Risen from the Ranks: Harry Walton's Success

A pleasant evening.

“This is my house,” said Ferguson, pausing at the gate.

Harry looked at it with interest.

It was a cottage, containing four rooms, and a kitchen in the ell part.  There was a plot of about a quarter of an acre connected with it.  Everything about it was neat, though very unpretentious.

“It isn’t a palace,” said Ferguson, “but,” he added cheerfully, “it’s a happy home, and from all I’ve read, that is more than can be said of some palaces.  Step right in and make yourself at home.”

They entered a tiny entry, and Mrs. Ferguson opened the door of the sitting-room.  She was a pleasant-looking woman, and her face wore a smile st welcome.

“Hannah,” said Ferguson, “this is our new apprentice, Harry Walton.”

“I am glad to see you,” she said, offering her hand.  “My husband has spoken of you.  You are quite welcome, if you can put up with humble fare.”

“That is what I have always been accustomed to,” said Harry, beginning to feel quite at home.

“Where are the children, Hannah?”

Two children, a boy and a girl, of six and four years respectively, bounded into the room and answered for themselves.  They looked shyly at Harry, but before many minutes their shyness had worn off, and the little girl was sitting on his knee, while the boy stood beside him.  Harry was fond of children, and readily adapted himself to his young acquaintances.

Supper was soon ready—­a plain meal, but one that Harry enjoyed.  He could not help comparing Ferguson’s plain, but pleasant home, with Clapp’s mode of life.

The latter spent on himself as much as sufficed his fellow-workman to support a wife and two children, yet it was easy to see which found the best enjoyment in life.

“How do you like your new business?” asked Mrs. Ferguson, as she handed Harry a cup of tea.

“I like all but the name,” said our hero, smiling.

“I wonder how the name came to be applied to a printer’s apprentice any more than to any other apprentice,” said Mrs. Ferguson.

“I never heard,” said her husband.  “It seems to me to be a libel upon our trade.  But there is one comfort.  If you stick to the business, you’ll outgrow the name.”

“That is lucky; I shouldn’t like to be called the wife of a ——.  I won’t pronounce the word lest the children should catch it.”

“What is it, mother?” asked Willie, with his mouth full.

“It isn’t necessary for you to know, my boy.”

“Do you know Mr. Clapp?” asked Harry.

“I have seen him, but never spoke with him.”

“I never asked him round to tea,” said Ferguson.

“I don’t think he would enjoy it any better than I. His tastes are very different from mine, and his views of life are equally different.”

“I should think so,” said Harry.

“Now I think you and I would agree very well.  Clapp dislikes the business, and only sticks to it because he must get his living in some way.  As for me, if I had a sum of money, say five thousand dollars, I would still remain a printer, but in that case I would probably buy out a paper, or start one, and be a publisher, as well as a printer.”

“That’s just what I should like,” said Harry.

“Who knows but we may be able to go into partnership some day, and carry out our plan.”

“I would like it,” said Harry; “but I am afraid it will be a good while before we can raise the five thousand dollars.”

“We don’t need as much.  Mr. Anderson started on a capital of a thousand dollars, and now he is in comfortable circumstances.”

“Then there’s hopes for us.”

“At any rate I cherish hopes of doing better some day.  I shouldn’t like always to be a journeyman.  I manage to save up a hundred dollars a year.  How much have we in the savings bank, Hannah?”

“Between four and five hundred dollars, with interest.”

“It has taken me four years to save it up.  In five more, if nothing happens, I should be worth a thousand dollars.  Journeymen printers don’t get rich very fast.”

“I hope to have saved up something myself, in five years,” said Harry.

“Then our plan may come to pass, after all.  You shall be editor, and I publisher.”

“I should think you would prefer to be an editor,” said his wife.

“I am diffident of my powers in the line of composition,” said Ferguson.  “I shouldn’t be afraid to undertake local items, but when it comes to an elaborate editorial, I should rather leave it in other hands.”

“I always liked writing,” said Harry.  “Of course I have only had a school-boy’s practice, but I mean to practise more in my leisure hours.”

“Suppose you write a poem for the ‘Gazette,’ Walton.”

Harry smiled.

“I am not ambitious enough for that,” he replied.  “I will try plain prose.”

“Do so,” said Ferguson, earnestly.  “Our plan may come to something after all, if we wait patiently.  It will do no harm to prepare yourself as well as you can.  After a while you might write something for the ‘Gazette.’  I think Mr. Anderson would put it in.”

“Shall I sign it P. D.?” asked Harry.

“P.  D. stands for Doctor of Philosophy.”

“I don’t aspire to such a learned title.  P. D. also stands for Printer’s Devil.”

“I see.  Well, joking aside, I advise you to improve yourself in writing.”

“I will.  That is the way Franklin did.”

“I remember.  He wrote an article, and slipped it under the door of the printing office, not caring to have it known that he was the author.”

“Shall I give you a piece of pie, Mr. Walton?” said Mrs. Ferguson.

“Thank you.”.

“Me too,” said Willie, extending his plate.

“Willie is always fond of pie,” said his father, “In a printing office pi is not such a favorite.”

When supper was over, Mr. Ferguson showed Harry a small collection of books, about twenty-five in number, neatly arranged on shelves.

“It isn’t much of a library,” he said, “but a few books are better than none.  I should like to buy as many every year; but books are expensive, and the outlay would make too great an inroad upon my small surplus.”

“I always thought I should like a library,” said Harry, “but my father is very poor, and has fewer books than you.  As for me, I have but one book besides the school-books I studied, and that I gained as a school prize—­The Life of Franklin.”

“If one has few books he is apt to prize them more,” said Ferguson, “and is apt to profit by them more.”

“Have you read the History of China?” asked Harry, who had been looking over his friend’s books.

“No; I have never seen it.”

“Why, there it is,” said our hero, “In two volumes.”

“Take it down,” said Ferguson, laughing.

Harry did so, and to his surprise it opened in his hands, and revealed a checker-board.

“You see appearances are deceitful.  Can you play checkers?”

“I never tried.”

“You will easily learn.  Shall I teach you the game?”

“I wish you would.”

They sat down; and Harry soon became interested in the game, which requires a certain degree of thought and foresight.

“You will make a good player after a while,” said his companion.  “You must come in often and play with me.”

“Thank you, I should like to do so.  It may not be often, for I am taking lessons in French, and I want to get on as fast as possible.”

“I did not know there was any one in the village who gave lessons in French.”

“Oh, he’s not a professional teacher.  Oscar Vincent, one of the Academy boys, is teaching me.  I am to take two lessons a week, on Tuesday and Friday evenings.”

“Indeed, that is a good arrangement.  How did it come about?”

Harry related the particulars of his meeting with Oscar.

“He’s a capital fellow,” he concluded.  “Very different from another boy I met in his room.  I pointed him out to you in the street.  Oscar seems to be rich, but he doesn’t put on any airs, and he treated me very kindly.”

“That is to his credit.  It’s the sham aristocrats that put on most airs.  I believe you will make somebody, Walton.  You have lost no time in getting to work.”

“I have no time to lose.  I wish I was in Oscar’s place.  He is preparing for Harvard, and has nothing to do but to learn.”

“I heard a lecturer once who said that the printing office is the poor man’s college, and he gave a great many instances of printers who had risen high in the world, particularly in our own country.”

“Well, that is encouraging.  I should like to have heard the lecture.”

“I begin to think, Harry, that I should have done well to follow your example.  When I was in your position, I might have studied too, but I didn’t realize the importance as I do now.  I read some useful books, to be sure, but that isn’t like studying.”

“It isn’t too late now.”

Ferguson shook his head.

“Now I have a wife and children,” he said.  “I am away from them during the day, and the evening I like to pass socially with them.”

“Perhaps you would like to be divorced,” said his wife, smiling.  “Then you would get time for study.”

“I doubt if that would make me as happy, Hannah.  I am not ready to part with you just yet.  But our young friend here is not quite old enough to be married, and there is nothing to prevent his pursuing his studies.  So, Harry, go on, and prepare yourself for your editorial duties.”

Harry smiled thoughtfully.  For the first time he had formed definite plans for his future.  Why should not Ferguson’s plans be realized?

“If I live long enough,” he said to himself, “I will be an editor, and exert some influence in the world.”

At ten o’clock he bade good-night to Mr. and Mrs. Ferguson, feeling that he had passed a pleasant and what might prove a profitable evening.