Wild bunch A detail of the Buffalo Bill scene from the Wild West section of the Toy Soldiers Gallery.

Photograph: The Forbes Collection, New York. All rights reserved.

My three-year-old son, William, and I were in the middle of a brawl. No, we weren’t competing in a parent-toddler test of wills, but rather peering at a Wild West showdown, just one attraction in the expansive toy exhibit at the Forbes Galleries. “Look, cowboys!” William exclaimed, pointing to a glass-encased diorama filled with vintage miniature covered wagons, befeathered warriors and all manner of buckaroo.

Nestled on the ground floor of the Forbes publishing headquarters in Greenwich Village, this toy trove maintains a low profile even among the most culturally savvy parents. Apart from William’s enthusiastic outbursts, the piped-in theme from The Lone Ranger was the only sound we heard during our visit. It was almost too good to be true: We had the exhibit to ourselves.

Unhampered by crowds, we headed for the Forbes family’s personal collection of more than 500 toy boats, dating from the 1870s through the 1950s. The paper, cast-iron and tin crafts captured my son’s attention; he was particularly impressed with an underwater scene of submarines, divers and the sunken Lusitania.

In another room, he thrilled to see several thousand toy soldiers, from inch-high Aztecs battling Spanish conquistadors to jousting knights and battalions from various eras. My son is too young to appreciate the history these toys depict, but I hope to bring him back in a few years to examine the likenesses of Cleopatra, Napoleon and George Washington.

The colorful galleries are more than a repository of childhood relics. William and I were delighted to find all 40 original drawings from the recently published Beastly Feasts! A Mischievous Menagerie in Rhyme at the temporary exhibit of the same name. Already dog-eared at my house, the book is filled with playful verses detailing the adventures of assorted animals, penned by family scion Robert L. Forbes. Master caricaturist Ronald Searle, 87, whose more adult work is installed in a different room, enlivens Forbes’s creatures through prismatic crayon, pastel pencil and watercolor illustrations. My son’s favorite rendering, “The Ginger Tub Tabby,” shows a more-than-plump cat chowing down on supersized fish pies.

Our final stop—a display dedicated to remarkable athletic feats—offered a healthy contrast to Forbes’s and Searle’s ode to gluttony. “Olympic Gold, 1908–2006: The Ultimate Achievement of a Life in Sports” holds an assemblage of first-place medals earned by 51 Olympic and Paralympic athletes throughout the past century. The winners also contributed personal objects that recall their challenges and triumphs. Gymnast Shannon Miller’s baby booties (a bar was attached to each shoe in an attempt to straighten her pigeon toes) are among the keepsakes.

The Forbes Galleries may not harbor the interactive “wow” factor of larger—and often mobbed—Manhattan institutions, but the collections kept my son entranced for a solid hour, even as we made our exit. Transfixed by one of artist George Rhoads’s audiokinetic sculptures—a wall-mounted maze in which metal balls travel up pulleys, through tubes and across wires, ringing bells along the way—William refused to move past the door. The only way I could get him to leave was by promising we would visit again. Happily, with admission to the Forbes Galleries completely free, that’s a promise I can painlessly keep.