Risen from the Ranks: Harry Walton's Success

AN INVITATION TO BOSTON.

Harry was doubly glad that he was now in receipt of a moderate salary.  He welcomed it as an evidence that he was rising in the estimation of his employer, which was of itself satisfactory, and also because in his circumstances the money was likely to be useful.

“Five dollars a week!” said Harry to himself.  “Half of that ought to be enough to pay for my clothes and miscellaneous expenses, and the rest I will give to father.  It will help him take care of the rest of the family.”

Our hero at once made this proposal by letter.  This is a paragraph from his father’s letter in reply:—­

“I am glad, my dear son, to find you so considerate and dutiful, as your offer indicates.  I have indeed had a hard time in supporting my family, and have not always been able to give them the comforts I desired.  Perhaps it is my own fault in part.  I am afraid I have not the faculty of getting along and making money that many others have.  But I have had an unexpected stroke of good fortune.  Last evening a letter reached your mother, stating that her cousin Nancy had recently died at St. Albans, Vermont, and that, in accordance with her will, your mother is to receive a legacy of four thousand dollars.  With your mother’s consent, one-fourth of this is to be devoted to the purchase of the ten acres adjoining my little farm, and the balance will be so invested as to yield us an annual income of one hundred and eighty dollars.  Many would think this a small addition to an income, but it will enable us to live much more comfortably.  You remember the ten-acre lot to the east of us, belonging to the heirs of Reuben Todd.  It is excellent land, well adapted for cultivation, and will fully double the value of my farm.

“You see, therefore, my dear son, that a new era of prosperity has opened for us.  I am now relieved from the care and anxiety which for years have oppressed me, and feel sure of a comfortable support.  Instead of accepting the half of your salary, I desire you, if possible, to save it, depositing in some reliable savings institution.  If you do this every year till you are twenty-one, you will have a little capital to start you in business, and will be able to lead a more prosperous career than your father.  Knowing you as well as I do, I do not feel it necessary to caution you against unnecessary expenditures.  I will only remind you that extravagance is comparative, and that what would be only reasonable expenditure for one richer than yourself would be imprudent in you.”

Harry read this letter with great joy.  He was warmly attached to the little home circle, and the thought that they were comparatively provided for gave him fresh courage.  He decided to adopt his father’s suggestion, and the very next week deposited three dollars in the savings bank.

“That is to begin an account,” he thought.  “If I can only keep that up, I shall feel quite rich at the end of a year.”

Several weeks rolled by, and Thanksgiving approached.

Harry was toiling at his case one day, when Oscar Vincent entered the office.

“Hard at work, I see, Harry,” he said.

“Yes,” said Harry; “I can’t afford to be idle.”

“I want you to be idle for three days,” said Oscar.

Harry looked up in surprise.

“How is that?” he asked.

“You know we have a vacation from Wednesday to Monday at the Academy.”

“Over Thanksgiving?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I am going home to spend that time, and I want you to go with me.”

“What, to Boston?” asked Harry, startled, for to him, inexperienced as he was, that seemed a very long journey.

“Yes.  Father and mother gave me permission to invite you.  Shall I show you the letter?”

“I’ll take it for granted, Oscar, but I am afraid I can’t go.”

“Nonsense!  What’s to prevent?”

“In the first place, Mr. Anderson can’t spare me.”

“Ask him.”

“What’s that?” asked the editor, hearing his name mentioned.

“I have invited Harry to spend the Thanksgiving vacation with me in Boston, and he is afraid you can’t spare him?”

“Does your father sanction your invitation?”

“Yes, he wrote me this morning—­that is, I got the letter this morning—­telling me to ask Harry to come.”

Now the country editor had a great respect for the city editor, who was indeed known by reputation throughout New England as a man of influence and ability, and he felt disposed to accede to any request of his.

So he said pleasantly, “Of course, Harry, we shall miss you, but if Mr. Ferguson is disposed to do a little additional work, we will get along till Monday.  What do you say, Mr. Ferguson?”

“I shall be very glad to oblige Harry,” said the older workman, “and I hope he will have a good time.”

“That settles the question, Harry,” said Oscar, joyfully.  “So all you’ve got to do is to pack up and be ready to start to-morrow morning.  It’s Tuesday, you know, already.”

Harry hesitated, and Oscar observed it.

“Well, what’s the matter now?” he said; “out with it.”

“I’ll tell you, Oscar,” said Harry, coloring a little.  “Your father is a rich man, and lives handsomely.  I haven’t any clothes good enough to wear on a visit to your house.”

“Oh, hang your clothes!” said Oscar, impetuously.  “It isn’t your clothes we invite.  It’s yourself.”

“Still, Oscar—­”

“Come, I see you think I am like Fitz Fletcher, after all.  Say you think me a snob, and done with it.”

“But I don’t,” said Harry, smiling.

“Then don’t make any more ridiculous objections.  Don’t you think they are ridiculous, Mr. Ferguson?”

“They wouldn’t be in some places,” said Ferguson, “but here I think they are out of place.  I feel sure you are right, and that you value Harry more than the clothes he wears.”

“Well, Harry, do you surrender at discretion?” said Oscar.  “You see Ferguson is on my side.”

“I suppose I shall have to,” said Harry, “as long as you are not ashamed of me.”

“None of that, Harry.”

“I’ll go.”

“The first sensible words you’ve spoken this morning.”

“I want to tell you how much I appreciate your kindness, Oscar,” said Harry, earnestly.

“Why shouldn’t I be kind to my friend?”

“Even if he was once a printer’s devil.”

“Very true.  It is a great objection, but still I will overlook it.  By the way, there is one inducement I didn’t mention.”

“What is that?”

“We may very likely see Fitz in the city.  He is studying at home now, I hear.  Who knows but he may get up a great party in your honor?”

“Do you think it likely?” asked Harry, smiling.

“It might not happen to occur to him, I admit.  Still, if we made him a ceremonious call—­”

“I am afraid he might send word that he was not at home.”

“That would be a loss to him, no doubt.  However, we will leave time to settle that question.  Be sure to be on hand in time for the morning train.”

“All right, Oscar.”

Harry had all the love of new scenes natural to a boy of sixteen.  He had heard so much of Boston that he felt a strong curiosity to see it.  Besides, was not that the city where the “Weekly Standard” was printed, the paper in which he had already appeared as an author?  In connection with this, I must here divulge a secret of Harry’s.  He was ambitious not only to contribute to the literary papers, but to be paid for his contributions.  He judged that essays were not very marketable, and he had therefore in his leisure moments written a humorous sketch, entitled “The Tin Pedler’s Daughter.”  I shall not give any idea of the plot here; I will only say that it was really humorous, and did not betray as much of the novice as might have been expected.  Harry had copied it out in his best hand, and resolved to carry it to Boston, and offer it in person to the editor of the “Standard” with an effort, if accepted, to obtain compensation for it.