Book 11 Read online

  Before Matt could answer Samson did his best whine and the time traveler broke the cookie in half and passed the vanilla half to the dog. “I once heard that chocolate is bad for a dog.” Needless to say, it was finished in one bite.

  The baker laughed and said as he wrapped up Matt’s order, “Funny how you ask for black and white cookies and your dog is mostly black and white.”

  “Yes, it is indeed. Everything smells so good I’ll just look around and see what else I might bring home.”

  “Please do, my friend.”

  The small bell sounded again as the front door opened and a man came in carrying a stuffed pillowcase. He was portly with a thick black and gray mustache and his dark gray fedora, suit and overcoat gave him the appearance of a businessman.

  “Ahh, John,” he said to the baker, “good to see you again.”

  “Hello, Morris. Yes, it’s been a long time,” the baker replied as he peered over the glass display case. “What do you have for me this time, my friend.”

  Morris looked at Matt and then back at the baker who smiled and said, “Please feel free to talk, as Matt is a friend of mine.”

  The man smiled and said as he offered his hand to the time traveler, “Morris Michtom, Matt,” he said, “a friend of John’s is a friend of mine.”

  “Matt Worthington. Pleased to meet you, Morris.”

  John came from around the counter and said as he shook his friend’s hand, “Morris brings me toys that he makes at home and I help him by displaying them in my store. He also displays them in his own store, but better to have them in two different stores miles apart than just in one store.”

  “And if this one sells, it will be the first one,” quipped his friend.”

  “So,” asked John as he rubbed his hands together in anticipation, “what have you brought me today, Morris”?

  Morris reached into the pillowcase and pulled out a brown, stuffed bear cub with buttons for eyes. “This,” he said setting the toy bear on the display case.”

  John grinned like a little boy and said, “Morris, this is different than anything you’ve done before. What do we call it?”

  Morris shrugged and said, “All I called it, was the toy bear.”

  Matt’s eyebrows furrowed as he thought, Morris Michtom. There’s something about that name. Suddenly he snapped his fingers and said, “Sir, am I correct in saying that you have been inspired to make the toy bear after seeing a cartoon of President Theodore Roosevelt in the newspapers?”

  The man’s mouth opened in surprise as he answered, “Yes. He was hunting and his friends found a black bear exhausted from being chased by hounds and knocked the poor animal out, tied it to a tree and offered it to Roosevelt, who refused to shoot the tied-up animal as it was unsportsmanlike.”

  Credit: Clifford Berryman, The Washington Post

  Matt offered, “My friend, if I may be so bold as to propose a different name for the toy.”

  Morris shrugged and asked, “And, pray tell, what would that be, sir?”

  “Why not simply call it a ‘Teddy Bear’? It’s a play on Theodore.”

  “Teddy Bear,” mumbled Morris as he looked at his toy, “It is right to the point, sir. What do you think, John?”

  “I think Matt has named your toy, Morris. Especially since the cartoon has been seen all over the newsstands. It’s almost like the newspapers have done all of the advertising for you.”

  Morris looked at the toy then at Matt and with a big smile said, “Teddy Bear! Yes, I like that. How can I thank you, sir?”

  “May I purchase this one?”

  “Please,” said the toy maker, “take it free of charge. In fact,” he added as he stuffed the toy back into the pillowcase, “carry it home in this case, lest people think you to be sleepwalking.”

  “I shall place it for all to see,” Matt said as he turned to the baker, “John, I now have all I can carry and still keep Samson from chasing birds. How much?”

  “72 cents, sir.”

  Matt paid the baker, shook hands with both men and left the store with a bag of black and white cookies and the first of hundreds of thousands of Teddy Bears. He motioned to the cab driver that he was stopping in the candy store three doors down and, getting a nod of understanding, he walked to the small store on the corner and entered. Sitting at the short marble counter was the seventy-four year-old owner, David Baiser. He was sipping on a Vanilla Egg Cream soda.

  Looking in the mirror the owner saw that it was Matt who entered. “Greetings, Matt.”

  “Good afternoon, David,” said Matt as he pulled the door closed behind him. He grinned to himself as the outside wind easily slipped under the old wooden door and blew some candy wrappers down the length of the store. Past the tin, ice-filled soda cooler at end of the store was a set of curtains that the breeze parted to show Mrs. Baiser sitting at a small table cutting up a piece of Gefilte fish.

  “David,” she called out without looking up, “you must fix that door. We’re losing heat.”

  David shrugged and said to Matt, in a low voice, “I tell her to put a sweater on, but I think she’d rather have something to talk about.”

  Matt smiled and offered some advice; “Back in London my mother would wet a sheet of newspaper and jam it between the spaces. Being wet it filled the space nicely and when it dried it was form-fitting in the space.”

  The elderly man shrugged his shoulders, “She’ll find something else for me to do, but thank you, my friend. I’ll try it out.” He turned the round stool he sat on, pulled the threadbare button-front sweater tight and said as he faced Matt, “So, my friend, what can I get for you today?”

  “A bottle of Manhattan Special soda.”

  David walked to the cooler, lifted one of the two doors on top, reached in and pulled out a quart-size bottle of the dark brown, espresso coffee soda. He wiped the wet bottle off with a towel that was tied to the bottle opener on the side of the icebox and put the bottle in a brown paper bag as he shuffled back to the front of the store where Matt and Samson stood.

  “My biggest seller,” he said as he handed Matt the bottle and added, “And the soda that’s been around since 1895.”

  “Am I correct,” asked Matt as he handed the storeowner a dollar bill, “in saying that it is manufactured right here in Brooklyn?”

  “Yes. In the Williamsburg section.” He gave Matt the change.

  Samson suddenly spotted an alley cat and tried to drag Matt right through the glass door to chase it.

  “Best we be off, David. Good seeing you again.”

  “Come back soon, my friend.”

  Matt opened the door and smiled as the curtain at the end of the store flew open with the breeze. He pulled his overcoat tight and returned to the waiting cab. Looking up and seeing an empty seat, he looked around and saw his driver talking to a cab driver of a 1902 Baker Torpedo. As it was the first car to have an aerodynamic body that enclosed both the driver and passengers, it was quickly getting a crowd, one of which was Matt and Samson.

  Matt knew that at a later point in time this model reached 80 miles-per-hour in a speed test before crashing and killing two spectators. It was later clocked as high as 120 mph, but with spectators not invited this time. His driver saw him and they walked together back to their carriage.

  “Do you think that it will catch on, sir?” the driver asked.

  “They absolutely will, sir,” answered Matt, “Are you are a man that takes advice easily, sir?”

  “I am as I must be for I have a wife and a five-year old daughter and as I drive as often as I can, I have no time to dwell on my future.”

  “Then hear me out for what I tell you will happen as sure as the sun rises. Take driving lessons, get yourself a license and switch to a battery-driven cab and when the internal engine is perfected, take driving lessons once again and switch to that type of vehicle.”

  As they pulled up to the garden of the 1800 Club Matt paid the driver and added a twenty-dollar bill. “Sir, if you truly wis
h to learn how to drive a motor vehicle, take off tomorrow and use this tip to take the driving instructions.

  And,” he said as he passed him the pillowcase with the Teddy Bear in it, “Take this and give it to your little girl. Believe me when I tell you that it is the very first Teddy Bear and you will soon read about them in the newspapers. I suggest that you have a photograph taken of it with today’s newspaper that shows the date so you will have positive proof that it was the first of many. This one is going to be worth lots of money very soon so ask her to keep it in good condition and when she has grown out of playing with it, look into selling it for you and your family.”

  The driver was speechless and Matt saw that the stiff wind caused his eyes to tear up. He grinned and opened the gate to the 1800 Club and 2014.

  DATELINE: MARCH 9, 2014 PLACE: THE 1800 CLUB, NEW YORK CITY

  Bill Scott depressed the thumb indent at the end of the silver cylinder and placed it on the 1854 Victorian Parlor table, which he referred to as his coffee table. The cherry wood, oval shaped table always seemed the best place to activate the hologram as the white and light blue veined marble insert always gave the hologram the look of a stage. As a six-inch Jerry Sullivan appeared standing on the cool marble top, the door behind Bill opened and Matt and Samson entered. Seeing that Bill had a hologram activated, Matt escorted the beagle out of the room.

  “Greetings from the Time Watcher’s Group, Bill,” said Jerry as he started to pace the tabletop. “Bill, I’m sure that you’ve heard of Nellie Bly, well this case is about her and her trip around the world. Because she disappears before the race, she loses the race and if this glitch in time is allowed to become a reality, not only will she disappear, but she will never do any of the wonderful things that she did in her lifetime.” The small figure stopped, pushed back his long curly hair and went on, this time pacing the opposite way.

  “Bill, at the end of this hologram is her timeline: things that she did to change the world for the better. We feel that she is worth sending someone back because her trip around the world made her a household name and because of that, people listened when she talked about programs that needed changing and a host of other things. We’ve narrowed her disappearance to a trip she took aboard the Coastal Steamer, Brooklyn on October 20, 1889 leaving from Pier 21 at 10:00 a.m. She was going to get off in Georgia and take another coastal steamer back to New York. She wanted to see if she got seasick before boarding the Augusta Victoria, which would take her on the first leg of her around-the-world trip. The theory is that she got seasick and leaned on a railing that gave way ending her life.” He looked down at his notes as he continued, “We would like you to set up a rescue mission and prevent her from falling overboard. As usual, Bill, anything you need, just ask. Good luck from the group uptime.”

  Bill sat back, looked at the large bookcase that covered one long wall of the den, got up and started to scan the books. He ran his finger down one of the columns and stopped at a book, which he pulled out and returned to his seat. The cover illustration showed two women dressed for a trip: Bly and Bisland. It was titled: Eighty Days: Nellie Bly and Elizabeth Bisland’s History-Making Race Around the World by Matthew Goodman.

  After scanning the back cover, Bill opened to the first page as a tap on the door announced Matt with a tray of black and white cookies and a large bottle of Manhattan Special along with Bill’s Donald Duck mug.

  “Perfect timing, Matt.”

  “A mission, sir?”

  “Yep! Edmund left not too long ago.”

  “And have you decided to take this one yourself or assign one of the club members?”

  Bill shrugged and answered as he picked up a cookie, “Well it has to do with a steamer and as an ex-SEAL I should take this one.” He took a bite, rolled his eyes and said, “Matt, please take one.”

  “Actually, sir, I have a few for later.”

  Bill grinned, “Good for you.”

  Matt inquired, “Do you know what season and year you have to travel to?”

  “Bill nodded, “October 20, 1889. I have to get a ticket for the coastal steamer, Brooklyn that leaves at 10:00 a.m. from Pier 21 in Manhattan.”

  “Very well, sir. When do you wish to leave here?”

  “Tomorrow morning should do it.”

  “You are scheduled to have dinner with Messrs John Brand and Rocko Perna this evening so I’ll outfit you after they leave, sir.”

  “That’s great, Matt,” he said as he pointed at the book, “I’m going to read up on the mission before dinner.”

  Matt started to leave, turned back and said, “Sir, the menu you requested for this evening: do you wish to change it in any way?”

  Getting nothing more than a smile and a shake of Bill’s head, Matt shrugged and said as he left the room, “Very well, sir. Dinner at eight.”

  As Bill got dressed for dinner, he reflected on his friendship with club members John Brand and Rocko Perna. Both of them had gone back on a tough mission for Bill and the club and both had completed their mission. It seemed natural to become more than just club members with them as all three shared the same secret: time travel. At the club dinners the three acted as though they were nothing more than club members chatting with the club’s president, however, after the club members who had not made a trip back on a mission went home, the three time travelers dropped their guard and chatted about their personal trips back in time including a vacation they went on together to Europe.

  An hour later, Bill, John and Rocko sat at the table centered in the apartment’s alcove, which gave them a spectacular view of downtown Manhattan, Brooklyn and New Jersey. Because the moonless night was so dark, the lights from the thousands of windows blended with the lights of millions of stars which gave the impression of there being no horizon at all just a sky full of stars that filled their windows.

  The light that fought back the darkness in the alcove was an antique Tiffany kerosene table lamp that sat in the center of the table. The round shade was decorated with flowering plants, curving branches, delicate leaves and almond shaped petals of many hues, which glowed like jewels when illuminated from within. The bronze base depicted sprouting flowers that rose up to the delicate neck where it was covered by the round shade. The flickering of the kerosene flame guaranteed a constant change of color and drew everyone’s attention to it. The table it sat upon was an 1880 Victorian Four Sided Drop Leaf with turned pedestal and arched tripod legs.

  “Bill,” asked John as the light of the lamp gave his blond hair a touch of red and yellow, “the lamp is beautiful.”

  “Yes. It just arrived from the factory three days ago.”

  “It’s a Tiffany, right?” asked Rocko as he ran his finger along the base.

  “Yep. Matt ordered it a week ago . . .” Bill paused and said, “Wait. Let me start at the beginning. Matt was shopping back in 1898 and saw an advertisement for a mail-order lamp. The company’s name was Tiffany and he recognized it as one of the best in the world. Anyway, Tiffany had started a mail order catalog, called the Blue Book, way back in 1845 and he found the lamp he thought would be perfect for this room and ordered it. The advertisement stated that it would take seven work days for it to arrive and Matt simply went back seven days later and waited on the club’s front stoop for the horse-drawn delivery.”

  The door to the room opened and Matt entered carrying a silver platter. On it was a large covered soup tureen and four smaller covered porcelain bowls. ”Dinner is served, sirs,” he said as he placed the tray on the table. He stood back and said to Bill with a rather smug look, “Perhaps, sir, you would like to remove the covers?”

  John and Rocko looked at each other as Bill said, “Great idea, Matt. After all, I did push for this special New York dinner.”

  “That you did, sir. That you did.”

  Bill lifted the cover and almost immediately the room smelled of frankfurters.

  “Dirty-water dogs!” said John wide-eyed. “My favorite!”

  Matt looked sur
prised as Rocko added, “Man, Bill, this is a great surprise!”

  Matt watched as Bill opened the other covered deep dishes and said: “Mustard, onions, relish and hotdog rolls.”

  John was the first to place a frankfurter on a split roll, smear it with mustard, relish and onions and take a bite. He closed his eyes as he savored the frank on a roll that has been known as a New York Dirty-Water Dog for years.

  “Matt,” John said, “can you give me the recipe?”

  “Sir,” asked Matt, “Am I correct in saying that the name came from the fact that the wieners are cooked in water rather than on a grill?”

  Bill shook his head yes, “Yep. The fast food vendors in New York City push their pushcarts around as they cook the wieners in water. As they sell one they replace it with another in the same water and after a while the juices and fats from the earlier ones give them a certain flavor. Using the same water all day is how they got the nickname, ‘Dirty-Water Dogs’.”

  “But,” added Rocko as he took a bite of his, “there is nothing better tasting that a lunch at a New York City pushcart that serves Dirty-Water Dogs.”

  “And,” added Bill as he reached into a small cooler hidden behind the curtain of one of the windows, “what’s the best way to wash them down?” He placed a case of Rheingold beer on the table much to John and Rocko’s delight.

  Matt opened three cans and was shocked when the three men turned down the long-neck Pilsner glasses he offered and instead drank straight from the cans.

  He shrugged his shoulders and headed towards the door. “Should you gentlemen need anything, please call. I have to set up a trip,” he closed the door behind himself.

  It was Rocko who first caught what Matt had said. He looked at Bill and said, “He has to set up a trip? Is there a mission happening, Bill?”

  “I was going to tell you guys tonight. Yes, there is a trip back to New York City in 1889 but everything points at me going on this one. It might take some swimming.”