Risen from the Ranks: Harry Walton's Success

TWO LETTERS FROM THE WEST.

The vacation was over all too soon, yet, brief as it was, Harry looked back upon it with great satisfaction.  He had been kindly received in the family of a man who stood high in the profession which he was ambitious to enter; he had gratified his curiosity to see the chief city of New England; and, by no means least, he had secured a position as paid contributor for the “Standard.”

“I suppose you will be writing another story soon,” said Oscar.

“Yes,” said Harry, “I have got the plan of one already.”

“If you should write more than you can get into the ‘Standard,’ you had better send something to the ‘Weekly Argus.’”

“I will; but I will wait till the ‘Standard’ prints my first sketch, so that I can refer to that in writing to the ‘Argus.’”

“Perhaps you are right.  There’s one advantage to not presenting yourself.  They won’t know you’re only a boy.”

“Unless they judge so from my style.”

“I don’t think they would infer it from that.  By the way, Harry, suppose my father could find an opening for you as a reporter on his paper,—­would you be willing to accept it?”

“I am not sure whether it would be best for me,” said Harry, slowly, “even if I were qualified.”

“There is more chance to rise on a city paper.”

“I don’t know.  If I stay here I may before many years control a paper of my own.  Then, if I want to go into politics, there would be more chance in the country than in the city.”

“Would you like to go into politics?”

“I am rather too young to decide about that; but if I could be of service in that way, I don’t see why I should not desire it.”

“Well, Harry, I think you are going the right way to work.”

“I hope so.  I don’t want to be promoted till I am fit for it.  I am going to work hard for the next two or three years.”

“I wish I were as industrious as you are, Harry.”

“And I wish I knew as much as you do, Oscar.”

“Say no more, or we shall be forming a Mutual Admiration Society,” said Oscar, laughing.

Harry received a cordial welcome back to the printing office.  Mr. Anderson asked him many questions about Mr. Vincent; and our hero felt that his employer regarded him with increased consideration, on account of his acquaintance with the great city editor.  This consideration was still farther increased when Mr. Anderson learned our hero’s engagement by the “Weekly Standard.”

Three weeks later, the “Standard” published Harry’s sketch, and accepted another, at the same price.  Before this latter was printed, Harry wrote a third sketch, which he called “Phineas Popkin’s Engagement.”  This he inclosed to the “Weekly Argus,” with a letter in which he referred to his engagement by the “Standard.”  In reply he received the following letter:—­

  “BOSTON, Jan., 18—­,

“MR. FRANK LYNN,—­Dear Sir:  We enclose three dollars for your sketch,—­’Phineas Popkin’s Engagement.’  We shall be glad to receive other sketches, of similar character and length, and, if accepted, we will pay the same price therefor.

  “I.  B. FITCH & Co.”

This was highly satisfactory to Harry.  He was now an accepted contributor to two weekly papers, and the addition to his income would be likely to reach a hundred dollars a year.  All this he would be able to lay up, and as much or more from his salary on the “Gazette.”  He felt on the high road to success.  Seeing that his young compositor was meeting with success and appreciation abroad, Mr. Anderson called upon him more frequently to write paragraphs for the “Gazette.”  Though this work was gratuitous, Harry willingly undertook it.  He felt that in this way he was preparing himself for the career to which he steadily looked forward.  Present compensation, he justly reasoned, was of small importance, compared with the chance of improvement.  In this view, Ferguson, who proved to be a very judicious friend, fully concurred.  Indeed Harry and he became more intimate than before, if that were possible, and they felt that Clapp’s departure was by no means to be regretted.  They were remarking this one day, when Mr. Anderson, who had been examining his mail, looked up suddenly, and said, “What do you think, Mr. Ferguson?  I’ve got a letter from Clapp.”

“A letter from Clapp?  Where is he?” inquired Ferguson, with interest.

“This letter is dated at St. Louis.  He doesn’t appear to be doing very well.”

“I thought he was going to California.”

“So he represented.  But here is the letter.”  Ferguson took it, and, after reading, handed it to Harry.

It ran thus:—­

  “ST. LOUIS, April 4, 18—.

“JOTHAM ANDERSON, ESQ.,—­Dear Sir:  Perhaps you will be surprised to hear from me, but I feel as if I would like to hear from Centreville, where I worked so long.  The man that induced me and Harrison to come out here left us in the lurch three days after we reached St. Louis.  He said he was going on to San Francisco, and he had only money enough to pay his own expenses.  As Luke and I were not provided with money, we had a pretty hard time at first, and had to pawn some of our clothes, or we should have starved.  Finally I got a job in the ‘Democrat’ office, and a week after, Luke got something to do, though it didn’t pay very well.  So we scratched along as well as we could.  Part of the time since we have been out of work, and we haven’t found ‘coming West’ all that it was cracked up to be.

“Are Ferguson and Harry Walton still working for you?  I should like to come back to the ‘Gazette’ office, and take my old place; but I haven’t got five dollars ahead to pay my travelling expenses.  If you will send me out thirty dollars, I will come right on, and work it out after I come back.  Hoping for an early reply, I am,

  “Yours respectfully,
    “HENRY CLAPP.”

“Are you going to send out the money, Mr. Anderson?” asked Ferguson.

“Not I. Now that Walton has got well learnt, I don’t need another workman.  I shall respectfully decline his offer.”

Both Harry and Ferguson were glad to hear this, for they felt that Clapp’s presence would be far from making the office more agreeable.

“Here’s a letter for you, Walton, also post-marked St. Louis,” said Mr. Anderson, just afterward.

Harry took it with surprise, and opened it at once.

“It’s from Luke Harrison,” he said, looking at the signature.

“Does he want you to send him thirty dollars?” asked Ferguson.

“Listen and I will read the letter.”

“DEAR HARRY,” it commenced, “you will perhaps think it strange that I have written to you; but we used to be good friends.  I write to tell you that I don’t like this place.  I haven’t got along well, and I want to get back.  Now I am going to ask of you a favor.  Will you lend me thirty or forty dollars, to pay my fare home?  I will pay you back in a month or two months sure, after I get to work.  I will also pay you the few dollars which I borrowed some time ago.  I ought to have done it before, but I was thoughtless, and I kept putting it off.  Now, Harry, I know you have the money, and you can lend it to me just as well as not, and I’ll be sure to pay it back before you need it.  Just get a post-office order, and send it to Luke Harrison, 17 R——­ Street, St. Louis, and I’ll be sure to get it.  Give my respects to Mr. Anderson, and also to Mr. Ferguson.

  “Your friend,
    “LUKE HARRISON.”

“There is a chance for a first-class investment, Harry,” said Ferguson.

“Do you want to join me in it?”

“No, I would rather pay the money to have ‘your friend’ keep away.”

“I don’t want to be unkind or disobliging,” said Harry, “but I don’t feel like giving Luke this money.  I know he would never pay me back.”

“Say no, then.”

“I will.  Luke will be mad, but I can’t help it.”

So both Mr. Anderson and Harry wrote declining to lend.  The latter, in return, received a letter from Luke, denouncing him as a “mean, miserly hunks;” but even this did not cause him to regret his decision.