"Oh, Dave, I--I--ca--can't help it," she murmured. "I--I--think so--so--much of--of--you!" and then, for the moment, she hid her face on his shoulder. Mr. Porter had a few words of advice to give, and he had hardly finished when the train rolled into the station. Then Dave shook hands with his father, and kissed each of the girls, and climbed on board. "Good-bye, my son!" called Mr. Porter. "Good-bye, Dad! Take care of yourself while I'm gone," he shouted back. "Good-bye, Laura! Good-bye, Jessie!" "Good-bye, Dave!" returned the sister, waving her hand. Jessie tried to speak but could not, and so she too waved a farewell. Then the train rolled from the Crumville station, slowly gathering speed, and finally disappearing in the distance. At last our hero was off to become a full-fledged civil engineer. CHAPTER XX IN NEW YORK CITY "Dave Porter!" "Buster Beggs!" cried our hero, his face lighting up. "Where in the world did you come from?" "Just got off the accommodation coming the other way," announced Joseph Beggs, otherwise known as Buster, a fat youth who had long been one of Dave's Oak Hall classmates. "Are you alone?" questioned our hero. He had just stepped from the local train to change to the express for New York City; and he had fairly run into Buster, who was standing on the platform flanked by several suitcases. "No, I'm not alone," answered the fat youth. "Shadow Hamilton and Luke Watson are with me." "You don't say so!" and our hero's face showed his pleasure. "Are you bound for New York?" he questioned quickly. "Yes, we are going to take the express." "Fine! I am going there myself." "Got a seat in the parlor car?" "Yes. Number twelve, car two." "Isn't that wonderful! We have eleven, thirteen and fourteen!" answered Buster Beggs. "Hello there, Dave Porter!" shouted another youth, as he stepped out of the waiting-room of the depot. "How are you anyway?" and he came up, swinging a banjo-case from his right hand to his left so that he might shake hands. Luke Watson had always been one of the favorite musicians at Oak Hall, playing the banjo and the guitar very nicely, and singing well. "Mighty glad to see you, Luke!" cried Dave, and wrung the extended hand with such vigor that the former musician of Oak Hall winced. Then Dave looked over the other's shoulder and saw a third lad approaching--a youth who was as thin as he was tall. "How is our little boy, Shadow, to-day?" he continued, as Maurice Hamilton came closer. "Great Scott! Am I blind or is it really Dave Porter?" burst out Shadow Hamilton. "No, you're not blind, Shadow, and it's really yours truly," laughed Dave. And then as another handshake followed he continued: "What are you going down to New York City for? To pick up some new stories?" "Pick up stories?" queried the former story teller of Oak Hall, in perplexity. "I don't have to pick them up. I have--" "About fourteen million stories in pickle," broke in Buster Beggs.