MacWilliams was a type with which Clay was intimately familiar, but to the college-bred Langham he was a revelation and a joy. He came from some little town in the West, and had learned what he knew of engineering at the transit's mouth, after he had first served his apprenticeship by cutting sage-brush and driving stakes. His life had been spent in Mexico and Central America, and he spoke of the home he had not seen in ten years with the aggressive loyalty of the confirmed wanderer, and he was known to prefer and to import canned corn and canned tomatoes in preference to eating the wonderful fruits of the country, because the former came from the States and tasted to him of home. He had crowded into his young life experiences that would have shattered the nerves of any other man with a more sensitive conscience and a less happy sense of humor; but these same experiences had only served to make him shrewd and self-confident and at his ease when the occasion or difficulty came. 

 He pulled meditatively on his pipe and considered Langham's question deeply, while Clay and the younger boy sat with their arms upon their knees and waited for his decision in thoughtful silence. 

 "I'd like to go to the theatre, too," said MacWilliams, with an air as though to show that he also was possessed of artistic tastes.  "I'd like to see a comical chap I saw once in '80—oh, long ago—before I joined the P. Q. & M. He WAS funny. His name was Owens; that was his name, John E. Owens—" 

 "Oh, for heaven's sake, MacWilliams," protested Langham, in dismay; "he's been dead for five years." 

 "Has he?" said MacWilliams, thoughtfully.  "Well—" he concluded, unabashed, "I can't help that, he's the one I'd like to see best." 

 "You can have another wish, Mac, you know," urged Langham, "can't he, Clay?" 

 Clay nodded gravely, and MacWilliams frowned again in thought. "No," he said after an effort, "Owens, John E. Owens; that's the one I want to see." 

 "Well, now I want another wish, too," said Langham.  "I move we can each have two wishes. I wish—" 

 "Wait until I've had mine," said Clay.  "You've had one turn. I want to be in a place I know in Vienna. It's not hot like this, but cool and fresh. It's an open, out-of-door concert-garden, with hundreds of colored lights and trees, and there's always a breeze coming through. And Eduard Strauss, the son, you know, leads the orchestra there, and 

 Prev. P 24/177 next