Risen from the Ranks: Harry Walton's Success

Harry is promoted.

Clapp re-entered the printing office highly elated.

“Mr. Anderson,” said he to the editor, “I am going to leave you.”

Ferguson and Harry Walton looked up in surprise, and Mr. Anderson asked,—­

“Have you got another place?”

“No; I am going West.”

“Indeed!  How long have you had that in view?”

“Not long.  I am going with Mr. Kensington.”

“The one who just called on you?”

“Yes.”

“How soon do you want to leave?”

“Now.”

“That is rather short notice.”

“I know it, but I leave town to-morrow morning.”

“Well, I wish you success.  Here is the money I owe you.”

“Sha’n’t we see you again, Clapp?” asked Ferguson.

“Yes; I’ll just look in and say good-by.  Now I must go home and get ready.”

“Well, Ferguson,” said Mr. Andersen, after Clapp’s departure, “that is rather sudden.”

“So I think.”

“How can we get along with only two hands?”

“Very well, sir.  I’m willing to work a little longer, and Harry here is a pretty quick compositor now.  The fact is, there isn’t enough work for three.”

“Then you think I needn’t hire another journeyman?”

“No.”

“If you both work harder I must increase your wages, and then I shall save money.”

“I sha’n’t object to that,” said Ferguson, smiling.

“Nor I,” said Harry.

“I was intending at any rate to raise Harry’s wages, as I find he does nearly as much as a journeyman.  Hereafter I will give you five dollars a week besides your board.”

“Oh, thank you, sir!” said Harry, overjoyed at his good fortune.

“As for you, Ferguson, if you will give me an hour more daily, I will add three dollars a week to your pay.”

“Thank you, sir.  I think I can afford now to give Mrs. Ferguson the new bonnet she was asking for this morning.”

“I don’t want to overwork you two, but if that arrangement proves satisfactory, we will continue it.”

“I suppose you will be buying your wife a new bonnet too; eh, Harry?” said Ferguson.

“I may buy myself a new hat.  Luke Harrison turned up his nose at my old one the other day.”

“What will Luke do without Clapp?  They were always together.”

“Perhaps he is going too.”

“I don’t know where he will raise the money, nor Clapp either, for that matter.”

“Perhaps their new friend furnishes the money.”

“If he does, he is indeed a friend.”

“Well, it has turned out to our advantage, at any rate, Harry.  Suppose you celebrate it by coming round and taking supper with me?”

“With the greatest pleasure.”

Harry was indeed made happy by his promotion.  Having been employed for some months on board-wages, he had been compelled to trench upon the small stock of money which he had saved up when in the employ of Prof.  Henderson, and he had been unable to send any money to his father, whose circumstances were straitened, and who found it very hard to make both ends meet.  That evening he wrote a letter to his father, in which he inclosed ten dollars remaining to him from his fund of savings, at the same time informing him of his promotion.  A few days later, he received the following reply:—­

“My dear son: 

“Your letter has given me great satisfaction, for I conclude from your promotion that you have done your duty faithfully, and won the approbation of your employer.  The wages you now earn will amply pay your expenses, while you may reasonably hope that they will be still further increased, as you become more skilful and experienced.  I am glad to hear that you are using your leisure hours to such good purpose, and are trying daily to improve your education.  In this way you may hope in time to qualify yourself for the position of an editor, which is an honorable and influential profession, to which I should be proud to have you belong.

“The money which you so considerately inclose comes at the right time.  Your brother needs some new clothes, and this will enable me to provide them.  We all send love, and hope to hear from you often.

  “Your affectionate father,
    “Hiram Walton.”

Harry’s promotion took place just before the beginning of September.  During the next week the fall term of the Prescott Academy commenced, and the village streets again became lively with returning students.  Harry was busy at the case, when Oscar Vincent entered the printing office, and greeted him warmly.

“How are you, Oscar?” said Harry, his face lighting up with pleasure.  “I am glad to see you back.  I would shake hands, but I am afraid you wouldn’t like it,” and Harry displayed his hands soiled with printer’s ink.

“Well, we’ll shake hands in spirit, then, Harry.  How have you passed the time?”

“I have been very busy, Oscar.”

“And I have been very lazy.  I have scarcely opened a book, that is, a study-book, during the vacation.  How much have you done in French?”

“I have nearly finished Telemachus.”

“You have!  Then you have done splendidly.  By the way, Harry, I received the paper you sent, containing your essay.  It does you credit, my boy.”

Mr. Anderson, who was sitting at his desk, caught the last words.

“What is that, Harry?” he asked.  “Have you been writing for the papers?”

Harry blushed.

“Yes, sir,” he replied.  “I have written two or three articles for the ‘Boston Weekly Standard.’”

“Indeed!  I should like to see them.”

“You republished one of them in the ‘Gazette,’ Mr. Anderson,” said Ferguson.

“What do you refer to?”

“Don’t you remember an article on ‘Ambition,’ which you inserted some weeks ago?”

“Yes, it was a good article.  Did you write it, Walton?”

“Yes, air.”

“Why didn’t you tell me of it?”

“He was too bashful,” said Ferguson.

“I am glad to know that you can write,” said the editor.  “I shall call upon you for assistance, in getting up paragraphs occasionally.”

“I shall be very glad to do what I can,” said Harry, gratified.

“Harry is learning to be an editor,” said Ferguson.

“I will give him a chance for practice, then,” and Mr. Anderson returned to his exchanges.

“By the way, Oscar,” said Harry, “I am not a printer’s devil any longer.  I am promoted to be a journeyman.”

“I congratulate you, Harry, but what will Fitz do now?  He used to take so much pleasure in speaking of you as a printer’s devil.”

“I am sorry to deprive him of that pleasure.  Did you see much of him in vacation, Oscar?”

“I used to meet him almost every day walking down Washington Street, swinging a light cane, and wearing a stunning necktie, as usual.”

“Is he coming back this term?”

“Yes, he came on the same train with me.  Hasn’t he called to pay his respects to you?”

“No,” answered Harry, with a smile.  “He hasn’t done me that honor.  He probably expects me to make the first call.”

“Well, Harry, I suppose you will be on hand next week, when the Clionian holds its first meeting?”

“Yes, I will be there.”

“And don’t forget to call at my room before that time.  I want to examine you in French, and see how much progress you have made.”

“Thank you, Oscar.”

“Now I must be going.  I have got a tough Greek lesson to prepare for to-morrow.  I suppose it will take me twice as long as usual.  It is always hard to get to work again after a long vacation.  So good-morning, and don’t forget to call at my room soon—­say to-morrow evening.”

“I will come.”

“What a gentlemanly fellow your friend is!” said Ferguson.

“What is his name, Harry?” asked Mr. Anderson.

“Oscar Vincent.  His father is an editor in Boston.”

“What! the son of John Vincent?” said Mr. Anderson, surprised.

“Yes, sir; do you know his father?”

“Only by reputation.  He is a man of great ability.”

“Oscar is a smart fellow, too, but not a hard student.”

“I shall be glad to have you bring him round to the house some evening, Harry.  I shall be glad to become better acquainted with him.”

“Thank you, sir.  I will give him the invitation.”

It is very possible that Harry rose in the estimation of his employer, from his intimacy with the son of a man who stood so high in his own profession.  At all events, Harry found himself from this time treated with greater respect and consideration than before, and Mr. Anderson often called upon him to write paragraphs upon local matters, so that his position might be regarded except as to pay, as that of an assistant editor.