temptation.  “Just one of the benefits of coming back east for your education, Joe.”

    Joe pulled a pout.  “Oh, you’re not gonna start that up again, are you?”

    Adam laughed.  “Yes, I am, seeing as we’re paying a visit to your first college tomorrow.”

    Suddenly, the expensive cut of meat seemed less appetizing to Little Joe.  He had a feeling tomorrow would be one miserable day, but there was no way to get out of it.  The time had come to pay the price tag for this wonderful trip.  As he pushed the food around on his plate, Joe asked himself what he could possibly do to convince Adam that his mind was set against more schooling.  Big brother could be mighty stubborn when he wanted something.  But not as stubborn as me, Joe decided, cutting the tip from a spear of asparagus, especially when I know I’m right!

    Little Joe’s demeanor, as he and his older brother toured the Gothic stone buildings of the University of Pennsylvania the next morning, was decidedly glum.  To him, it had definitely not been worth the long streetcar trip to West Philadelphia, and not even the hearty chicken pie, which he and Adam had ordered for dinner, seemed likely to lift his spirits.

    Adam was getting fed up with his brother’s sour attitude, but he felt compelled to create in the boy at least minimal interest in a college education.  “If you were to pursue a course of study, what do you think you might prefer?” he asked.

    Little Joe stabbed a large chunk of chicken.  “Horse training, cattle ranching, timber management, checkers strategy,” he listed snappishly and popped the bite into his mouth.

    Adam folded his arms and leaned over the table.  “Could you be serious five minutes?”

    “I am being serious, Adam,” Joe insisted, as he forked a bite of flaky crust, along with some of the vegetables in the pie.  “There is nothing here I need; it’s all back home.  I’m just not cut out for this, but you can’t accept it.”  You can’t accept me.

     “You promised to keep an open mind,” Adam reminded him, slicing off another piece of ham.  “Now, if you’re not interested in liberal arts, how about studying the law?  It would certainly benefit the Ponderosa to have legal counsel.”

    Little Joe almost choked on the food in his mouth.  “Me a lawyer?  You gotta be kidding!”

    Adam shrugged.  “I suppose not.  Too likely to need one yourself.  Medicine, then?”

    Joe shook his head in disbelief.  “Oh, sure, Adam, I’d make a great doctor.  Can’t hardly stand watchin’ a calf birthed or a horse foaled and you want me doctorin’ people?”

    Despite his irritation with his provoking little brother, Adam had to laugh.  “No, I don’t think I’d want you doctorin’ me, little buddy, and I have to admit, you’re more likely to need one than to be one.”

    Joe sneered contemptuously.  “Can’t you think of a new joke?  Gotta keeping rehashin’ the same one?  You’d think a college-educated man could find new words to say!”

    “Oh, all right,” Adam conceded, pushing away his empty plate.  “Time to put you out of your misery, I suppose.  We need to catch an early supper, so we’ll have time to dress for this evening, so if you’re finished . . .”

    “What’s happening this evening?” Joe demanded, using his spoon to scoop up the last bit of savory chicken gravy.  “Don’t tell me there’s some school that meets at night!”

    “Well, there are, of course, for working men who want to improve themselves,” Adam replied testily, “As education goes, however, I think you’ll find tonight’s class relatively painless.  Now come on!”

    Joe’s lips puckered.  “I want dessert,” he demanded.

    Adam exhaled gustily.  “All right, fine, if that’ll improve your disposition.”

    Joe quickly sported a self-satisfied grin.  “Oh, that’ll sweeten me right up, big brother.”

    “Well, something sure needs to,” Adam muttered with a shake of his head.  “What do you want?”

    Little Joe had already discerned that Madeira Cream Pudding was the most expensive dessert on the menu, so he ordered that right away, as Adam surveyed him with an appraising glance from the corner of his eye.

    When his young brother’s supper choices also ran to the expensive end of the menu, Adam smiled knowingly, but said nothing.  Let the kid have his petty revenge.  I can always call him on it, if it gets out of hand, and maybe it’s one way of getting him to cultivate a taste for finer things.  They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach; maybe it’s also the way to whet a foolish boy’s appetite for spending a few years back east.

    As instructed, Joe had laid out his new formal suit, which had arrived from Wanamaker and Brown’s that afternoon, so it would be ready to change into immediately after supper.  Toying with his water glass while waiting for the meal to be served, he hinted to be told what their evening’s activity actually was.  “I know it’s not really night school, not with the fancy clothes we’ll be wearing.”

    Adam chuckled.  “No, it’s not.  I know today wasn’t overly enjoyable for you, so I thought I’d make up for that with an evening at the theater.”

    “Which one?” Joe asked, eyes sparkling.

    “The Arch Street,” Adam replied, “and I might as well tell you now that we’ll be seeing Shakespeare.”

    “Not Romeo and Juliet,” Joe pleaded.  His sentimental schoolteacher, Abigail Jones, had ruined him forever on that particular work of the immortal bard.

    With a throaty laugh, Adam assured him that none of Shakespeare’s tragedies were on the bill that night.  “We’ll be seeing a historical drama, Henry V,” he said, “which should be to your liking.”

    “Yeah,” Joe murmured with relief, for while he wasn’t as enamored of the English playwright as his older brother, he enjoyed a good play, and this one promised to have plenty of action.  He glanced shyly across the table, “If you’ll help me with the history . . . ”

    “I will,” Adam said warmly.  Whenever he and his younger brother had attended any Shakespearean drama together in Virginia City, Sacramento or San Francisco, he had delighted in explaining the play’s background for Joe and was looking forward to doing so tonight.  Those evenings at the theater had always seemed to draw the oldest and youngest Cartwright brothers closer, and Adam thought they needed just such a break from the perpetual sparring in which they’d been engaged throughout this trip.

    The theater on Arch Street was only a few blocks north, so Adam and Joe walked there.  “Sun’s down, and it’s still hot,” Joe grumbled, running his hand over the sweat-beaded back of his neck.

    “I know,” Adam murmured in shared misery.  “According to the Public Ledger , Philadelphia’s been experiencing unprecedented heat since the summer solstice—just about the time we arrived, in other words.”

    “I swear I’m not to blame,” Joe pledged with upraised hand.

    “Don’t swear,” Adam said in pretense of scolding; then he threw an arm around Joe’s shoulders and pulled him close.  “Let me tell you a little about the play.  I’m sure it will please you to know that Henry V, like all the Plantagenets, was more than half-French.  In fact, his claim to the throne of France was just about as good as that of the man wearing the crown, although it came through the female line.”  Throughout the remainder of the short walk, he offered comments he felt would help his brother better understand what he was about to see.

    They paused a moment outside the theater for Adam to admire the stylish marble front.  When he noticed, however, that Little Joe’s eyes were fixed on the draped nude figure holding a lyre above the center second-floor window, he grabbed the boy’s elbow and dragged him through one of the three arched doorways.

    “Oh, this is nice, real elegant,” Joe murmured as Adam walked up to him after purchasing their tickets.

    “One of the best arranged and most comfortable in the city,” Adam observed.

    “You been here or is that the guidebook talking?” Joe asked impishly.

    “Guidebook,” Adam admitted.  “Shall we find our seats?”

    Joe nodded and they entered the auditorium.  He noticed that the seats Adam had purchased were quite good, definitely better, in fact, than those he was used to sitting in when he paid for his own ticket.  “Thanks, Adam,” he whispered.

    “Hmm?”

    “We should be able to see real well from here,” Joe amplified.

    “Yes, of course; that’s why I requested this location,” Adam said, still not quite following his brother’s train of thought.  There was no time to inquire further, however, for the curtain rose, and an actor portraying William Shakespeare spoke the Prologue to Act I.  Then the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Bishop of Ely entered the scene, and the Archbishop began to describe the king:

“The course of his youth promised it not.
The breath no sooner left his father’s body,
But that his wildness, mortified in him,
Seem’d to die too; yea, at that very moment
Consideration, like an angel, came
And whipp’d the offending Adam out of him,”

    From time to time, Adam would lean close to his brother’s ear and whisper a quick definition of some Elizabethan word, and during the intermissions between acts, he clarified for Joe anything that required fuller explanation.  As usual, though, the action itself helped Joe understand enough to follow the drama, while Adam’s additions served to take his comprehension to a deeper level.

    Everything was going well until the beginning of Act III, when King Henry, dressed for battle, delivered his stirring speech to the English troops:

“Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.”

    “Ow!” Joe yelped.

    “Be quiet,” Adam hissed.  “One of the finest monologues in the entire play, and you have to distract everyone from hearing it.”

    Seeing the attention they were attracting, Joe slid down in his seat.  “Sorry,” he whispered.  “It’s just that I suddenly realized where you got that saying.  You really can’t think of new words for yourself, can you?”

    Adam tried to hold onto his irritation, but couldn’t.  Joe saw the twitching lips with which his older brother shushed him and knew he was forgiven.  With a grin he sat up straight again in time to enjoy the second scene.

    “Wasn’t she beautiful?” Joe sighed as they exited the Arch Street Theater.

    Adam chuckled as he steered the starry-eyed boy down the street.  “Princess Katherine, I presume?”

    “Um-hmm,” Joe murmured.  Giving his brother a more focused look, he asked, “Say, Adam, you have that play at home, don’t you?”

    “Of course, the complete works of Shakespeare.  Surely, you’ve at least seen the covers,” Adam replied, with a trace of condescension, for which he almost immediately rebuked himself.  After all, if the kid was expressing interest in classical literature, he should be encouraged.  “I’m sorry, Joe,” he apologized quickly.  “Would you like to read this play?”

    “Well, just parts,” Joe muttered, reddening.  He thought King Henry’s speech about the “sugar touch” of Katherine’s lips might work well on the girls of Virginia City, but he wasn’t about to trust big brother with a confidence that incriminating.  Fishing for a safer response, he mentioned, instead,  “I kind of liked what the Dauphin said about his horse.”

    “Ah.”  Adam began to quote the passage to which he thought Joe was referring.  “‘When I bestride him, I soar, I am a hawk: he trots the air; the earth sings when he touches it; the basest horn of his hoof is more musical than the pipe of Hermes.’”

    “Yeah,” Joe said.  “Made me think of—”

    “Cochise!”  Adam burst out laughing.  “You and that horse!  What’s the matter, little buddy, homesick for your pony?”

    No longer were there stars in Joe’s eyes; daggers had replaced them.  Trust Adam to find some excuse to twit him, no matter how hard he worked to avoid it!  “Just ‘cause you don’t have any feeling for that flea-bitten nag of yours.”

    Adam’s laughter only intensified.  “Feeling!  Well, I may not treat Sport as if he were human, the way you do Cochise, but he and I have a fine working relationship, as is proper between man and beast.”

    “Oh, shut up,” Joe growled.  Finally becoming aware of his surroundings, he realized they were not headed toward the hotel.  “You don’t seem to have much of a working relationship with north and south tonight,” he snorted.

    “I know exactly where I’m going,” Adam said, bringing his mirth under control.  “It’s rather customary to take refreshment after a night at the theater, so restaurants near here stay open late for that purpose.  Since we had a rather early supper, I thought we might indulge in the custom.  Of course, if you’re not interested . . . ”

    “I’m not starving,” Joe said, his mood improving at the mere mention of another opportunity to empty his uppity brother’s pockets, “but I could eat a bite or so.”

    Certain he could read his brother’s childish motive, Adam worked his tongue inside his mouth before saying, “Whatever you want, but I would advise you to eat lightly this late at night or you will regret it in the morning.”

    Knowing that was simple truth, Joe didn’t argue, and Adam was pleased to see that his brother’s selection, when they reached the restaurant, amounted only to a bowl of oyster stew, a small slice of pound cake and coffee.  One battle of the budget won, with numerous others yet to be fought, Adam had little doubt.

    When Little Joe stumbled, bleary-eyed, from his room the next morning, Adam folded the newspaper he’d been perusing.  “Ah, Sleeping Beauty awakens,” he teased.

    Joe yawned.  “Well, you could’ve woke me, if we needed an earlier start.”

    “I’m averse to wrestling grizzly bears before my morning coffee,” Adam said, chuckling at the scowl that met the remark.  “Actually, I figured we could both use a little extra sleep after coming in so late last night.”

    “Umm, good figuring,” Joe murmured, stretching his arms behind his back. As he looked more closely at his brother, his brow wrinkled at the familiar black shirt and pants that Adam customarily wore back home.  “You’re not dressed,” he said in shock.

    “I most certainly am!” Adam chortled.

    “Not for the East,” Joe insisted, “unless you mean to hang around the room all day.”

    “Are you that tired?” Adam asked with a smile.

    As Adam had expected, Joe hooted at the idea.  “‘Course not.  What are we—”

    “Having breakfast, for a start,” Adam chuckled, “unless you’ve lost your newly prodigious appetite.”  At the firm shake of Joe’s head, he added, “Then hustle into your duds, little buddy.”

    “Ranch clothes?” Joe asked.

    “Whatever you like,” Adam said.  “I just thought we were due a day with more relaxed garb, even if the easterners do think we’re western boors.”

    “Thanks!”  Fully awake now, Joe dashed into his room, pulled off his nightshirt for a quick wash at the basin and dressed in the comfortable gray slacks and tan shirt that he’d worn the first couple of days on the train, which had been freshly laundered since their arrival in Philadelphia.

    Little Joe had learned over the past several days that Adam simply would not respond to questions about the day’s activities until breakfast was served.  Being especially curious today because of the easing of older brother’s stringent wardrobe standards, Joe all but exploded with the question the minute the waitress presented his sausage and waffles.  “What you got planned for today, Adam?”

    Smiling to himself as he cut his slice of Smithfield ham, Adam replied, “Not a thing.”

    Joe almost dropped his fork.  “Huh?”

    Relishing the look of total surprise on his brother’s face, Adam laughed.  “Your choice today, little buddy.  What would you like to do, excluding the Exhibition itself, that is?”

    “Y-you’re kidding, right?” Joe stammered.

    “Nope,” Adam said laconically.  He put the meat in his mouth, chewing slowly to savor the distinctive flavor the pigs’ diet of peanuts gave to pork raised in Virginia.

    “You mean it?  I really get to choose?” Joe pressed, eyes wide with wonder.

    “I mean it,” Adam said, feeling slightly chagrined when he saw how much that freedom of choice obviously meant to his young brother.  Should’ve listened to Pa, I guess, when he talked to me about letting the kid have some voice.  “So what’s it to be?”

    Joe didn’t need to give the decision much thought.  Obviously, he wanted to pick a place that Adam himself wouldn’t select, as he’d eventually see everything his big brother considered worthwhile, anyway.  “Could it be the zoo?” he asked tentatively.

    Feeling as if he were the one being tested today, Adam nodded.  “The zoological park it is.”  Joe had made exactly the choice he’d expected, that assumption the real reason behind his personal wardrobe choice that morning.  Though he would not tell Joe until later, he planned to combine the trip to the zoo with a walk through one of the rustic sections of Fairmount Park, and eastern suits simply weren’t appropriate for a ramble through the woods.  Lifting his coffee cup, he couldn’t resist a little teasing, however.  “Unless you would prefer to tour the House of Refuge for juvenile offenders, that is.  They admit visitors on Saturdays, and we could get tickets at the Public Ledger Building.  Might give you extra incentive to stay out of trouble.”

    For a moment Little Joe thought his brother was serious.  Then his characteristic grin broke wide, and he gave Adam’s knee a playful tap under the table.  “You had me going there for a minute, Adam!”

“Well, it doesn’t happen often,” Adam laughed.  “Fellow has to pick his shots with you, kid.”

    Joe tapped his index finger against his cheek.  “Hmm.  I might just have to drop a line to Pa about you taking pot shots at his favorite son.”

    Eyebrow arched, Adam surveyed his brother coolly.  “I could probably drop Pa a line or two he might find interesting, as well, ‘favorite son.’”

    Good-naturedly conceding that round to his older brother, Joe laughed and thrust out his hand.  “I won’t if you won’t.  Deal?”

    Adam reached across the table to close the bargain with a handshake.  “Deal.”

    Having finished breakfast, the two brothers again caught the horse cars out to the narrow strip on the west side of the Schuylkill River, where America’s first zoological park had opened only two years before.  A number of families were standing in line at the small, peak-roofed building that served as entrance, so it was several minutes before Adam handed the gatekeeper two bits each for himself and Joe and they were able to enter.

    Once inside, Adam found keeping up with his lively little brother almost impossible, for Joe dashed from one pavilion to the next, only slowing down when he spotted some exotic animal hitherto seen only in pictures in a book.  Pausing to study the attractive architecture of the towered Carnivora Building, Adam suddenly realized that Joe was nowhere in sight, and he hurried in to find his young brother staring, mouth gaping, at lions, tigers and other ferocious beasts.

    Leaving that exhibit, Joe pummeled toward the next building, and Adam chuckled when he saw that it was the Monkey House.  Now, who says opposites attract? he mused as he watched Joe mimicking the mobile facial expressions of the chimpanzee.  May have to rethink all I’ve been taught about magnetic principles after a demonstration like this.  “Trying to prove Darwin’s theories?” he suggested as he sauntered up to Joe.

    “Hmm?” Joe murmured, eyes fixed on the simian.

    “Darwin’s theories on evolution,” Adam began, stopping at the tight frown replacing Joe’s animated smile.

    “No lectures today, professor,” Joe declared.  “You said it was my choice today, and listening to you spout all your supposed wisdom on every subject under the sun is not what I choose.”

    “Well, it wouldn’t hurt you to learn a little in the midst of the fun, would it?” Adam demanded irritably.

    “Yup, it’d be downright painful,” Joe insisted as he walked toward the cage containing a small, black-haired monkey.

    With a sigh, Adam followed.  Maybe a college education would be lost on a kid as determinedly ignorant as Little Joe.

    After spending extensive time with the monkeys, the Cartwrights left that pavilion, and Joe tore toward an outdoor enclosure with a group of people surrounding it.  Adam charged after him to see the zebra and other denizens of the African grasslands.

    Whistling, Joe craned his neck back to look up at the long-necked giraffe near the fence.  “Did you ever think they’d be that tall, Adam?” he asked breathlessly.

    “Of course,” Adam said pedantically.  “I’ve read their vital statistics and compared their height with that of buildings before.”

    “Statistics!” Joe screeched in horror.  “Oh, Adam, no!  Look at him.  What a beautiful piece of work he is!”

    Smiling, Adam looked more closely at the animal, trying to see it through Joe’s exuberant eyes, and had to admit the kid had a point.  An animal like this should be seen and enjoyed and analysis of his makeup left for another time.  “Yes, as beautiful a piece of architecture as any building, I must admit.”

    Joe clapped him on the back.  “That’s better.  Now, no more talk about statistics, brother.  They’ll take the fun right out of anything.”

    Adam chuckled.  “Well, we wouldn’t want that, now, would we, Joe?”  He turned to his right, where his younger brother had been moments before.  “Joe?  Joe!”

    “Over here,” Little Joe called.  “You gotta see this, Adam!”

    Shaking his head, Adam walked over to see “this,” which turned out to be the rhinoceros donated to the zoological park by P. T. Barnum.  “Will you quit doing that?” he scolded.

    “Doing what?” Joe asked, turning back to the animal before his brother could answer.  “Hey, Pete,” he called to the rhino, having read the animal’s name on the plaque outside the cage.  “How you like it behind those bars?  Yeah, that’s what I thought.  Feel the same way myself, fellow.”

    “Sure sign of addled wits,” Adam snickered, “when you start talking to the animals.  Oh, but wait.  You always did—to that persnickety pinto of yours, at any rate.”

    “You’re just jealous,” Joe accused, knuckling his brother’s biceps, “‘cause your uppity chestnut can’t carry on a conversation.”  Cackling, he careened toward the bear pits.

    Adam rolled his eyes in disbelief.  Sure, he talked to Sport, but he didn’t delude himself into thinking the horse talked back.  When it came to Cochise, however, his little brother lost all sense of reality; he really did think that temperamental little black and white communicated with him.  Adam sauntered down the path to stand next to Joe, who was leaning over the stone wall to gaze at the grizzly bear in the deep pit.

    “Hey, Adam, meet Rose,” Joe said with a grin.

    “On speaking terms already?” Adam twitted.

    “Of course not,” Joe snorted.  “She’s just a bear, big brother.”

    “Ah, I see,” Adam teased.  “It’s only horses that talk.”

    Joe’s nose wrinkled.  “Only the intelligent ones.  That’s why you got no experience—nothin’ smart to listen to.”

    “Why, you little”—but Joe was gone again, running across the road to see Jennie the elephant, whose pavilion was always surrounded by children.  Adam couldn’t help noticing the similarity between Joe’s open delight and that of the other youngsters watching the elephant.  What must it be like to let your heart take wing that way and not worry about how people perceived you?  Ah, to be a child again, Adam thought; then a dark cloud passed across his thoughts.  When had he ever been a child?

    “That’s sad,” Joe was whispering as his brother ambled up to his side.

    “Hmm?”  For a moment Adam feared he might have spoken his dismal thought aloud.

    “That chain around her leg.  I’d hate that.”

    “Joe, Joe,” Adam chided gently as he rested his folded arms on the fence between them and the elephant.  “It’s a dumb beast; it doesn’t have the same feelings as a man.”

    “You don’t know that,” Joe argued.  “Horses like to run free.  Why wouldn’t an elephant need freedom just as much?”

    Adam cocked his head and gazed thoughtfully at his brother.  “Maybe so, Joe, maybe so.  You ready for something to eat?”

    “Half starved, but I don’t want to leave ‘til we see it all, Adam.”

    Adam draped an arm around his brother’s shoulder and turned him around.  “You don’t have to leave; there’s a restaurant on the grounds.”

    Joe grinned.  “In that case, brother, lead on.  I have worked up a hearty appetite out here this morning.”

    Adam uttered a throaty groan.  “Oh, I wouldn’t doubt that for one minute.”

    The zoo restaurant had an almost picnic-like atmosphere, with its tables set beneath towering shade trees.  The menu was simple, compared with that of the hotel dining room, but neither boy was likely to go away hungry.  Joe ordered a large bowl of beef stew, while Adam opted for a salad of chicken and celery, dressed with mustard, vinegar, sweet oil, egg yolk, cayenne pepper and salt.  Both boys indulged in a plate of sliced, ripe tomatoes and selected wedges of cool, fresh watermelon for dessert.

    “Seems like a shame to pen wild animals up this way,” Joe observed, thinking of the bars and chains again.

    “How else would you ever see them?” Adam pointed out.  “Not everyone can make a safari to Africa or Australia.”

    “Yeah, I know,” Joe admitted, “but such small cages, Adam!  You’d think they’d make ‘em bigger, give the animals room to run.”

    Adam smiled.  “Not a bad idea, buddy.  You know, with the proper education, you could develop those ideas and design—”

    Joe jumped to his feet.  “You’ve got the proper education.  You design ‘em.”  He stalked off in a huff.

    Leaving the last of his watermelon, Adam chased after Joe.  Catching up, he snared his brother’s elbow and pulled him to a stop.  “Sorry.  No more lectures on education the rest of the day, I promise.”

    Easily appeased since he was enjoying himself so thoroughly, Joe smiled, and the Cartwright brothers walked into the aviary arm in arm.  When they came out, Joe saw a balloon vender just outside the door and bought a bright yellow one, gazing up at it, face beaming with delight at the way it danced against the cotton-clouded sky.

    “You are such a child!” Adam chuckled, secretly envying that carefree spirit.

    His pleasure in the sunny shape spoiled, Joe frowned and put some distance between himself and his brother as he headed for the pavilion exhibiting mammals and birds from Australia.

    “Boy, he’s touchy today,” Adam muttered, trailing behind.

    Next they visited the deer and buffalo parks, and to make amends, Adam recounted the story of Pa’s first buffalo hunt on the trail west, congratulating himself on how easily he seemed to have dissipated Joe’s fit of temper.  Making short work of the beaver dam and prairie dog town, both of which were familiar sights to boys from the West, they then toured the winter house for tropical animals.

    Afterwards, walking toward the historic home that housed the snakes and white mice, Joe overheard a small child whimpering.  Turning, he saw a little brown-haired girl, pointing at another balloon vender with one hand, while with her other she wiped her tear-stained cheeks.

    “Darling, I’m sorry, but we can’t afford one,” he heard the child’s mother sadly explain.

    Looking at the balloon in his hand, Joe moved quickly toward them and tipped his hat to the woman.  “Ma’am, I wonder if you could help a stranger to your city,” he said.

    Taken aback by the forward young man, the mother pulled her daughter close to her side. “Well, I don’t know how I could assist you, young man.”

    Adam, coming up in time to hear the concern in her voice, started to apologize for his brazen brother, but Joe only raised his voice to speak over him.  “It’s like this, ma’am.  I’m getting awful tired of carrying this balloon around, and I was wondering, maybe, if your little girl would take over the chore for me.”

    “Oh, Mama!” cried the child, eyes luminous with hope.

    The mother’s view of the forward young man underwent a radical change, and she smiled warmly into his kind eyes.  “Why, yes, young man, I believe she would be willing.”

    Flashing his brilliant smile, Joe knelt to tie the balloon string to the little girl’s wrist.  “So it won’t fly away,” he explained.

    “Thank the young man, Jenny,” the mother directed, and Jenny did so by planting a kiss on Little Joe’s cheek.

    When Joe stood up, he saw Adam looking at him.  “I’m sorry I interfered,” Adam said and tried to express his pride by adding, “You’re quite a kid.”

    Still disgruntled with his older brother, Joe glowered. “Yeah, you already told me that, remember?”

    Adam’s breath caught in his throat.  The offense he had thought so easily smoothed over was obviously still eating away at his brother, beneath the calm exterior.  “I was trying to compliment you, Joe.”

    Joe shrugged it off.  “Yeah, I know, but you were right before; balloons are for kids.”

    As they walked toward the exit, Adam pondered how to heal the hurt, his young brother’s slower pace continuing to hint at inner pain, but he couldn’t come up with any easy solution.  Like Pa always said, it was hard to call words back, once spoken.  Maybe a direct apology was the best way.  “Joe, I didn’t mean anything by it,” he finally said as they were leaving the zoo.

    “I know.  It’s okay, Adam,” Joe replied, and though the words were the ones Adam had wanted to hear, somehow there wasn’t enough force behind them to make them convincing.

    “If you’re not too tired, I have an idea,” Adam began.

    Joe cut him off abruptly.  “You said today was my choice!”

    “It is,” Adam assured him with deliberate patience.  “This is only a suggestion.  If you don’t like it, you can choose something else.”  At this point he would even have consented to visiting the Exhibition itself, just to bring back Joe’s child-like smile, though the change would play havoc with his meticulously outlined schedule.  When Joe made no response, he asked, “Want to hear it?”

    “I guess,” Joe whispered, feeling ashamed of his foul mood after what had really been an enjoyable excursion.  Not quite ready to give up his affronted attitude, he added, lips pouting, “It had better not be anything educational, though.”

    Adam solemnly raised his palm toward his brother.  “I promised, and I do hereby reaffirm my vow.  Not one elucidating word will pass these lips until the next rising of the sun.”

    A soft smile flickered on Joe’s lips.  “Okay, what’s the idea?”

“East Park,” Adam replied.  “A few sights to see, but mostly just some pleasant scenery: rocks, trees, ravines.”

    Joe’s smile grew less tentative.  “That sounds real good.  How do we get there?”

    “Just cross the Girard Avenue Bridge over there and then follow the carriage road underneath it on the other side,” Adam said, pointing, and the brothers began to walk toward the northeastern section of Fairmount Park.

    The further they went, the broader Joe’s smile became.  “Oh, this is great,” he sighed in contentment as they passed beneath arching oaks and gazed up at the cliffs overhanging the curves of the river.

    “If you don’t think this is being too educational,” Adam said, pointing to a structure under construction, “I’ll mention that that is the new water reservoir for the city.”

    Joe chuckled.  “I guess I can handle that much.”  He licked his lips.  “Look, I’m sorry I’ve been such a bear this afternoon, Adam.”

    “Serves me right for taking you to see Rose,” Adam chuckled.  He cuffed Joe’s neck and drew him close.  “It’s okay, kid.  I had some of it coming.”

    Joe nodded in agreement, but put out his hand.  “Peace treaty?”

    Adam laughed and gave the slender, but strong hand a solid shake.  “And may we keep it as well as William Penn did his.”

    “Got my doubts about that,” Joe admitted ruefully, remembering how briefly any pact he made with Adam tended to hold, “but I’ll try.”

    “And I will, too.”

    Near the lower end of the reservoir, they walked up a romantic ravine and stopped to refresh themselves in the cold, clear water of a rivulet making its way to the Schuylkill.  Just to the north, they came to a stone colonial mansion.  “Mount Pleasant,” Adam responded to Joe’s inquiring look, “once the property of Benedict Arnold.”

    “Boo!” Joe hissed noisily.  “Who wants to see that traitor’s home?”

    Slipping an arm around his brother’s waist, Adam amplified, “Well, he never actually lived there, though he bought it as a wedding gift for his bride.  The state of Pennsylvania confiscated it because of his treason.”

    “High price to pay for going your own way,” Joe murmured, thinking of how much losing the Ponderosa would mean to him.

    Despite his earlier promise, Adam couldn’t resist the temptation to wax didactic.  “Yes, our homes and families are always affected by our actions.  Something to remember, little buddy, next time you’re tempted to ‘go your own way.’”

    Joe jerked out of his brother’s grasp.  “Doggone you, Adam!  We’re supposed to be doing what I want today, and I dadgum sure don’t want to listen to another one of your brotherly lectures.  You promised!”

    Though Adam might have made a case that admonitions concerning responsible behavior did not fall under his promise to curtail educational lectures, he conceded easily.  “Okay, buddy.  Today is your day.  No lectures ‘til tomorrow—and then maybe just from the preacher.”

    “We going to church?” Joe asked.

    Adam shrugged.  “I figured we would.  Not much open in staid old Philadelphia on a Sunday, anyway.”

    “Yeah, I guess it beats sitting around the hotel all day,” Joe agreed.

    Adam shook his head, amused by his brother’s need for constant activity.  “Ah, the boundless energy of youth!”

    “Yeah?  Well, let’s see if you can keep up, old man,” Joe challenged and took off.

    With a groan Adam gave chase.  He knew from attempts back home that there was no catching Joe when he had a head start.  For that matter, it was getting harder by the year to best the kid in a race that started even.  Adam had length of limb on his side, but Joe seemed to have more native athletic talent, not to mention more practice at eluding some earnest pursuer, whether Pa, one of his brothers or the irate father of a pretty girl.

    When he finally caught up, Adam discovered his brother seated beside a rippling stream, pulling off his balmorals, which he’d learned were more comfortable for long walks than his western boots.  Huffing, Adam dropped beside him.  “If I hadn’t made you that promise, I’d be giving you some strong words about taking off like that.”

    Joe grinned.  “Didn’t it feel great, though?”

    Leaning back on his elbows, Adam smiled.  The run had, indeed, done him good.  “Planning a swim?” he queried with a glance at Joe’s bare feet.

    “Just gonna wade a little.  My feet are hot.”

    “Be my guest,” Adam said, lying down and folding his arms behind his neck.  He closed his eyes, muscles relaxing as he listened to the splashing sounds coming from the stream.  His breathing slowed, and he drifted between the realms of sleep and wakefulness until a dash of cold water slapped him alert.  Eyes jolting open, Adam saw his brother’s open hands, dripping wet, inches from his face.  With a quick grab he imprisoned Joe’s wrists and pulled him to the ground.  “You little brat,” he scolded, rolling Joe onto his back and crouching over him.  “I oughta toss you bodily into that creek.”

    “Go right ahead,” Joe giggled.  “Won’t bother me none.”

    Adam sat back, laughing.  “All right.  You win that round.”  Looking around, he noticed that the sun was starting to drop.  “About time for supper.  I presume you’re hungry?”

    “Oh, always, big brother,” Joe replied with a maddening grin.  “You can count on that at least three times a day.  Do we have to go back to the hotel?”

    “Only if that’s your choice,” Adam said, preparing to spring another surprise.  “Strawberry Mansion up ahead has been turned into a restaurant, so we can eat there if you like.”

    Any place different sounded good to Joe, so he lifted his arm for Adam to help him up, and after putting his socks and shoes back on, he was ready to leave.  The restaurant was only a short distance away, atop a hill with an excellent view of the surrounding countryside.  After enjoying it a few minutes, the Cartwright went inside and ordered.  While Strawberry Mansion did not serve the traditional catfish and coffee available at other restaurants near the Falls of Schuylkill, fish was prominent among the menu choices, and both Adam and Joe selected that as an entrée.  Adam took his boiled with egg sauce and mashed potatoes, while Joe opted for pan-fried crappie with slices of potato, fried with onions and sweet peppers.  Strawberry short cake, topped with rich, whipped cream, completed the meal, and both boys declared themselves as stuffed to the gills as if they were being bred for the table.

    “Could you tolerate one more suggestion from your big brother?” Adam asked as they were leaving the restaurant.

    “Oh, I guess you’ve behaved well enough to earn that,” Joe chuckled.

    “Amazing what a good meal will do for your disposition,” Adam teased.  “Come this way.”  Pausing a few moments to admire the stone bridge of the Reading Railroad, Adam crossed it, pulling Joe along.  “There, take a look,” he said.

    Joe smiled at the low building, from which emerged a couple of men carrying long poles.  “Hey, could we go fishing?” he asked eagerly.

    “I think you have to be a member, Joe,” Adam said.  “I just wanted you to know that there were places to get away from the bustle of city life, if—”

    “Adam . . .” Joe drawled out in warning.

    “I remember,” Adam assured him.  “I’ll say no more.  Anyway, it’s getting late.  We should head back to the hotel.”

    “Can we take a boat?” Joe asked.

    Adam smiled at his brother’s newfound love of the water.  “Maybe you inherited some of the salt water in Pa’s veins, after all.”

    “Did you?”

    Adam grew wistful. “Yeah, some.  All the stories he told when I was a kid.  Sometimes I think I’d like to sail off on a sleek clipper and see the world the way he did.”

    Joe bit his lip nervously, disturbed by the thought of Adam’s leaving home again.  As irritated as he sometimes got with his older brother’s imperial ways, he knew the Ponderosa just wouldn’t be the same without Adam, but he said nothing, covering his emotions by running down the ramp to the steamboat waiting to take them back to Fairmount Park.

    As they steamed toward their destination, Adam puzzled over his boisterous brother’s unusual quietness.  Probably just tired, he decided.  I know I am.  It’s been a long day, a series of long days.  Maybe it’s a good thing Philadelphia does shut down for the Sabbath.   He draped an arm across Joe’s shoulders as they leaned over the rail and felt Joe lean close, kind of the way he had when he was a child.  Smiling, Adam ruffled the boy’s wind-tangled curls and knew by the smile he received in return that all was once more at peace between the Cartwright brothers.  Now, if we could just keep it!

    Melodious chimes were ringing as Adam and Joseph Cartwright walked toward Christ Church that sunny Sunday morning.  “It’s an eight-bell chime,” Adam observed, “supposedly the oldest in America.”

    “Yeah?” an impressed Little Joe murmured.  He looked up at the huge white bell tower gracing the brick building.  “Is it still Georgian, even with that?”

    “Yes, it’s Georgian.  You’re getting to be quite an expert on that style of architecture, my boy.”

    Joe chuckled.  “Not too hard when almost every building in town has the same style.”

    “Remind me to point out some other varieties,” Adam said, hoping to whet his brother’s interest in that field of study.

    “Don’t get your hopes up,” Joe cautioned, reading his brother’s mind.

    “I don’t want to argue today, Joe,” Adam said.  “Shall we go in?”

    The morning service had not yet begun, so the brothers took a few moments to examine the interior of the colonial church, ornate with fluted columns and sweeping arches supporting the balconies on either side.  Walking down the center aisle between the enclosed pews, Little Joe fingered a brass plaque on the end of one.  “Look, Adam,” he whispered in awe.  “It’s George Washington’s pew.”

    “He worshipped here regularly during the early years of the government,” Adam said, “as did many others whose names you would recognize from history: Patrick Henry, James Madison, Betsy Ross, even Thomas Jefferson and Benjamin Franklin on occasion.”  He decided not to mention names from the opposing side of the Revolutionary conflict, such as Lord Howe and General Cornwallis and certainly not Benedict Arnold.  While all of them had also worshipped in the historic church, Adam didn’t trust his impulsive younger brother’s response and judged silence to be a wise precaution.

    The service began, and the Cartwright brothers relaxed in the quiet peace that pervaded the house of worship.  In fact, Joe almost fell asleep, simply because he was still.  Just about the only time he’s been still since we got here, Adam observed, smiling at the nodding chestnut head beside him.  Better keep things light today.

    As the congregation began to file out after the service, Joe noticed that a number of people were ascending a staircase and turned to give his older brother a questioning look.

    “They lead to the steeple,” Adam said, stifling a moan when he saw the light flash in Joe’s eyes.  “I suppose nothing will do but for you to climb them.”

    “Yup, can’t pass it up, seein’ as how it’s historical and all,” Joe said, adding with a mocking grin, “but I guess you could wait down here, grandpa, if you think it’s too much for your tired old legs.”

    “Not on your life do you get out of my sight, sonny,” Adam chuckled, with a grand gesture toward the stairs.  “Lead on.”

    Joe took the steps two at a time, so Adam felt compelled to do the same, arriving at the east window only moments after his younger brother.  Looking down, they saw the Delaware River almost at their feet, and to the south its shining surface met the waters of the Schuylkill River at League Island.

    “There’s the Navy Yard,” Adam said, pointing downriver a little north of the junction, “and there, across the river, that’s Camden, New Jersey.”

    “How far to the Atlantic Ocean?” Joe asked.

    “Too far to see,” Adam replied, chuckling.  “Around sixty miles, I think.”

    “Wish we could see it,” Joe murmured.

    Adam rested a hand lightly on the boy’s shoulder.  “You will, when we go to New Haven.  Might even take a dip in it.”

    Joe turned back to smile at his older brother.  “That’d be nice, especially if it’s as hot there as here.”

    “Yeah, I know, another scorcher,” Adam commiserated.  “From what I’ve read in the papers, it’s hot everywhere this summer, but it should be a bit cooler at the seashore.”

    “Still three weeks away,” Joe sighed.  “I may melt by then.”

    They turned their gaze inward and enjoyed the magnificent view the almost two-hundred-foot-high steeple afforded.  The tall white standpipe of the Kensington Water Works stood out above the steeples of numerous churches, and seven large patches of green dotted the city, the public squares of Philadelphia.  Beyond them lay the largest green spot of all, Fairmount Park itself.

    “Seen enough?” Adam asked.

    “Yeah, and ready to see dinner,” Joe said.

    “You can wait an hour, can’t you?” Adam grunted.  “You had a late breakfast.”

    “Well, sure, I can wait,” Joe muttered, “but you said there wasn’t anything to do in Philadelphia on Sunday.”

    “Not much,” Adam admitted, “but I thought we might walk down by the docks since it’s only a couple of blocks from here.  Then I’d planned to show you a couple of other places—exteriorly only, of course.”

    Joe agreed readily, and the brothers soon found themselves overlooking the Delaware River.  Like the Chestnut Street Wharf that Joe had visited earlier, the one at the end of Market, which he and his brother saw today, was a passenger wharf.

    Adam couldn’t resist pointing out that Joe hadn’t needed to go off on his own.  “Everything worth seeing, both in Philadelphia and at the Exposition, is included in my plans, little brother,” he proclaimed, “so if you’ll just trust me, you can have it all.”

    Joe sighed.  “Tell me again, big brother; I’m afraid I’ll forget if I don’t hear that every other day.”

    With an exasperating grin, Adam said, “So am I, little brother, so am I.”  After they watched the ships glide by for a short while, he led the way up Front Street to Arch, turned west and walked to an unassuming two-story house with attic dormer at number 239.

    “Am I supposed to notice different architecture or something?” Joe queried, rolling his eyes.

    “No, you’re supposed to ask what happened here,” Adam replied.  When Joe cocked his head with a quizzical expression, Adam said, “This is where Betsy Ross made the first American flag.”

    “No kidding?  The very house where the first stars and stripes was sewn?” Joe asked, looking at the simple structure with more respect.

    Adam shrugged.  “According to legend, at least.  Just a common house, Joe, like most places where uncommon things happen.”

    “Nothing common about the Ponderosa,” Joe quipped, “and uncommon things happen there all the time!”

    Adam chuckled, pleased to note Joe’s pride in the home his older brother had helped to design.  “Gotta agree with you there, buddy.”

    Joe grinned.  “Hey!  Now this house has been the site of another historic event, Adam Cartwright agreeing with something his kid brother said.”

    “Oh, shut up,” Adam scolded, cuffing the boy’s ear so lightly Joe knew he was only playing.  “There’s another historic sight a couple of blocks north.  We’ll have a quick look at that and get some dinner.”

    Mimicking the gesture Adam had used at the church steeple, Joe made a sweeping movement with his hand.  “Lead on, professor, lead on.”

    Three blocks west, Adam stopped outside a barred enclosure.  Pointing through the iron bars, he said, “Benjamin Franklin and his wife are buried here.”

    Joe gazed with respect at the simple stone slabs covering the graves.  “He was a great man, wasn’t he?  I used to like reading about him in school, how he discovered electricity and wrote Poor Richard’s Almanac .  Lots of good sayings in that book.”

    “A great diplomat and statesman, as well,” Adam added.

    Not wanting to be outdone, Joe contributed, “Yeah.  Part of the Continental Congress, ambassador to France . . .”

    Adam tipped his brother’s straw hat forward over his nose.  “Ah, so you did pay attention to a few of your school lessons.”

    “The ones I liked,” Joe admitted with a nonchalant shrug.

    “Few and far between, no doubt,” Adam twitted.  When Joe made no response, Adam chuckled.  “Well, your mind must be on your empty belly, if you’re not going to rise to that bait.”

    “Fish are more likely to rise to bait when they are hungry, older brother,” Joe snickered.  “I’d’ve thought you’d know that much about fishing, even if you did spend your best years back here learning a bunch of useless nonsense.  No wonder I always come home with the longest string!”

    Adam snagged Joe’s elbow and turned their steps toward Chestnut Street.  “Oh?  I always thought it was because you took the fish off Hoss’s line and added them to your own.”

    “Not just Hoss’s,” Joe laughed, “but I haven’t had to resort to that for years.”

    As they came to the Washington Hotel, Little Joe automatically turned for the door, but Adam pulled him past the entrance.  “What’s up?” Joe demanded.  “I thought we were having dinner next.”

    “We are,” Adam said, “but, personally, I like a change of menu occasionally.  Let’s try the Girard House’s dining room.”

    “Hey, thanks!” Joe bubbled.  While it wasn’t the Continental, Joe knew from his perusal of the guidebook that the Girard House was considered Philadelphia’s second-best hotel.  The food there was bound to be good.

    The Girard House was only a few doors north of the Washington Hotel, so the Cartwright brothers were soon seated and examining the extensive menu.  Feeling the heat of the day, Little Joe opted for a cold meal of lobster salad, dressed the same way Adam’s chicken salad at the zoo had been, with a side of sliced tomatoes once again and an exotic relish of pickled mango.  Lobster, of course, had the added advantage of being expensive.

    Adam selected hamburger steak, a dish made famous at Delmonico’s Restaurant in New York, potato pudding and English peas in mint sauce.  Then, as if to point out his little brother’s greed by an extra display of generosity, he ordered a platter of oysters on the half-shell for them to share.

    Little Joe picked a shell from the iced plate and let the oyster slide down his throat.  “So we just relax the rest of the afternoon?” he asked after swallowing.  “Nothing’s open, you said.”

    “Except the libraries,” Adam amended, reaching for an oyster.  “I thought we’d visit the Philadelphia.”

    Food forgotten, Joe raked the ceiling with disgusted eyes.  “Books?  We’re gonna spend the afternoon looking at stacks of books?  Professor, someone has got to teach you how to have fun!”

    Adam grinned, propping his elbows on the table and leaning forward.  “Oh, and you’re just the one to teach me, I suppose?”

    “Yeah!” Joe shot back.

    Adam reached across the table to pat his brother’s hand.  “What did I tell you at the dock?  Just trust me, Joe.”

    Joe groaned elaborately.  “I only thought saying it every other day would satisfy you.  I should have known better!”

    Chuckling, Adam sat back, for their food had just arrived, and conversation was suspended in the enjoyment of the exceptional cuisine of the Girard House.

    The Philadelphia Library was only a couple of blocks from the restaurant, so the walk there was a brief one.  Adam could not help noticing the disgruntlement plastered all over his brother’s face.  “I think you’ll find a number of interesting things to see,” he said, by way of appeasement, “but we won’t stay long.”

    “Well, that’s good news, at least,” Joe grunted.

    “Oh, don’t be such a sour belly,” Adam scolded.  “Have I led you astray yet?”  He pointed at the statue of Benjamin Franklin over the entrance.  “Why, look!  There’s your hero, shining down on you.”

    Despite himself, Joe couldn’t hang onto his determination to be bored.  “Okay, that was worth seeing,” he admitted.  Then he flashed a naughty grin.  “So, can we go now?”

    Adam pressed a palm against Joe’s back and pushed him forward.  “Trust me.  There’s more ‘worth seeing’ inside.”

    They walked into a long room, lined floor to ceiling on four sides with shelves of books.  A balcony with books arranged the same way circled the room, too.  “Do you suppose anybody’s read all these?” Joe whispered.

    “Oh, probably not,” Adam conceded.  “The point is that you could research almost any topic of interest to you.”

    “I guess so,” Joe admitted with grudging respect.

    Adam directed him up the stairs to the balcony and led the way to a huge bust of a helmeted woman.

    “Whoa!  Look at the size of that gal!” Joe exclaimed.  “She’d be a handful, even for Hoss.”  With a laugh he added, “Hoss has enough trouble managing Bessie Sue, but this gal could probably throw him nine times out of nine.”  Propping his elbows on the thin wooden rail surrounding the balcony, he leaned back for a better look at the bust towering over his head.  Joe, in fact, barely reached her eyebrows.

    Adam shushed him with twitching lips.  “Try to remember you’re in a library.  People come here to read, not to be entertained by some loud-mouthed kid from Nevada.”

“Just goes to show eastern folk ain’t got good sense,” Joe snorted.

    “It’s a bust of Minerva,” Adam said, trying to bring Joe’s mind back to instructive purpose, “and formerly presided over the Continental Congress.”

    Joe’s eyes twinkled with sass.  “Okay, so she’s old, as well as big.”

    Shaking his head, Adam hooked his brother’s elbow and pulled him toward the next artifact, which was a desk that had once belonged to William Penn.

“Wouldn’t Pa love something like that?” Joe tittered.  “All those little cubbyholes to stash papers in?”

    Adam chuckled.  “Maybe in his room.  Can’t afford to have something like this downstairs.”

    Little Joe stepped blindly into the trap.  “Oh, yeah?  Why’s that?”

    “Too tall for him to see over,” Adam said with a straight face, “so he’d have to face the wall.”

    “So?”

    Adam grinned and released the verbal loop of his snare.  “Can’t keep his eye off you that long, little buddy.  At the very least, you’d be putting your feet up on the furniture the minute his back was turned.”

    Joe groaned, finally realizing that his leg had been pulled in another of Adam’s carefully laid traps.  “And you can put your big stompers all over the furniture right in front of his face and he never says a word,” the younger boy complained.  “Why is that?”  His nose wrinkled in perplexed thought.

    Adam lifted an eyebrow in such a good imitation of Pa’s expression that Joe almost jumped.  “Privilege of age, boy,” Adam proclaimed with a smirk, “just the honor due the first-born.”

    “It just plain ain’t fair, Adam,” Joe declared with a petulant pout.

    Adam patted his shoulder in exaggerated consolation.  “Well, come on back to the hotel, little buddy, and you can put your feet on anything you like.”

    Good nature easily restored, Joe grinned back, and after looking at a few more objects of interest in the library, he and Adam returned to the Washington.  At Adam’s suggestion, they both spent the remainder of the afternoon writing letters home.

    Joe’s letter to his father fairly sparkled with enthusiasm as he expressed appreciation for receiving permission to come and gave assurances that he and Adam were getting along fairly well and having a good time. He described the historic sights he’d seen and mentioned his enjoyment of boating on the river. He wrote with energetic flourish:

Now I’m a sailor like you, Pa!  Well, maybe not quite like you, but I feel you close when we’re on a boat, even if it is just a river and not the ocean, like you sailed.  Hey, maybe I’ll just ship out, long as I’m back here!  (Just kidding, Pa; you know I wouldn’t leave you, not like that oldest boy of yours.)  Miss you lots.

Love,
Joe
 

    Standing in line at the Centennial Exposition’s main entrance, Joe, with typical restlessness, sent his eyes searching all directions for interesting sights with which to pass the time.  Outside the grounds, to the east, he noticed a long row of buildings, some wooden, some bright red brick, but all covered with huge signboards and festooned with flags.  “What’s that, Adam?” he asked.

    Adam turned to see what his brother was looking at.  “Oh, that’s just Shantyville,” he said with a disdainful brush of his hand.  “According to the Public Ledger,   there’s nothing worth seeing there, just a lot of low shows, saloons, shooting galleries, that kind of thing.”

    “Hey!” Joe cried, eyes lighting with interest.

    Adam took firm hold on his brother’s shoulders and pointedly swiveled him away from the enticement of Shantyville.  “No, absolutely not; put all thought of that place out of your mind this minute,” he ordered brusquely.

    “Aw, Adam, you’re just no fun at all,” Joe complained.

    Adam surveyed his brother with narrowed gaze.  “You mind what I say, boy.”  He handed the tickets he had purchased earlier to the gatekeeper and moved toward the turnstile.

    Joe’s irritation with the stern admonition was temporarily forgotten as he watched a dignified matron maneuver her outlandishly broad bustle through the turnstile just ahead of them.  Snickering softly to himself at the absurd spectacle, Joe scampered through the gateway as soon as it was clear and aimed for Machinery Hall.

    “Not yet,” Adam said, hooking his brother’s elbow and directing him, instead, to a much smaller building to their immediate left.

    Joe saw, above the doorway, a huge painting of a man operating a machine to make shoes and grimaced at the building’s name in which it was centered.  “The Shoe and Leather Building?  Aw, come on, Adam.  Ain’t we ever gonna see any of the big exhibits?”

    Adam painstakingly corrected his brother’s grammar before answering his question.  “Yes, of course, but we will be covering the exhibition grounds in a systematic manner.”  Catching the melancholy cast of his brother’s countenance, he added, “Now, don’t worry; we won’t spend long in here.”  He entered the wooden structure, and with one last, longing glance at Shantyville, which seemed all the more alluring by comparison, Joe also went in.

    As the brothers made their way through the building, whose roof was draped in broad swaths of red, white and blue, they observed machines in operation at every stage of boot making and saw every conceivable item related to shoe construction, from raw leather to blacking polish.  Glass cases of shoes and boots to suit every person and every need lined both sides of the central aisle and filled the galleries upstairs.  Although Little Joe was reluctant to admit it, some of the exhibits were actually quite interesting.  One manufacturer’s exhibit, for instance, offered five hundred different patterns for shoe construction, while another showcase showed the changing styles from 1776 to the current year.

    “Everything from Ben Franklin to Ben Cartwright!” Joe tittered.

    Adam raised an index finger.  “Ah, but not Hoss,”

Joe laughed, too, at the reminder that shoes for Hoss’s big feet had to be special-made.  “Wish I’d thought to draw off the shape of his foot.  We could’ve taken him home a first class set of boots, maybe with that fancy morocco leather or alligator skin.”

Adam nodded, wishing that he had thought to do the same.  “Maybe we can purchase some of the leather and have a cobbler back home make the boots to order.”

    Joe looked impressed.  “Say, Adam, sometimes you do some good thinking.”

    Adam feigned offense.  “What?  Just sometimes?”  He flicked his thumb hard against the back of Joe’s noggin.

    At an exhibit by manufacturers of India rubber, Little Joe decided it was payback time.  Tapping a rubber bathtub, portable for use on trips, he suggested that Adam should buy one, “as many baths as you seem to need!”

    Adam countered by picking up a toy duck made of the same substance.  “I should probably buy one of these, too, then, so I can lure you into the tub more than once a month.”

    Joe scowled.  Doggone, but it was tough work to get one up on Adam!  He’d have to try harder.

    When they reached the case enclosing the fine-tooled and highly ornamental boots made by the company of Burt and Mears, Adam could hardly drag his brother away, and it was even worse when they came to the exhibit of harness and saddles.  “We have a schedule to keep,” Adam chided, “and this is all the time I’ve allotted for this building that you didn’t even want to enter.”  With a sheepish grin, Joe gave a last fond look at a saddle he deemed perfect for Cochise and left in his brother’s wake.

    Leaving the Shoe and Leather Building, the Cartwright brothers followed a diagonal walkway to the Bartholdi fountain.  The shrubbery-edged square in which it was set was divided into eight grassy triangles by four intersecting avenues, and the iron fountain, populated with griffins and nymphs, stood at its center.  The boys stopped for a drink, as the day was already warming up, and then headed for the large, light blue building just to the west.

    Though much smaller than the Main Exhibition Building, Machinery Hall still covered almost fourteen acres, including the upper galleries, and was the second largest exhibit hall on the Centennial grounds.  Just before entering the handsome east façade, Adam pointed out the tower on the northeast corner, which mirrored those on the other three corners.  “There’s supposed to be a chime of thirteen bells in that one,” he told Joe, “one for each of the original colonies.”

    Joe smiled.  “I guess that’s why there’s thirteen entrances, too, huh?”

    Adam shook his head.  “Don’t tell me you’re just now figuring that out.  Anyway, the bells weigh 21,000 pounds and were erected at a cost of $12,000.”

    Joe rolled his eyes.  Adam and his statistics!  I hope he’s not gonna be like this all day.

    They entered the hall, and Adam stopped at a stand just inside the door to purchase a catalog of the exhibits.

    “There it is, Adam, the Corliss Engine!” Joe squealed.

    Adam started to say that they would see it soon, but Joe took off excitedly, and Adam had no choice but to give chase as soon as he’d paid for his catalog.  He caught Joe at the center of Machinery Hall and grabbed his arm.  “What is the matter with you?” he scolded.  “Running off like a three-year-old child.”

    Joe couldn’t take his eyes off the shining red machine that towered toward the ceiling.  “Sorry, Adam, but look at the size of it!  Wouldn’t Hoss drool over this?”

    Though feeling a strong obligation to castigate his brother soundly for reckless behavior, Adam, like every other visitor to the Centennial, stood in awe of the mighty Corliss steam engine, largest in the world.  The giant machine stood on a platform fifty-six feet in diameter and rose a majestic forty feet high.  Capable of producing 2,520 horsepower, it supplied the power for every machine in the hall.

    Though he found the Corliss Engine fascinating, Adam forced himself to keep on schedule.  “Time we were moving on,” he dictated, “and this time you stick to me like a leech, boy.  Do you have any idea how easy it would be to lose each other in this crowd?”

    Secretly, Little Joe thought that might be a fine idea.   He felt certain he could have a better time without his own personal watchdog, especially one determined to point out all the educational aspects of the fair and few of the purely fun ones.  It was a tempting prospect, but Joe reluctantly gave it up after evaluating what it might cost him later.  “So, what do you want to see first?” he asked.

    Adam still sounded perturbed as he responded, “Well, I planned to start where we came in and make an orderly tour, of course, but as long as we’re here, we may as well begin with the American exhibits.”

    Joe smiled proudly.  “Well, they’ll be the best, won’t they?  That’s what that Manufacturer and Builder magazine you loaned me said.”

    Adam’s mouth skewed to one side in a wry half-smile.  “To be precise, it said that we didn’t need to fear comparison with other countries.”  He laughed as he saw Joe’s eyes roll, a motion that had taken up habitual residence on his brother’s face since coming east.  “I’m glad to see you read it to some purpose, however, and I do agree.  In the machinery department, our exhibits probably will outshine the rest of the world.  We’re going to see it all, though—good, bad and mediocre.  Now follow me, and let’s see if we can’t be a bit more systematic than careening off whenever something catches your capricious eye.”

    Only the surrounding crowds and the dignity he felt, dressed in his eastern finery, kept Little Joe from thrusting his tongue at Adam and his systematic approach.  His expression much like that of a reluctantly obedient puppy, he followed his brother to the north aisle, where Adam had stopped at the first exhibit, that of a company demonstrating how their India rubber boots were made.  “I believe I’ll order a pair, in case it rains,” Adam said, glancing at Joe.

    Little Joe hooted.  “Rain!  We should get so lucky.  It’s been scorching hot ever since we got here and not a cloud in sight!”

    “It can’t stay sunny forever,” Adam pointed out, “and a wise man prepares for rain while the sun shines, not after the storm hits.”

    “An excellent observation, sir,” the company representative said smoothly.  After taking Adam’s order, the salesman turned to his companion.  “How about you, young man?  A wise investment for the protection of one’s footwear.”

“No, thanks,” Joe said, mostly because he didn’t want to squander his meager monies on something he thought it unlikely he would need.  He did, however, enjoy watching the boots being made and tried to memorize every detail of the process, as he would with other exhibits throughout the day, so he could describe it all later for Hoss.

    Moving past small mills for grinding coffee and spices, the Cartwrights next stopped at a model of an old Virginia tobacco factory, which demonstrated how the industry had functioned in the era of slave labor, so recently ended.  Four black men, singing spirituals of the Old South, sat twisting the leaves into rolls and pressing the rolls into plugs for commercial use.  Little Joe was entranced with the plaintive melodies, but for Adam the music and, more particularly, the singers only awakened painful memories, and he tried to hurry Joe along.  Joe looked at him, puzzled, but deciding it was that infernal schedule at fault again, he left that exhibit and moved toward the next.

    Passing the flourmills, the brothers paused briefly to examine a machine making bonbons.  They exchanged a silent smile, words being unnecessary to convey their shared thought of how interested Hoss would be in this particular machine, as well as the one making crackers just beyond it.  Feeling a bit guilty for dragging Joe from the tobacco exhibit for strictly selfish reasons, Adam purchased a small bag of the candy from Whitman and Sons’ exhibit and handed it to his brother.

    Thanking Adam with a bright smile, Joe popped a chocolate in his mouth and mumbled through the creamy filling, “Oh, Hoss would love these, for sure.  They melt right in your mouth.”

    “We’ll see about getting him some right before we leave,” Adam promised; then with one finger he gave Joe’s chocolaty lips a corrective tap.  “And don’t talk with your mouth full.”

    Joe carefully swallowed the contents of his mouth and licked his lips before speaking again.  “Yeah, maybe they’ll have a chance of not melting if we wait ‘til then.”  He wiped his forehead, for the crowded building was even hotter than the sun-baked outdoors, and he was beginning to chafe in the frock coat Adam had insisted he wear.  Noticing the boy’s discomfort, Adam offered to buy him a soda water at the first fountain they came across.

    While Adam watched a machine producing paper, Joe trotted across the aisle to see the fascinating glassblowers at work.  Suddenly, Adam grabbed his arm.  “I thought I told you to stick close to me,” he rebuked sharply.

    “I was five feet away, Adam, for mercy’s sake!” Joe protested.

    Adam favored him with a sardonic smile.  “That’s five feet too far, boy.  Now, stay with me or I’ll get a leash!”

    Joe lifted his front paws, let his tongue hang out and panted like a pup.

    “Oh, behave,” Adam chided, incipient laughter draining force from his words.

    Having reached the west end of the north aisle, Adam turned south for a few paces to reach the north avenue, which was half again as broad as the space for the exhibits they’d previously seen.  Since there was a fountain, advertising Tuft’s Arctic soda water, at its end, he stopped and fulfilled his promise with lemon seltzers for both himself and his brother.

    Refreshed, Little Joe scampered past the exhibit of steam engines and stood, enthralled, before the machinery of the National Suspender Company of New York.  “Hey, Adam,” he called.  “This is really something!  Come look.”

    Shaking his head at the hopelessness of keeping up with Joe without that threatened leash, Adam walked over to see what had grabbed the kid’s attention this time.

    “See, Adam,” Joe said, pointing to the samples of the machine’s finished product on display.  “They can weave your name right in the suspenders.  Pretty spiffy, huh?”

    “Be glad to make up a pair while you watch, young fellow,” the representative suggested.

    “Hey, how about getting a set for the whole family, Adam?” Joe gurgled.  “We could split the cost down the middle.  Put our first names on the right suspender and Cartwright on the left.  What do you think?”

    “Well, it would certainly give people something to gawk at,” Adam snorted.

    “Yeah!” Joe agreed, evidently considering that a good thing.

    Adam, on the other hand, was appalled.  “I’m quite certain we can come up with more appropriate souvenirs for Pa and Hoss than that!  It’s not as if every man, woman and child in Virginia City didn’t already know our names.”

    “Not all of them,” Joe argued.  “There’s twenty thousand people in Virginia City, and some of them have never even heard of the Cartwrights.”

    “Well, they’re not going to learn that way,” Adam declared.

    “Spoilsport,” Joe pouted.

    “Spoiled child,” Adam retorted with the superior air that always infuriated his little brother.

    At odds, they moved on to the exhibit of John A. Roebling’s Sons, where Adam was intrigued by the company’s wire rope and suspension bridge cables.  He viewed with scientific interest the section of cables and the drawings of bridges over Niagara Falls and the Ohio River.

Adam and his bridges, Joe thought as he tapped his foot impatiently.  He was interested, however, in the model of a large merchant ship rigged with the wire rope and wondered if it were anything like the ones his father used to sail.  When he’d examined its every detail and Adam still wasn’t ready to leave, Joe cleared his throat.  “Don’t we have a schedule to keep or something?”

    Adam started, as if unaware of how long he’d been looking at this particular exhibit.  “I suppose so,” he admitted and left reluctantly.

    The next exhibit of looms and cotton machinery held little interest for either boy, except Joe found the lady operating the corset-weaving loom quite attractive and tried to turn on the charm when Adam’s back was turned.  Adam noticed almost at once, however, and quickly moved his younger brother out of temptation’s reach.

    Approaching the exhibit of the Pyramid Pin Company from New Haven, Joe was shock to see a little girl about ten years old operating the machine.  “It’s not right, Adam!” he protested.  “She’s just a kid; she could get hurt.”

    Adam nodded soberly.  “Yes, there should be laws protecting young children from working with dangerous machinery.  I’ve advocated that for years, ever since I lived back here and saw it going on.”

    “I just never realized,” Joe sputtered.  “I mean, I had chores when I was that age, but nothing that could’ve got me hurt.”

    “You seemed to find plenty of ways to do that on your own, without your elders’ putting you at risk,” Adam said, trying to lighten the mood.

    “Oh, Adam, don’t; I’m serious,” Joe protested.

    “I know, buddy,” Adam said sympathetically, “but it’s not a problem you can solve this afternoon.”  Though he was glad to see Joe’s awakening consciousness of social problems, he was freshly reminded of how sensitive the boy could be and didn’t want to see him upset.  “Come on.  I think you’ll really like that next company’s exhibit.”

    Adam was right.  The American Watch Co. of Waltham, Massachusetts, provided just the right distraction for his young brother with its fine array of timepieces.  This is what I’d like to get Pa,” Joe declared animatedly.  “Do you think there’s one I could afford?”

    “Perhaps,” Adam said tentatively, “and these are certainly regarded as the best watches manufactured in America.”  Noting the hungry look in the salesman’s eye, he hurried to add, “but why don’t you save your purchases until you’ve seen all there is to see?”  The salesman’s countenance abruptly dropped.

    Adam couldn’t help noticing that his generous-spirited brother wanted to buy everything he saw for those he loved, whether it was candy for Hoss, a watch for Pa or, perish the thought, gaudy suspenders for all of them.  Knowing that Joe’s pockets were not well padded enough to purchase as largely as his heart might wish, Adam felt an obligation to help the younger boy manage his money.  There was also a less worthy motive behind his admonition, however.  Secretly, Adam hoped to buy his father a nicer watch, perhaps a Swiss one, so he wanted to steer Joe toward something else.  After all, he rationalized, there is no way Joe can afford as fine a watch as I could give Pa, and it’s Pa we should be thinking about.

    Being male, the Cartwright brothers gave only a cursory look at the machine that engraved patterns for embroidery and laces and the same quick appraisal to the carpet exhibits on the opposite side of the avenue.  Moving into the central aisle, they again found little of interest until they reached the fire engines, and Adam feared for a moment that his little brother would climb right up one of those hook and ladder carriages.  To prevent that catastrophe in the making, he moved Joe quickly into the north-south transept of the building and let him worship the Corliss Engine again for a little while before heading into the south avenue.

    Here they came across another exhibit Joe thought Adam would never leave, for his older brother seemed totally absorbed in the work of students from the department of mechanical engineering at Cornell University.  “I heard about this at the convention,” Adam shared by way of apology for his lengthy perusal of the drawings.  “The students really do fine work, don’t you think, Joe?”

    Having no real affinity for drawing of any kind, Joe just shrugged.

    “I don’t suppose you . . .”

    “No!”  Joe almost shouted his outrage at the suggestion.  “One engineer in the family is more than enough.”

    “I suppose so,” Adam murmured, wanting to calm his brother, but clearly disappointed.  Remembering Joe’s previously demonstrated interest in historic artifacts, he directly the boy quickly to the first steam engine brought to the United States.  “Imported from England in 1753 to pump water from a copper mine near Newark,” he said, consulting the exhibit catalogue.

    Peering at the plaque attached to the exhibit, Joe snickered.  “Look, it was called a fire engine back then, Adam.  That means something altogether different now.”

    Pleased to see the improvement in his brother’s mood, Adam smiled.  “Words do change their meaning sometimes.  You’ve read Shakespeare.”

    Joe put his head in his palm, as though in great pain.  “Don’t remind me.”

    Though he knew his brother was only teasing, Adam gave the boy’s skull a solid thump with the heel of his hand.  “I’m only using it as an illustration of how language changes.”

    Joe grinned.  “Yeah, well, if that’s an example, methinks it sure doth!”

    Adam laughed.  “You are determined to remain ignorant, aren’t you, little buddy?”

    “Only because you’re so determined to turn me into you,” Joe countered.

    The accusation continued to bother Adam as they finished viewing the exhibits on the western end of building.  Is that how Joe sees it? he asked himself; then he posed a more troublesome question.  Is that what I’m trying to do?

    “Adam, I’m starving.  Aren’t we ever gonna eat?” Joe asked petulantly.

    Adam didn’t need to consult his watch, for the very fact that the machines were still running indicated it wasn’t noon yet.  His own belly confirmed, however, that it had been a long time since breakfast.  “Sure, buddy, of course we are,” he responded soothingly.  “There’s a restaurant in the central transept that is supposed to have good meals for only fifty cents.  Let’s try that, shall we?”

    “Anything!”

    As they were walking toward the north entrance, where the restaurant was located, they saw a crowd gathered around the Corliss Engine.  “Must be about time to shut it down for the noon rest,” Adam told Joe.  “Want to stick around and see that?”

    “Yeah, I do,” Joe said.  “Why do they shut it down, though?”

    Adam chuckled.  “Well, according to the catalogue, it’s because ‘machines, like men, require repose.’  If you ask me, though, it’s just plain showmanship.”

    Joe grinned and prepared to watch the show.  The giant flywheel slowly stopped turning, and as it did, all the shafts, pulleys, belts and machines in the huge hall came to a clattering halt.  “Think we’ll finish dinner in time to see it start up again?” he asked eagerly.  “We missed that this morning, ‘cause you had to see the old Shoe and Leather Building.”

    Putting an arm around his brother, Adam drew him up the transept toward the dining area.  “Oh, you enjoyed it; you know you did.”

    “Yeah, but I didn’t want to do it first, Adam,” Joe insisted.  “After dinner, let’s watch the machines start up again, okay?”

    “Okay,” Adam agreed.  “Youth must be served, I suppose.”

    Over a hot meal Adam broached the subject of his supposed desire to turn Joe into himself.  “Do you really believe that?” he asked with concern.

    Joe kept his eyes on his plate of roast beef.  “Isn’t that why you’re so keen on my going to college, so I’ll be more like you?”

    Catching the hint of despondency in his brother’s voice, Adam quickly replied, “No, no—at least, I hope not.  Maybe I do sometimes think we’d get on better if we had more in common, but, honestly, Joe, I just want you to be the best person you can be.”

    “Even if it’s not as good as you,” Joe muttered bitterly.

    The allegation rankled, but Adam focused on his brother’s unmistakable heartache, discounting his own.  “I didn’t mean it that way.  You’re a good person, Joe, with many fine qualities, one of which is a sharp mind.  I just hate to see you waste that.”

    Looking up cautiously, Joe asked, “Do you really think I could handle college work?”

    “Of course!” Adam responded without hesitation.  “You haven’t applied yourself as well as you might, but the ability is there, if you ever see the worth of using it.  That’s all I’m after with these visits to schools, just, hopefully, to spark your interest in developing the abilities you have and seeing what you can do with them.  You could be anything you want, Joe!”

    Joe toyed absently with his potatoes and gravy.  “It’s not that I’m against learning, you know.  I’ve been out of school long enough—working long enough, I mean—to realize there’s things I wish I knew more about.”

    “Such as?” Adam probed.

    Joe shrugged as he scooped up a bit of potato.  “You’d just laugh.”

    “No, I wouldn’t, I promise.”

    Joe set the fork full of food down.  “Well, not just the practical things, although I know I could use some more arithmetic and geometry and such,” he began tentatively.  “Besides that, things like, well, history and—and—well, okay, even Shakespeare and the like and what people have thought about long before we came along.”  He stopped, face flushed with embarrassment.

    Adam gazed at him with surprised, but supportive eyes.  “Mathematics, history, literature, philosophy—Joe, don’t you understand that those are the kinds of things you’d be studying in college?”

    “Of course, I understand!  I’m not stupid, remember?” Joe snapped.  “I’m just not sure that going away to school for four years is the best way to learn them—for me, I mean.  I guess it was for you.”

    Adam reached across the table to touch the slender hand fidgeting with the fork.  “Look.  There’s a couple more places in Philadelphia I’d like to show you, and after that I promise not to bring the subject up again.  I do realize that it’s your decision and that what was right for me might not be right for you.”  While he knew those were the right words to say, however, Adam wasn’t certain he really meant them, and by the uncertainty etching his face, neither was his young brother.

    Just outside the restaurant stood a popcorn vender, demonstrating every stage of the preparation of what a sign proclaimed to be “I. L. Baker’s celebrated sugar popcorn,” from popping the corn in a wire basket to mixing it with sugar syrup to hand-shaping it into spheres of patriotic red, white and blue.  “Buy me one?” Joe asked, pointing at the tri-colored balls as they left the restaurant.

    Adam stared at him, incredulous.  “You just ate!  You can’t be hungry.”

    “I want it for later,” Joe insisted.  “It’s a big building, Adam.  I’m bound to get hungry again before we finish, and you don’t want me dragging you back here later, do you?”  He closed the appeal with his captivating, child-like smile, the one women and even older brothers found hard to resist.

    “Oh, all right, little boy,” Adam chuckled, tossing him a silver coin.  “Get a popcorn ball to have on hand.”

    When Joe bounced back to his side, carrying three balls, Adam protested that Joe didn’t need to have that much popcorn within reach to fend off starvation.

“One is for you,” Joe told him with wide-eyed innocence.  “You’re gonna get hungry, too, Adam.”

“Not for that, I’m not!”  Adam sneered.  “You can have every bite of that trashy fodder, little brother.”

    “Oh, well, okay,” Joe said, looking not the least perturbed at the prospect.

    After watching the Corliss Engine start up again, and all the other machines with it, Adam indicated that he wanted to finish the American department before moving on to those of other countries.  He and Joe started east down the north aisle, coming first to a marine exhibit from Massachusetts.  Draped with flags and streamers, the area featured models of steam and sailing vessels: fish schooner, yacht, clipper ship, man-of-war and whaler.  Only when Adam pointed out that none of those represented the type of ship on which their father had sailed could he pull his younger brother away.

    Once he spotted the next exhibit, however, Little Joe was just as absorbed by the new invention for putting printed words on a page.  “How about getting some letters typed and sending them home?” he suggested.  “I know Hoss would get a kick out of it, and probably Pa, too.”

    “All right,” Adam agreed amiably.  “You write one to Hoss and I’ll send one to Pa.”

    The stereotyped letters were, of necessity, impersonal, mostly of the “having a great time, wish you were here” variety, but few people, the Cartwright brothers included, would really have wanted to compose a personal message amid the crowd and clamor of Machinery Hall.  Adam and Joe watched, amazed, as the operator of the typewriter tapped out the words, and they willingly paid the fifty cents charged for each letter, knowing that both Pa and Hoss would treasure the memento of the Centennial.

    Joe proudly held the envelopes with their neatly typed addresses.  “There’s someplace here to mail them, isn’t there?”

    “Yes, right here in the building,” Adam replied.  “This exhibition has been well planned, and almost anything a person might need can be found, from postal boxes to telegraph stations to rolling chairs.”

    Joe laughed.  “At least, we won’t have need of those!  They’re for ladies.”

    “It’s for anyone who needs them,” Adam disagreed.  “I’ve seen an older gentleman or two using them, as`well.”

    “Well, if you’re feeling that old, Adam, I guess I could find the strength to push you around,” Joe tittered, the infectious sound making many a bonneted head turn his direction.  He ducked quickly to dodge the playful cuff Adam aimed at his head.  “You know, if you keep knocking me around like that, you’ll scramble my brains so bad I won’t be able to attend college, even if I take a notion to.”

    Aiming again, Adam clipped the side of Joe’s head this time.  “Actually, it will probably take a few more good licks to settle your scrambled wits back in working order,” he observed dryly.

    Joe scampered out of reach, stopping before the working presses of the New York Herald.  Adam picked up a gratuitous copy of the newspaper, printed in Machinery Hall every afternoon, from stereoplates sent down from New York on an early train, while Joe watched the presses, whose continual action contrasted markedly with the nearby exhibit of the hand press Benjamin Franklin had used as a journeyman printer on his first trip to London.

    At the end of the aisle was another soda fountain, and while Joe deposited their letters in a nearby letterbox, Adam bought them each a refreshing drink.  Joe nibbled on one of his popcorn balls between sips of spruce beer and declared it delicious.  “Sure you don’t want yours, Adam?”

     “I’m sure,” Adam replied, chuckling as Joe promptly bit into a second one.  Where was the kid putting it all?

    Next to the Tuft’s soda fountain, the Otis Elevator Company demonstrated its lifting mechanism.  “I want you to examine this carefully, Joe,” Adam directed.  “If you understand the safety features, maybe you’ll be less afraid.”

    “I’m not afraid,” Joe insisted defensively.

    Though he knew differently, Adam didn’t argue the point.  He merely asked the sales representative to explain the elevator’s safety features for his brother.

Joe tried to act disinterested, but he was, in fact, listening intently, and though still unwilling to acknowledge his fear, he did feel somewhat better about rising rooms after hearing how much had been done to keep them from falling with a load of passengers.

    Next down the line was the Phoenix Manufacturing Company of Paterson, New Jersey.  While neither boy was much interested in seeing the Jacquard loom at work, Adam purchased Centennial silk bookmarks for Pa and Hoss, and in a burst of enthusiasm bought Centennial badges for himself and Joe.

    As Adam pinned the badge to his brother’s vest, Joe asked, “Won’t this make people gawk?”

    Adam guffawed.  “Not as much as those suspenders you wanted!  Three quarters of the people here are wearing Centennial badges.  I thought you’d want to fit in.”

    Joe waved his hand from side to side.  “Me?  Oh, no, big brother.  You’re the one always worrying about fitting in with these eastern dudes!”  Looking down at the red, white and blue symbol of the Centennial, though, he smiled, and that was thanks enough for his older brother.

    “I’m kind of tired,” Adam said.  “You want to take a rest?”

    “Where?” Joe asked, not seeing any chairs in the vicinity.

    “In the Hydraulic Annex,” Adam suggested.  “It should be cooler in there.”

    Joe closed his eyes and sighed.  “If there’s a cool spot in this whole building, lead me to it, big brother.”

    “Come along, then, little brother,” Adam chuckled.  Taking Joe’s arm, he walked to the southern end of the transept, tugging Joe along when the younger boy’s steps slowed as they once again passed the Corliss Engine.  Entering the annex, the Cartwright brothers approached a double row of benches surrounding the main attraction, known as the Cataract, the spray of whose arching jets of water cascaded into a basin ten feet deep.  They were fortunate to find a seat in the front row, where a fine mist of water occasionally touched their hot faces.

    Leaning back, both boys relished the refreshing coolness, and as Joe bit into his third popcorn ball, he declared the Cataract the best part of the entire building.

     “Surely not better than the Corliss Engine,” Adam scoffed.  “You’re just hot.”

    “Aren’t you?” Joe asked with just a hint of whine.

    “Sweltering,” Adam acknowledged.  “I must admit, right now this is the best part of the whole building.”

    Joe leaned forward, so the jets of water would be sure to mist his face.  “I’m tempted to take off my shoes and soak my feet in that cool water.”

    “Don’t you dare,” Adam warned in slow, emphatic syllables.

    Joe grinned.  “I was joking, but my feet are mighty hot and tired.”

    “Yeah, mine, too,” Adam commiserated.  “Only about a third of the building left to go, though.  Time to see what the other countries of the world have to offer in machinery.”

    Joe groaned as he stood.  “Might as well get to it, then, I guess.”

    As they were leaving the annex, Adam’s broad shoulders brushed against a portly man just entering.  “I’m sorry,” he apologized.

    “Think nothing of it, sir,” the man said and then stopped, staring up into Adam’s face.  “Cartwright?” he asked, as he grabbed Adam by both arms.  “It is you!”

    Adam looked at the man until he grew embarrassed.  “I’m sorry, sir, but I’m afraid you have the advantage of me,” he admitted reluctantly.

    “I’m not surprised that you don’t recognize me,” the man said, patting his florid face with a handkerchief of white Irish linen, “but perhaps you’ll recognize the name of B. L. Morganstern?”

    “Bert!” Adam exclaimed.  “Of course.  I’m so sorry I didn’t recognize you at once.  Must be the facial hair.  You were clean shaven when I knew you.”  And considerably thinner, he added to himself.

    Morganstern stroked the narrow tuft of hair gracing his chin, which contrasted with the broad mustache that drooped down to his jaw line.  “Ah, yes, man of business needs a more distinguished look, don’t you think?”

    Adam chuckled.  “Where I come from, fair business practices do more to advance a man’s career than his appearance, my friend.”

    “Yes, yes, of course,” the other man agreed at once.  “You’re not still hiding your talents in God-forsaken Nevada, are you?”

    Adam laid his hand on Bert’s shoulder.  “We think of Nevada as God’s country, I’ll have you know.  And you?  Still working with our old firm in New York?”

    “Oh, no, not at all,” Bert replied.  “Moved home to Philadelphia several years ago, when my older brother and his wife died, so I could help my parents look after his children.  It’s been providential for my career, I must say.  Amazing opportunities for Philadelphia architects lately.”

    “Did you have any part in designing the Centennial buildings?” Adam asked eagerly.

    The chest of the shorter man puffed with pride.  “I’ll have you know, old comrade, that I’m working under the main architect for the Centennial, Mr. H. J. Schwarzmann himself.”

    Adam could barely contain his excitement and envy.  “Oh, what an opportunity!  Are any of the designs yours?”

    Morganstern shrugged.  “A couple of the minor buildings.  Mostly, I acted as assistant to Mr. Schwarzmann.

    “I’m very proud for you,” Adam said warmly.  “I always said you had great potential in the field.”

    “Yours was greater,” his old friend responded.  “Have you managed to put it to any use at all out West?”

    “Some.  Not as much as I’d like,” Adam admitted.

    “How long are you in town?” Morganstern queried.

“Through mid-July.”

Morganstern looked pleased.  “If you’re free, come to dinner tomorrow evening, Adam, and we’ll make a night of it—at the opera, perhaps.  I’ll invite Schwarzmann, as well.  I know you’d enjoy meeting him and he, you.”

    Adam beamed with enthusiasm.  “That sounds wonderful, but I’m here with my brother.”

    For the first time the architect appeared to notice the young man fidgeting beside his former co-worker.  “Oh, of course.  Well, bring the lad along.  I presume any brother of yours must share your love of the arts.”

    “That’s presuming a lot, mister,” Joe declared, rankled at being ignored throughout the lengthy conversation.

    With eyes sharp as knives, Adam glared at his brother.  “My brother and I would be honored to accept, and we thank you for your gracious invitation.”  After exchanging addresses, Morganstern continued into the Hydraulic Annex, while Adam took fierce hold of his brother’s biceps and dragged him into an isolated corner of one of the less popular exhibits.  “How dare you insult my friend that way!” he snapped.

    Little Joe was momentarily cowed by the fierceness of his brother’s anger.  “I wasn’t trying to insult him,” he insisted, “but he was presuming a lot, thinking you and me were just alike.”

    Seething, Adam unconsciously tightened his grip on Joe’s arm.  “Oh, and you’re bound and determined that everyone in Philadelphia knows the difference, aren’t you?”

    Joe jerked his arm, but couldn’t break free.  “What do you mean, lecturing me on my manners?” he demanded indignantly.  “What about your own?  You didn’t even introduce me!”

Adam released Joe’s arm and took a step back.  “All right, I was remiss in that.  I apologize, but it scarcely excuses your behavior.”

“And that apology comes too late to excuse yours,” Joe sputtered.  “How could you tell him I’d come without even asking me?”

    Adam folded his arms across his chest and stared his brother down.  “Because I am in charge of your activities for the duration of this trip east, boy—a charge given me by Pa, and you had best remember that.  You will go where I say and do what I say, and that’s all there is to it.  Now, is that clear?”

    Remembering his promise to Pa to accept Adam’s authority, Joe bit back the hot words ready to spew from his mouth.  “Yes, that’s clear,” he grunted through gritted teeth.

    “Fine, let’s try to enjoy the remainder of our tour through this building, then,” Adam said.  “We’ll begin with the exhibits from Great Britain.”

    A white-lettered, red banner, suspended from the roof marked the area devoted to machinery from Great Britain, whose exhibits amounted to one-third of those sent by foreign countries to the United States’ Centennial.   In sullen silence the Cartwright brothers made their way down one aisle and up the next, coming to the most interesting exhibit near the spot where the central aisle met the north-south transept.  Here a model of a railway junction illustrated the English system of managing railway switches.  To understand it fully, Adam intently studied the photos and drawings provided.

Joe, on the other hand, grew bored as soon as he’d given the miniature railway a good look and inched over to the next exhibit, that of the London Times.  A working press was set up, but not being able to readily receive news from London, the British newspaper had formed a temporary partnership with the New York Times and was printing that for free distribution to exhibition goers each day.  While he was waiting for Adam to finish with his eternal examination of the railway drawings, Joe picked up a copy of the paper and scanned the front page.

    Passing steam engines and cranes, spool-winding machines and looms, the boys finally came to the world’s largest sewing machine.  Ordinarily, a sewing machine would have held no appeal for men, but this one was used to make sails for the ships of Glasgow, and both Adam and Joe were reminded of their father’s sailing days as they watched the machine in operation.

    The German exhibits, butted up against the English department, were dominated by the huge Krupp guns, twelve-hundred-pound breech-loaders.  “I understand one’s already been sold to Turkey, for use in their current war,” Adam commented, finally deigning to speak to his brother.

    Joe wasn’t as ready to bury the hatchet.  “Do tell,” he muttered sarcastically.

    Adam shrugged and moved on.  Why bother?  Little Joe was obviously still too much a child to understand the massive destruction such a gun could inflict, while Adam’s own memory of what cannons could do to men was still far too vivid.  Privately, he was glad that his little brother had no such point of reference.  The kid might irritate the life out of him on an almost daily basis, but Adam’s first instinct remained to protect that youthful innocence, as he’d done all his life.

    Joe’s attitude perked up considerably when they entered the French section.  Stopping at the exhibit of Beyer Brothers of Paris, he hinted for a taste test, alleging that they only wanted to take the best home to Hoss.

    Adam shook his head, but bought a few bonbons, hoping to appease the infant he’d been saddled with—by my own choice, he was forced to admit.

    Little Joe bit into a cherry cordial and declared forcefully that French chocolates were vastly superior to those of the Philadelphia confectioner they’d sampled earlier.  “And Hoss would bear me out in this,” he added for emphasis.

    Adam gave him a sour smile.  “Are you sure it isn’t just that they cost more, little buddy?  Don’t think I haven’t noticed that your taste runs to the most expensive item on any menu!”

    Joe’s gaze dropped to the floor.  That was exactly what he had been doing, of course, to make Adam pay for not wanting him along on the trip.  He refused to acknowledge his fault, however, because he was still mad about the high-handed way Adam had treated him earlier.  He’s the reason some folks call us Cartwrights high and mighty.  Just plain full of himself!

    The boys worked their way through the final two aisles of Machinery Hall, quickly viewing the exhibits of Belgium, Sweden, Russia and Brazil.  The machines, though somewhat different, were beginning to run together, especially for Joe, who told himself that even Hoss, the Cartwright most likely to be drawn to any new invention, would have had enough by now.  “Is that it for today?” Joe asked when they’d seen the final exhibit.

    “It can be,” Adam replied, noting the weary tone of Joe’s voice, “or if you prefer, we could ha