STRIVE AND SUCCEED

OR

THE PROGRESS OF WALTER CONRAD

BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.

AUTHOR OF “ERIE TRAIN BOY,” “YOUNG ACROBAT,”
“ONLY AN IRISH BOY,” “BOUND TO RISE,”
“STRONG AND STEADY,” “JULIUS,
THE STREET BOY,” ETC.

NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS

------------------------------------------------------------------------

ALGER SERIES FOR BOYS.
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.

Adrift in New York.
A Cousin’s Conspiracy.
Andy Gordon.
Andy Grant’s Pluck.
Bob Burton.
Bound to Rise.
Brave and Bold.
Cash Boy.
Chester Rand.
Do and Dare.
Driven from Home.
Erie Train Boy.
Facing the World.
Five Hundred Dollars.
Frank’s Campaign.
Grit.
Hector’s Inheritance.
Helping Himself.
Herbert Caster’s Legacy.
In a New World.
Jack’s Ward.
Jed, the Poor House Boy.
Joe’s Luck.
Julius, the Street Boy.
Luke Walton.
Making His Way.
Mark Mason.
Only an Irish Boy.
Paul, the Peddler.
Phil, the Fiddler.
Ralph Raymond’s Heir.
Risen from the Ranks.
Sam’s Chance.
Shifting for Himself.
Sink or Swim.
Slow and Sure.
Store Boy.
Strive and Succeed.
Strong and Steady.
Struggling Upward.
Tin Box.
Tom, the Bootblack.
Tony, the Tramp.
Try and Trust.
Wait and Hope.
Walter Sherwood’s Probation.
Young Acrobat.
Young Adventurer.
Young Outlaw.
Young Salesman.

Price, Post-Paid, 35c. each, or any three books for $1.00.

HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

TO

MY YOUNG FRIENDS,

ISABELLA AND EDWIN,

THIS VOLUME

IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.

------------------------------------------------------------------------

PREFACE.

“STRIVE AND SUCCEED” is reprinted from the pages of Young Israel, a New York juvenile magazine, to which it was contributed as a serial. It is complete in itself, and can be read independently; but those who have read its predecessor, “Strong and Steady,” may be interested to learn that it traces the subsequent career of Walter Conrad, showing how he continued to paddle his own canoe, and chronicles the adventures of Joshua Drummond after his flight from home.

As Walter’s success as a teacher at the West may seem to some improbable, in view of his youth, I am led to say that I know of more than one case equally remarkable, in particular that of a gentleman since prominent as a politician. The moral of the book is contained in the title. As a rule of action, I recommend it confidently to all my young readers.

NEW YORK, Oct. 1, 1872.

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STRIVE AND SUCCEED.

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CHAPTER I

WALTER CONRAD’S MISSION.

A LONG train was running at moderate speed over a Wisconsin railroad. Among the passengers was a stout, gentlemanly-looking boy, who looked much more than sixteen, although he had not yet reached that age. On the seat beside him was a large carpetbag, which contained all the clothing he carried with him. As the conductor passed through the car, the boy asked:

“Are we near Benton?”

“It is the next station.”

“Is that the place to take the stage for Portville?”

“Yes.”

“Can you tell me how far I shall have to ride in the stage?”

“A matter of ten miles or thereabouts.”

“Thank you.”

The conductor passed on, and the boy began to shake the dust from his coat, and, opening his carpetbag, deposited therein a copy of Harper’s Magazine which he had been reading. I may as well introduce him at once to the reader as Walter Conrad, whose previous adventures have been related in “Strong and Steady.” For the benefit of such of my present readers as have not read this volume, I will sketch his history in brief.

Walter Conrad, then, not quite a year since, had received, when at boarding school, the unexpected intelligence of his father’s serious illness. On reaching home, he found his parent dead. Subsequently he learned that his father had bought shares to the extent of a hundred thousand dollars in the Great Metropolitan Mining Company, and through the failure of this company had probably lost everything. This intelligence had doubtless hastened his death. Walter was, of course, obliged to leave school, and accepted temporarily an invitation from Mr. Jacob Drummond, of Stapleton, a remote kinsman, to visit him. In extending the invitation Mr. Drummond was under the illusion that Walter was the heir to a large property. On learning the truth, his manner was changed completely, and Walter, finding himself no longer welcome as a guest, proposed to enter Mr. Drummond’s store as a clerk. Being a strong and capable boy, he was readily received on board wages. The board, however, proved to be very poor, and his position was made more disagreeable by Joshua Drummond, three years older than himself, who, finding he could get nothing out of him, took a dislike to him. Walter finally left Mr. Drummond’s employ, and, led by his love of adventure, accepted an offer to travel as a book agent in Ohio. Here he was successful, though he met with one serious adventure, involving him in some danger, but was finally led to abandon the business at the request of Clement Shaw, his father’s executor, for the following reason:

The head of the Great Metropolitan Mining Company, through whom his father had been led to invest his entire fortune in it, was a man named James Wall, a specious and plausible man, through whose mismanagement it was believed it had failed. He was strongly suspected of conspiring to make a fortune out of it at the expense of the other stockholders. He had written to Mr. Shaw, offering the sum of two thousand dollars for the thousand shares now held by Walter, an offer which the executor did not feel inclined to accept until he knew that it was made in good faith. He, therefore, wrote to Walter to change his name and go on to Portville, the home of Mr. Wall, and there use all his shrewdness to discover what he could of the position of the mining company, and Mr. Wall’s designs in relation thereto. It may be added that after selling the balance of the estate, Walter was found entitled to five hundred dollars. He had, besides, cleared eighty-seven dollars net profit on his sales as book agent.

Such is Walter’s story, though, for the present, we shall have to call our hero Gilbert Howard--an assumed name, which he had adopted at the executor’s suggestion, lest his real name might excite the suspicions of Mr. Wall and so defeat the purpose of his journey.

Walter had scarcely made his preparations to leave the cars, when the whistle sounded, and the train, gradually slackening its speed, came to a stop.

“Benton!” called the conductor, rapidly, half opening the door.

“I am near my journey’s end,” thought Walter.

Several passengers descended from the train and gathered on the platform. Among them, of course, was our hero.

A shabby-looking stage stood just beside the station house. Knowing that it was a ten miles’ journey, and important to get a comfortable seat, Walter passed through the building, and took a seat inside. Several other passengers followed leisurely until the carriage was nearly full. While Walter was wondering how soon they would start, a gentleman, accompanied by a boy of about Walter’s age, approached the driver, who was about to take his seat.

“Didn’t you see anything of my carriage, Abner?”

“No, General Wall,” said Abner, respectfully. “I didn’t see it anywhere on the road.”

“That is very strange,” muttered Mr. Wall, discontentedly. “I told Henry to drive over for me. Are you sure you might not have passed without seeing it?”

“I’d have seed it if it had been on the road,” said Abner, with more emphasis than strict adherence to grammatical rules.

“I suppose we must ride with you, then,” said Mr. Wall. “Can you give us seats inside?”

The driver came to the door, and, opening it, looked in.

“There’s one seat,” he said. “Your son can ride outside with me.”

John Wall evidently did not fancy this arrangement. The fact was that it was beginning to sprinkle, and, being nicely dressed, he did not want to get wet.

“I want to ride inside,” he said.

“I’d like to accommodate you,” said the driver, “but there’s only room for one.”

“I don’t see why I haven’t as good right to a seat inside as anybody else,” said John, in a grumbling tone.

John Wall was rather a stout, freckle-faced boy, dressed with some pretension to style, and sporting a pair of kid gloves. He secretly considered himself to be unusually good-looking, and on the strength of his father’s wealth gave himself airs of superiority to which he was not entitled. His manners were decidedly arrogant and overbearing, and he was far from being a favorite in Portville, although a great many things, which would not have been excused in another less favored by fortune, were forgiven him on account of his father’s wealth.

“I’d like to stretch the inside of the stage if I could,” said Abner, good-naturedly, “but that ain’t easy.”

“You may sit in my lap, John,” said his father.

“I’d rather not,” said John, sullenly.

“Then I think you will have to make up your mind to sit with Abner.”

“I ain’t going to spoil my clothes,” growled the discontented boy.

“Here is an umbrella for you,” said his father.

Meanwhile John had been peering into the coach and espied Walter on the back seat. Accustomed to regard his own convenience as a matter of more importance than that of anybody else, he was led to make a very selfish proposal.

“There’s a boy inside,” he said. “Perhaps he’ll get outside and give me his seat.”

This proposal struck Walter as refreshingly cool, but having a sense of what was due to himself, and always having been in the habit of standing up for his rights, he did not propose to gratify John.

“Thank you,” said he, dryly; “I’d rather keep my seat.”

“But I don’t want to get wet.”

“Nor I,” said Walter.

“I don’t see why I haven’t as much right to ride inside as he,” grumbled John, turning to the driver.

“So you would, and better, too, if you’d got in first,” said Abner, rather disgusted at John’s selfishness. “But I must be starting. So if you’re going along with me, you’d better climb up.”

“I’ll give you twenty-five cents if you’ll give me your seat,” said John, making a last appeal to Walter.

“Thank you,” said Walter, coldly; “I’m not in want of money.”

“Get up without any more fuss, John,” said his father, impatiently.

Very discontentedly John climbed up to the box and took his seat beside the driver. He felt very angry with our hero for declining to sacrifice his own convenience to him. It appeared to him that, as the son of General Wall, the richest man in Portville, he had a right to the best of everything.

“Do you know who that boy is, that wouldn’t give me his seat?” he asked of Abner.

“Never saw him before,” said the driver.

“Is he going to Portville?”

“Yes, so he told me.”

“Do you know where he is going to stop?”

“No, he didn’t tell me.”

“Do you think it’s going to rain much?”

“I reckon it will be a smart sprinkle. You’d better take off them kid gloves of your’n if you don’t want them spoiled.”

“I don’t see why that boy wouldn’t give me his seat. He hasn’t got on as good clothes as I have,” grumbled John.

“Well, if your clothes are spoiled your father’s got money enough to buy you some new ones,” said Abner.

“That’s true,” said John, with an air of importance. “My father’s very rich.”

“I expect you’ll be rich, too, some day,” said Abner.

“I expect I shall,” said John, complacently. “I’m going to be a lawyer.”

“All right,” said the driver, jocosely; “I’ll give you all my law business.”

“Oh, I shan’t settle down here,” said John, loftily. “I’m going to Detroit or Chicago. I want to be in a big place.”

“I reckon you’ll be too smart for Portville,” said Abner, with sly sarcasm.

“I guess I can do as well as any of the city lawyers,” said John. “I am reading Cæsar already.”

“Who’s he?”

“A Latin author.”

“You don’t say! You must know a mighty lot.”

“Oh, it ain’t hard when you’re used to it,” said John, condescendingly.

The rain subsided, and John had the satisfaction of saving his clothes from injury, so that he ended the journey in a more amiable frame of mind than could have been anticipated.

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CHAPTER II

THE SON OF GENERAL WALL.

MR. WALL, or General Wall, as he was commonly designated in Portville, as a kind of tribute to his wealth, for he had no other right to the title, took a seat opposite Walter. Our hero examined him with some attention. This, then, was the man who had ruined his father by his plausible misrepresentations--who even now, perhaps, was conspiring to defraud him, and probably others. Under ordinary circumstances he would have been favorably impressed by his appearance. He had a popular manner, and was quite a good-looking man, much more agreeable than his son, who, it was safe to predict, would never win popularity unless his manners were greatly changed for the better.

“Well, general,” said one of the passengers, “have you been on a journey?”

“Only to the county town. I had some business at the probate office.”

“Been buyin’ any real estate?”

“I have just purchased Mr. Newton’s place. I had a mortgage on it, and we agreed to make a bargain.”

“I wonder whether he bought it with my father’s money,” thought Walter, rather bitterly, for he felt that the man opposite was responsible not alone for his loss of fortune, but for his father’s sudden death.

“It’s a nice place,” said the other.

“Yes, a pretty good place. I didn’t need it, but Mr. Newton wanted to sell, and I accommodated him.”

“How’s that mining company coming out?” was the next question. Walter listened eagerly for the answer.

“Why,” said Mr. Wall, cautiously, “that isn’t easy to say just yet. We may realize five per cent. I can’t tell yet.”

Five per cent.! In the letter containing the offer General Wall had only hinted at two per cent., and based his offer upon this. Supposing only five per cent. were saved out of the wreck, that on Walter’s thousand shares would amount to five thousand dollars, instead of two--a very material increase.

“I am already paid for my journey by this intelligence,” thought Walter. “I shouldn’t wonder if I got considerably more out of it in the end.”

“What was the cause of the break-up?” asked the other passenger, who seemed to be propounding questions in Walter’s interest.

“Why,” said General Wall, slowly, “it cost a good deal more to work the mine than we expected, and the first indications promised much better than the mine afterward realized.”

“Have they stopped working it?”

“Well, yes, for the present. But there’s a prospect of selling it out to a new company with larger means. Of course, we shan’t realize much. I shall be a heavy loser myself.”

“I don’t believe that,” thought Walter.

“You ain’t often bit, I reckon, general,” said his questioner.

“Well, I lay claim to a fair share of judgment,” said General Wall, “but you know we are all liable to be deceived. I’ve lost nigh on to thirty thousand dollars, I reckon, by this affair. However, I expect to keep my head above water,” he added, complacently. “I mean to come out of it as well as I can.”

“’Tain’t every man that can lose thirty thousand dollars and think no more of it,” said the other, who appeared to act as a sort of toady to the great man, so much influence does wealth exert even over those who don’t expect to gain anything by their subservience to it.

“Why, no, I suppose not,” said Wall, in the same complacent tone. “I shall be left tolerably well off, even if I do lose the full value of my stock. I’ve been luckier in some of my investments.”

“Well, I haven’t lost anything, because I hadn’t got anything to lose,” said his fellow-passenger; “that is, outside of my farm. Me and the old woman manage to pick up a living off that, and that’s all we reckon on. There ain’t much money in farmin’.”

“Suppose not,” said the general. “Still, Mr. Blodgett,” he added, patronizingly, “you farmers are not subject to so many cares and anxieties as we men of business. You are more independent.”

“It’s hard work and poor pay,” answered the farmer. “It ain’t easy to get forehanded.”

“If you ever have a small surplus to invest, Mr. Blodgett, I may be able to put you in the way of making something out of it.”

“Thank you, General Wall. Maybe I’ll remind you of it some day. I might have a little over.”

“No matter how little. I can add it to some of my own funds. I should like to help you to make a little something.”

“Thank you, general. I’m much obliged to you. I’ll talk to Betsy about it, and maybe I’ll see you again.”

“Any time, Mr. Blodgett. It’s no object to me, of course, but I like to see my neighbors prosperous.”

The conversation now took another turn, in which Walter was not so much interested. He wondered whether General Wall really meant honestly by the farmer, or whether he only wanted to get his money into his possession.

He was not naturally suspicious, but knowing what he did of Wall he felt inclined to doubt whether he was quite as disinterested as he appeared.

They had a little more than half completed the ten miles which separated them from Portville, when a passenger got out. This left a vacancy, and John Wall, descending from his elevated perch, made his appearance at the door of the coach.

“Did you get much rain, John?” asked his father.

“My kid gloves are spoiled,” grumbled John.

“Why didn’t you take them off? Didn’t you have another pair in your pocket?”

“I don’t like to wear woollen gloves. They ain’t stylish.”

“I am afraid, John, you are getting a little aristocratic,” said his father.

“Why shouldn’t I be?” said John.

“Now I am perfectly willing to wear woollen gloves,” said the general, who wanted to be popular, and so avoided putting on airs, “or no gloves at all,” looking around to observe the effect of his republican speech. “Kid gloves do not make a man any better.”

Meanwhile John had taken the vacant place. But it happened to be on the front seat, and so, of course, he had to ride backward. Now John fancied that he should prefer to sit on the back seat, as it would enable him to look out of the window, besides being on the whole more agreeable. Walter, having his choice of seats, had on entering taken one of the back ones. John conceived the idea of exchanging with him, without considering that our hero might possibly prefer to retain his, to which he was fairly entitled by prior possession.

“I don’t like to ride backward,” said John.

“Why not?” asked his father.

“I can’t look out of the window.” Then, addressing Walter, “Change seats with me, will you?”

“That is pretty cool,” thought Walter.

“Thank you,” he answered, coldly, “but I prefer to remain where I am.”

“But I don’t like to ride backward,” grumbled John.

“Nor do I,” returned Walter.

John was indignant at the refusal. That he, the son of General Wall, should have to sit in an inferior seat, while a boy who did not wear kid gloves occupied a better one, was very vexatious. He frowned at Walter, but the latter was by no means annihilated by the frown. Indeed, from what he was able to judge of John Wall, he felt a degree of satisfaction in disappointing him.

“I will change seats with you, John,” said his father, “if you are so anxious to look out of the window.”

“I’ll give him my seat,” said the farmer. “I don’t mind riding backward; and, as for seein’ out, I know the road by heart.”

Without a word of thanks John took the proffered seat, and this brought him next to Walter. He eyed our hero attentively, but could not make up his mind as to his social position. Walter was well dressed in a neatly fitting suit, but the cloth was not as fine as his. John glanced at his hands, which were encased in a pair of woollen gloves. On the other hand, our hero wore a gold watch and chain--his father’s--and so he might be worth noticing.

“What’s your name?” asked John.

“You may call me Gilbert Howard.”

“Are you going to Portville?”

“Yes.”

“Have you got any relations there?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Are you going to stay long?”

“That depends on circumstances.”

“Where are you going to stop?”

“At the hotel, I suppose. There is one, isn’t there?”

“Yes. It is called the Portville House.”

“Then I shall go there.”

John was about to continue his questions when Walter thought it was his turn.

“What is your name?” he asked.

“John Wall,” replied John. “My father is General Wall,” he added, in a tone of some importance.

“Do you live in Portville?”

“Yes.”

“Where have you been?”

“On a journey,” answered John, stiffly, thinking to himself that Walter was very impertinent. It did not occur to him that it is a poor rule that will not work both ways.

“What is your business?” John asked, preferring to question rather than be questioned. “Are you a peddler?”

“No,” said Walter, coolly. “Are you?”

John glared at his questioner feeling deeply insulted, and did not deign a reply. That he, the son of General Wall, the richest man in Portville, should be asked if he were a peddler was something his pride could not brook. Walter ought to have been annihilated by his look, but he stood it unflinchingly, secretly amused at the effectual manner in which he had silenced his questioner.

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CHAPTER III

UNDER AN ASSUMED NAME.

AT length the stage reached its destination. With a flourish the driver drew up in front of the Portville House, a hotel of moderate size, yet large enough to accommodate all the travelers likely to stand in need of shelter.

Walter got out, and taking his carpetbag, which was handed down from the roof, where it had been stored with other parcels, entered the inn. General Wall and his son retained their places, and the driver, after a short pause, set out to leave them at their own house.

Walter entered the barroom, which was at the same time the office, and asked if he could be accommodated with a room.

“You can have your choice of half a dozen,” said the landlord. “We ain’t crowded just at present.”

“Put me in any. I am not particular as long as it’s comfortable.”

“Will you go up now?”

“Yes, I think so. How soon will supper be ready?”

“In half an hour.”

“Very well, I’ll be down.”

Walter entered himself in the hotel register as Gilbert Howard, the name he had assumed. It was the name of a schoolmate at the Essex Classical Institute, and the first one that had occurred to him. It was not altogether agreeable to Walter to pass under an assumed name. It seemed like sailing under false colors. He had, however, a great respect for the judgment of Mr. Shaw, and the circumstances seemed to require it. Under his own name he realized that it would be impossible to learn anything of Mr. Wall’s fraudulent purposes. Now there seemed a very good chance of doing so. Indeed, he had already learned something from the conversation he had overheard in the stage.

After washing his face and hands, he descended to the public room, and in a short time supper was ready. It was not a luxurious supper, but a good, plain meal, to which his appetite enabled him to do full justice.

There were five other guests besides himself. These, however, were regular boarders. On the opposite side of the table were a man of middle age and his wife. These Walter learned were Mr. and Mrs. Carver. The former had something to do with a manufacturing establishment recently opened, and was boarding at the hotel with his wife, until he could find a suitable house. There were also a young man, employed as clerk in one of the village stores, and his sister. His name was Jones--a young man with nothing striking about him. His sister wore ringlets, and doted on the poets, of whom she did not know much. The fifth guest was a tall young man, of sickly appearance. He was narrow-chested and had inherited a consumptive tendency. His lungs being weak, he had left Vermont for the West, in the hope that the more equable climate might be favorable to his health. Unfortunately it did not produce the desired effect. He coughed at intervals during the meal, and the hard, dry cough had an alarming sound.

“You have a hard cough,” said Walter, who sat beside him at the table.

“Yes, it seems to be getting worse,” said the young man. “I came out here, thinking I might be benefited by the change of climate.”

“Then you are not a native of Wisconsin?”

“I was born and brought up in Vermont.”

“And I am from the State of New York.”

“Indeed. Have you just arrived from the East?”

“It is several months since I left home. I have been traveling in Ohio.”

“I am glad to meet one who comes from near home. Will you come up into my room after supper?”

“I shall be glad to do so. I have no friends or acquaintances here, and I might be rather dull by myself.”

“What may I call you?”

“Gilbert Howard.”

“My name is Allen Barclay.”

“Have you boarded at this hotel long?”

“Ever since I came to Portville. That is four months since. By way of further introduction, I will mention that I am a teacher, and keep the grammar school in the village.”

Walter was glad to hear this. He felt that he should take more pleasure in his companion’s society since their tastes were probably somewhat similar. Though his life for a few months had been an active one, he had by no means lost his relish for study, nor had he given up his intention of resuming his studies at some time. In case he should realize five per cent. on the mining shares, this would amount to five thousand dollars, a sum with which he would be justified in continuing his preparation for college, and a four years’ collegiate course. He estimated that his expenses as a student would not average more than five hundred dollars a year, and as the interest would amount to considerable--three hundred dollars the first year--he concluded that he could educate himself, and have considerably more than half his capital left to start in life with, when his education was complete. I mean, of course, his college education, for, strictly speaking, one’s education is never complete, and those who attain eminence in any branch are willing to confess themselves perpetual learners.

But, while these speculations were very pleasant, the five thousand dollars were not yet in his possession. To gain them he must learn more of General Wall and his schemes, and to this object he resolved to devote himself in earnest. He had no settled plan. Indeed, without considerably more knowledge of how the land lay it was impossible to decide upon any. He must be guided by circumstances, ready to avail himself of any favorable turn which affairs might take.

“This way, please,” said Allen Barclay, leading the way out of the dining-room.

His room was on the second floor, and though hotel chambers are in general--at any rate, in country towns--the reverse of pleasant or comfortable, this room looked both. There was an open fire in the grate which blazed pleasantly. Before the fire a cosy armchair was drawn up. Next to it was a table covered with books. Two or three pictures hung on the walls, and books and pictures do a great deal to give a homelike appearance to an apartment.

“You look very comfortable here, Mr. Barclay,” said Walter.

“Yes, I have made the room pleasant. The books and pictures I brought with me, and the armchair I bought in the village. I am sensitive to cold, and so of late, as the weather has become colder, I have had a fire lighted just before I come home in the afternoon.”

“Have you any scholars in Latin?” asked Walter, seeing a copy of “Cæsar’s Commentaries” on the table.

“One--John Wall, the son of General Wall, the most prominent man in Portville.”

“I have already made the young gentleman’s acquaintance,” said Walter, smiling.

“Indeed!” returned Allen Barclay, in surprise.

“I met him in the stage. I don’t think we were either of us very favorably impressed with the other.”

Here he gave a brief account of the altercation between himself and John.

“What you say does not surprise me,” said the teacher. “John is a thoroughly selfish, disagreeable boy, with a very lofty idea of himself and his position as the son of a rich man. He considers himself entitled to the best of everything. I am glad you did not give way to him.”

“I am too independent for that,” answered Walter. “I don’t allow myself to be imposed upon if I can help it, though I hope I am not often disobliging.”

“You had no call to yield to him to-day.”

“So I thought. What sort of a scholar is he?”

“John Wall? Very poor. He will never set the river on fire with his learning or talents. In fact, if he were a better scholar, I might feel different about teaching him. I have only had an academy education, and have not been beyond Cæsar myself. However, I have no trouble in keeping ahead of John.”

Here Mr. Barclay was seized with a violent attack of coughing, which seemed to distress him.

“I don’t think I shall be able to keep on teaching,” he said, when the fit was over. “The climate does not agree with me, and I shall not be willing to run the risk of wintering here. If I could only find some one to take my place as teacher, I would leave at once. It is the middle of the term, and I don’t want the school closed.”

An idea came to Walter. He was a good English scholar--had been as far in Latin as his companion--and was probably qualified to teach any scholars he was likely to have. It was desirable that he should have something to do, which would serve as a good excuse for remaining in Portville. Why should he not offer to supply Barclay’s place, since he thought it necessary to resign?

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CHAPTER IV

PORTVILLE.

“HOW many scholars have you, Mr. Barclay?” inquired Walter.

“About fifty.”

“Are they mostly boys?”

“There are about thirty boys--rather more than half.”

“How do they vary in age?”

“From ten to eighteen. I have three boys, or young men I might almost call them, of eighteen, two of seventeen, and three girls of sixteen and upwards.”

“Are they hard to manage?”

“The older ones? No; the most troublesome age is from thirteen to fifteen. Those who are older generally come to school for improvement, and are inclined to obey the rules of the school.”

This was reassuring. Walter knew that, in case he should be accepted as a teacher, he could not hope to cope with those two or three years older than himself. But if he could rely on the co-operation of the older pupils, he might get along.

“Mr. Barclay,” said he, after a moment’s thought, “do you think I would be too young to undertake the school?”

“You look pretty young,” answered the teacher. “You are not yet seventeen, I suppose?”

“I am not yet sixteen.”

“That is pretty young for a teacher. But then I was not much older than that when I commenced teaching.”

“Where did you teach?”

“In my native town, in Vermont. It was a winter district school of about forty scholars.”

“How did you get along?”

“Pretty well. I got the good will of the scholars, and they saw that I wanted to help them on as fast as possible.”

“I think I know enough to pass the examination,” said Walter, “and I am in search of some business to employ my time. If you want to give up the school, and recommend me to try it, I will offer myself to the school trustees.”

“What sort of a fellow are you, Mr. Howard--excusing the term I accidentally used--but have you got grit? Do you generally succeed in what you undertake?”

“I think I do,” said Walter, smiling. “I wouldn’t give it up, unless I was obliged to.”

“I asked the question,” said the young man, “because grit weighs heavily in this world. I have noticed that successful men are generally plucky, which is about the same thing.”

“I haven’t had much chance to tell yet,” said Walter. “Until a few months since everything was done for me, my father being rich; then I was thrown upon my own resources, and so far I have been successful.”

Here he gave an account of his adventures as book agent, and detailed the experiences of the night he passed in the cabin in the woods. But one thing he thought it best not to mention--his father’s business connection with General Wall, and the object of his present visit to Portville. He would have been as willing to confide in Allen Barclay as any one, but he thought his best course would be to make a confidant of no one, but to work out his plans by himself.

“From what you have told me,” said Allen Barclay, “I think you have a chance of succeeding, in spite of your youth. I shall be really glad to be relieved of the school, for I feel that every day I spend here is injurious to my health. I didn’t like to have the school closed, however, in the middle of the term.”

“Are teachers so scarce about here,” asked Walter, “that you could not find a substitute?”

“No, there is a good supply of teachers who can teach the ordinary English branches; but General Wall insists upon a teacher who can teach Latin, chiefly on account of his son, John.”

“Is John Wall the only boy who studies Latin in school?”

“No, there is a class of four beginners, who have just commenced reading easy sentences. This class consists of two girls and two boys.”

“I don’t claim to be a very good Latin scholar,” said Walter, “but from what you say I think I know enough to teach John Wall.”

“How much have you read?”

“I was in the sixth book of Cæsar when I left the Essex Classical Institute.”

“Then you have read more than I have, and I have had no difficulty in teaching John. He is just commencing the second book.”

“I think I shouldn’t have any trouble, especially as I read the Latin Reader through before commencing Cæsar. My father meant me to enter Columbia College.”

“I will tell you what you had better do, Mr. Howard,” said the young man. “Come and visit the school to-morrow, and stay all the forenoon. The Latin recitations come then. Thus you will see the scholars, and become acquainted with my way of management, and can form a better idea of whether you would like to undertake it.”

This struck Walter as an excellent suggestion, and he at once accepted the invitation.

“That will be much the best way,” he replied. “I suppose the school commences at nine o’clock.”

“Yes, that is the usual time all over the country, I think.”

The conversation now passed to other subjects, and Walter spent quite a pleasant evening with his new acquaintance. At half-past nine he rose to withdraw.

“Don’t be in a hurry, Mr. Howard,” said Allen.

“Thank you, I don’t think I have been. I should have felt quite lonely but for your kind invitation. I feel a little tired with traveling, and shall go to bed as soon as I get to my room.”

“Good-night, then. We shall meet at breakfast, I suppose?”

“Yes, unless I oversleep myself,” said Walter, laughing.

Walter found his bed a comfortable one, and slept soundly. In the morning he felt thoroughly refreshed, and was prepared to do justice to a plentiful breakfast.

“At what time do you start?” he asked of Allen Barclay, who was again seated next to him.

“At fifteen minutes of nine. The schoolhouse is only five minutes distant, and this allows me plenty of time.”

“It will seem like going to school again myself. I can almost fancy myself back again at the institute.”

“You will hardly find the scholars as far advanced,” said Barclay, “or the teacher,” he added, with a smile.

“That would certainly be true if I were teacher,” returned Walter.

“What do you say to a little walk before it is time to go to school?” asked the teacher. “I generally walk for half an hour or more, as an offset to the long confinement of school.”

“I shall be very glad to accompany you, Mr. Barclay.”

The two put on their hats, and walked up the road slowly.

Portville contained about two thousand inhabitants. Of these the majority lived in the village, while perhaps two-fifths were scattered about within a radius of three miles. It was rather a flourishing place on the whole, and most of the houses were neat and comfortable. There were several shops or stores, of different kinds; for farmers came from ten miles around to trade in Portville.

“It seems like a pleasant village,” said Walter to his companion.

“Yes,” said the teacher, “the town is pleasant, and I have found most of the people pleasant also. I should be very well satisfied to remain if my health would allow.”

“Whose house is that?” asked Walter, pointing to a residence larger and more pretentious than he had yet seen.

“That is the nicest house in town, and it belongs to the man who is reputed to be the richest man in town.”

“General Wall?” said Walter, inquiringly.

“The same.”

“What sort of a man is he?”

“You have seen him, so that I need not describe his personal appearance. He is a popular man, and I think tries to make himself agreeable in order to gain influence.”

“You say he is rich?”

“He is thought to be.”

“How did he gain his wealth?”

“He has been connected with mines, banks, real estate speculations, and, in fact, with whatever has money in it. He is something of a politician, and I hear that he hopes some day to go to Congress. In fact, he is a pushing man, and likely to make his influence felt.”

“Is his son like him?”

“He will never be as popular as his father. General Wall may be as selfish as his son, but he is too wise to show it as openly. John is disagreeable by nature. He wouldn’t trouble himself to appear agreeable.”

“From what I saw of him,” said Walter, “I should think it would be a good deal of trouble for him to be agreeable.”

“I have no doubt you got the correct impression of him. I like him as little as any of my scholars.”

While they were thus speaking, General Wall opened the front door of his house, and they met him at a short distance from his front gate. He bowed, as Walter thought, with an air of condescension, and said to the teacher, “Good-morning, Mr. Barclay. You are taking an early walk, I see.”

“Not very early, sir. I always take a short walk before school.”

“And how is the school? Is John getting on well with his Latin?”

“Tolerably well, General Wall.”

“Push him, Mr. Barclay, push him! I want my son to have a good education.”

“I will do my best.”

General Wall walked on with a self-satisfied air, as if he took a good deal of credit to himself for honoring the poor teacher with so much notice. He glanced at Walter, whom he recognized as his fellow-traveler of the night before, and concluded, from seeing him with Allen Barclay, that he was a friend or relative of the teacher.

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CHAPTER V

A LATIN EXERCISE.

IT was five minutes of nine when Allen Barclay, accompanied by Walter, approached the schoolhouse. It was a plain wooden building of two stories, painted white. Beside it was a good-sized playground, on which from a dozen to twenty boys were engaged in a game of ball. As Walter saw the ball flying across the field, impelled by a hard knock from the bat, he felt a strong impulse to join in the game. When a student at the Essex Institute he had played ball a good deal, and was considered quite a superior player. But since his departure he had not joined in a game. Now as he witnessed the game of the Portville boys, he wished himself again a scholar, and a sharer in their fun.

“Do you ever play ball, Mr. Barclay?” he asked.

“No; the physician has forbidden all violent exercise as likely injurious to my health. It increases my cough. For that matter, however, I don’t think I should play if I were able. I tried it sometimes as a boy, but I never succeeded very well. Do you play?”

“I used to play considerably, but for several months I have not touched a bat.”

“There’s the master,” called out one of the players.

“Give me another ball,” said the boy at the bat. “The bell won’t ring just yet.”

So the game continued.

Among those who were watching the game, Walter noticed John Wall. John was more carefully dressed than any of the other boys, many of whom had taken off their coats, and were playing in their shirt sleeves.

“That is John Wall, isn’t it?” asked Walter. “Does he play ball?”

“Not often. He isn’t much of a player. Besides, he doesn’t like to run the risk of soiling his clothes. He is something of a dandy.”

“So I should think. He wore kid gloves the other day in the rain.”

“He is partial to kid gloves. He thinks they distinguish him as the son of a gentleman from his more plebeian companions. But come in, Mr. Howard.”

Walter followed the teacher into the schoolroom. It was about forty feet by fifty in size, and well supplied with desks. The girls sat upon one side, the boys on the other. Some were already in their seats, while others were grouped near the teacher’s desk. They separated on the entrance of Allen Barclay, and repaired to their seats, not without curious glances at Walter.

There was a larger desk for the teacher, with a chair drawn up behind it. There was another chair in the room, which the teacher drew up near his own.

“That is the company chair, Mr. Howard,” said he, smiling. “Will you occupy it?”

“Thank you,” said Walter.

All his associations with schools were in the character of a scholar, and he felt a little out of place. It seemed to him that he ought to be seated at one of the desks.

“Julius, will you ring the bell?” said Mr. Barclay.

A boy of twelve advanced to the teacher’s desk, and took from his hand a large bell, with which he went out into the entry and rang with emphasis, as if he enjoyed it. Soon, in answer to the sonorous summons, came trooping in the boys from the playground, flushed with exercise, some of them drawing on their coats as they walked to their desks. John Wall alone looked as if he were fresh from a bandbox, his hair plastered down with pomatum, and his clothes innocent of dust or wrinkle.

“If he cared less for his appearance he would have a good deal more fun,” thought Walter, judging from a boy’s standpoint.

At last all were in their seats. After the preliminary exercises, the recitations commenced. The first were in arithmetic. Walter listened attentively to the recitations of the different classes, and concluded that he would have no difficulty in instructing any of them. The mathematical teacher at the Essex Institute was well fitted for his duties, and had a remarkably clear and simple way of explaining the leading principles of arithmetic. Allen Barclay, as Walter quickly perceived, was deficient in the art of teaching. He did not know how to explain difficulties in a plain, simple way. Walter felt desirous more than once of coming to his assistance, but of course could not do so.

“I believe I should like to teach,” he thought to himself. “It must be interesting.”

At last the classes in arithmetic finished their recitations.

“You will now have a chance to hear John Wall recite,” said the teacher, in a low voice. Walter’s interest was at once enlisted, partly because he was fond of Latin, and partly because he knew something already of John, and wished to see how he would acquit himself.

“The class in Cæsar,” said the teacher.

John rose slowly from his seat, and, book in hand, advanced pompously to the bench occupied by classes reciting. There was no other scholar so far advanced in Latin, and he looked down from his superior place of knowledge with calm contempt upon his fellow-pupils. His manner, as he advanced to recite, seemed to say, “Look at me! I am going to recite in Cæsar! I am a long way ahead of everybody else in school. They can’t any of them hold a candle to me.”

“Where does your lesson commence, Mr. Wall?” asked the teacher.

“At the beginning of the second book.”

“Very well. You may read and translate.”

John read the first line as follows, pronouncing according to a method of his own, Cum esset Cæsar in citeriore Gallia in hibernis, and furnished the following translation:

“He might be with Cæsar in hither Gaul in the winter.”

“I don’t think that is quite correct, Mr. Wall,” said the teacher.

“It makes good sense,” said John, pertly.

“It doesn’t make the right sense. Cum is not a preposition, and if it were it could not govern Cæsar in the nominative case.”

“I don’t see what else you can make of it.”

“It is a conjunction, and means ‘when,’ ‘Cæsar’ being the subject of the sentence. Then there is another mistake. Hibernis means winter-quarters, not winter. The clause is to be translated, ‘When Cæsar was in winter-quarters in hither Gaul.’ Proceed.”

“Ita uti supra demonstravimus,” continued John; “so have we shown to be used above.”

“Do you think that makes good sense, Mr. Wall?”

“I didn’t quite understand it,” John condescended to acknowledge.

“Uti,” explained the teacher, “is not from the verb utor, as you appear to have taken it, and, if it were, could not be translated passively. It means ‘as’ here. Translate, ‘just as we have shown above.’”

John continued: “Crebri ad eum rumores afferebantur--frequent persons brought rumors to him.”

“I am afraid, Mr. Wall, I must correct you again,” said the teacher. “Crebri agrees with rumores, and the verb is passive. How, then, will you translate the clause?”

“Frequent rumors were brought to him,” answered John, correctly, for a wonder.

“Literisque item Labieni certior fiebat--and letters made the same Labienus more sure.”

“No less than four mistakes, Mr. Wall. I hardly know where to begin to correct you. What part of speech is item?”

“A pronoun.”

“What does it mean?”

“The same.”

“Will you decline it?”

“Item--eatum--item.”

“You need not go on. You have mistaken the word for idem. It means ‘likewise.’ Is literis nominative?”

“No, sir; it is dative.”

“It is ablative, and fiebat cannot be rendered actively. Without specifying all the mistakes, I will translate for you, ‘and likewise was informed by the letters of Labienus,’ Certior fiebat means, literally, ‘was made more certain;’ but we cannot always translate literally.”

It would be tedious to follow John through his blundering recitation. He made fewer mistakes in the passages that succeeded, but it was easy to see that he knew very little Latin. His lesson comprised the whole of the first section, and was on the whole the worst recitation to which Walter had ever listened. He could not help thinking that Mr. Barclay made a mistake in merely correcting the errors, without adding directions by which a repetition of them might be avoided; and he resolved, if John should become his pupil, to drill him thoroughly in the elementary principles of the language.

“What do you think of that recitation?” asked the teacher, in a low voice, as John took his seat.

“Very poor,” answered Walter.

“I am afraid he will never make a Latin scholar. I will now call up the other class in Latin.”

This was a class of beginners, and acquitted itself much more creditably than the student in Cæsar. It might be supposed that John would have been mortified by his mistakes; but it was enough for him that he could report himself as studying Cæsar, and he appeared to think it of no importance how he got along.

Other classes succeeded, and the session at length ended.

“Well, Mr. Howard,” said Mr. Barclay, as they were returning homeward, “do you think you would like to take the school?”

“I will take it if the trustees will accept me,” said Walter, promptly.

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CHAPTER VI

RECOMMENDED.

“IF you really think you would be willing to take my place,” said Allen Barclay, “I will see at once if I can obtain your appointment.”

“I am not in any hurry to commence, Mr. Barclay, though I may be in a hurry to get through, if I should take the place.”

“That is my feeling now. The sooner I can be free, the better it will be for my health. The climate is getting worse for me with the approach of winter.”

“I leave the matter in your hands, then. Who are the trustees?”

“General Wall is the principal one, and I will call to see him this evening. Besides him there is the village doctor--Dr. Owens--but he has so much to attend to that he has very little to do with the schools. Then there is Squire Griffiths, a man who was selected because he is rather prominent in town affairs, but he is a man of no education. General Wall is the only one at all qualified for the position. Last year the minister belonged to the board, and was competent and useful, but he got unpopular by taking sides in a local dispute, and was left off.”

“I suppose teachers are examined by the trustees so that they may discover whether they are competent.”

“Yes, but the examinations don’t amount to much, as you can judge from the composition of the Board of Trustees.”

“I think I can pass pretty well. I have not been out of school long enough to forget my studies.”

“I have no doubt you’ll be all right. I’ll call on the general this evening.”

In accordance with his determination, Allen Barclay knocked at the door of General Wall’s residence about an hour after supper.

“Is the general in?” he inquired.

“Yes, sir; will you come in?”

“I would like to see him a few minutes.”

He was ushered into the sitting-room, and General Wall soon made his appearance.

“Good-evening, Mr. Barclay,” he said, in his usual patronizing way, “I am glad to see you. Nothing wrong at the school, I hope?”

“No, sir; there is nothing wrong at the school; but it is about the school I have come to speak.”

“Any advice, ahem! which I can give, will be freely tendered. This is, of course, incumbent upon me in the official position which I hold, but I feel an additional interest as a parent.”

“You haven’t much reason as a parent to feel proud,” thought Allen Barclay; but there are some thoughts that are best unspoken.

“I am afraid, General Wall, that I shall be compelled to give up the school!”

“What!” exclaimed General Wall, in surprise. “Have you any cause of dissatisfaction? Are you not content with the salary?”

“I don’t complain of that, but I find that the climate does not agree with my health.”

“Indeed! Are you feeling unwell?”

“My lungs are weak, and I find that the cough with which I have been troubled for a year past, instead of improving, as I hoped it would, is increasing, and becoming daily more troublesome. I think it will be best, therefore, for me to give up teaching, and go elsewhere.”

“I am sorry to hear this, Mr. Barclay. Don’t you think you can keep along to the end of the term--six weeks, I believe?”

“I don’t think it would be wise, General Wall.”

“We shall find it difficult to fill your place. We could get teachers, but we want one who is competent to teach Latin as well as English. I want my son John to go on in the same liberal course which I have projected for him,” said the general, rather pompously.

“It is on this account that I have delayed mentioning the matter before, but I now think I can recommend a substitute.”

“Indeed! May I inquire who it is?”

“You perhaps observed the young man who was walking with me this morning when we met.”

“I saw a boy with you, Mr. Barclay. Surely you do not allude to him.”

“I know he is young, General Wall, but I have reason to think he is a good scholar. In Latin he is as far advanced as I am. He was educated at an Eastern institution of high rank.”

“I am afraid,” said General Wall, dubiously, “that his extreme youth would prevent his succeeding.”

“I was not much older when I commenced teaching, but I got along well.”

“Is the young man desirous of teaching? Is that the object of his coming here?”

“No; he was not certain that there was an opening. He is looking round for some business to occupy him. Being well educated, he thinks he might like to be a teacher.”

“I should prefer that you would remain, Mr. Barclay.”

“Thank you, General Wall; I like teaching, and if my health would allow of it, I would be glad to continue; as it is, I must resign at any rate. I think you had better try this young man.”

“What is his name?”

“Gilbert Howard.”

“Were you previously acquainted with him, Mr. Barclay?”

“No, sir; but from what I have seen of him, I have formed a favorable opinion of him.”

“He was my fellow-passenger on the stage last evening.”

“So he told me.”

“John and he didn’t quite agree, but I dare say John was in fault. John is a spirited boy, Mr. Barclay, and is disposed to stand up for his rights.”

“And sometimes for what are not his rights,” thought the teacher; but this again was one of the things which he thought it would not be best to express.

“I think he will be a smart man,” continued the general.

“So I hope,” said Allen Barclay.

“As a lawyer, it won’t do him any harm to be a little tenacious.”

Allen Barclay thought the term tenacious rather a mild one to express John’s overbearing and grasping tendency. But he only said, “It won’t do for a lawyer to be too mild and unselfish.”

“Just my idea, Mr. Barclay. A milk-and-water sort of a man won’t succeed.”

At this moment John Wall entered the room.

“Don’t you see Mr. Barclay, John?” said his father.

John nodded carelessly, for he thought the teacher of a country school, earning a salary of forty dollars a month, out of which he had to pay his board, by no means his equal in the social scale; and financially speaking, certainly, Allen Barclay could make no great pretensions; but he was a gentleman, which John Wall was not, and probably never would be.

“Good-evening, John,” said the teacher.

“Evening,” was all that could be heard in reply.

Considering the manner in which he got on, or rather did not get on, in Latin, John might have supposed that Mr. Barclay had called to speak on the subject to his father; but he was too conceited to think he was doing poorly, and never dreamed that, if he were, the teacher would have the temerity to complain of him.

“John is, I believe, your most advanced pupil, Mr. Barclay,” said General Wall, complacently.

“He is further advanced in Latin than any other,” answered the teacher.

“I referred to that. I am not acquainted with Latin myself, but I consider it a highly important branch of education.”

“A good deal of benefit may be derived from the study, I think,” said Barclay. “But John is not likely to know enough to be of much advantage to him,” was his inward reflection.

“I should be sorry to have John discontinue it, now that he is so far advanced. However, the young man you speak of understands it well, you say.”

“Yes, sir; at least I have every reason to think so.”

There was something in this remark which caught John’s attention. Who was the young man referred to, and what connection could his scholarship have with his continuing the study of Latin?

“What are you speaking of?” he inquired of his father.

“Mr. Barclay is thinking of giving up teaching, John, on account of his health. I was speaking of the young man whom he has recommended in his place.”

“Who is it?”

“You remember the young man who was in the stage yesterday?”

“Do you mean the one that wouldn’t give up his seat to me?”

“As he took the seat first, he had the best right to it. He is the one I mean.”

“What! is he a teacher? Why, he is only a boy!”

“He is rather young, but Mr. Barclay tells me he is an excellent scholar, especially in Latin. However, we shall examine him to-morrow evening, and see if he is qualified.”

“He can’t keep school,” said John.

“Why not, my son?”

“He can’t keep order. He is only a boy.”

“If the scholars behave themselves, and he knows enough to teach, I don’t see why he should not succeed. I hope, John, you do not propose to make any trouble.”

“No,” said John, slowly, “but the other fellows will.”

“Then,” said Mr. Barclay, “you can exert your influence to prevent them.”

John felt rather flattered by this reference to his influence, but nevertheless he did not like the idea of having Walter for a teacher. Mr. Barclay, though he entertained no very flattering opinion of John, was worldly wise, and had shown him some subserviency on account of his father’s position. John had a secret feeling that Walter would not do this, and he determined to make trouble for him. He didn’t mean to help him, at any rate.

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CHAPTER VII

A NOVEL SITUATION.

“YOU are to be examined to-morrow evening at General Wall’s, Mr. Howard,” reported Allen Barclay to Walter, who was waiting the result of his visit.

“Does General Wall know that I am the one whom he met in the stage?” inquired Walter.

“Yes, he mentioned it himself.”