“‘Well,’ I heard some say, ‘I guess we will never see him again. He’s
too big for this place.’
“I was on the Portland ‘Oregonian’ just one day.
“‘What’s the sense of this?’ I was asked. ‘You can’t draw,’ and back I
went.
“I had before me the mortification of meeting the righteous disgust of
my friends. On my way back to Silverton, I heard that they were short
of a brakeman at the Portland end, so I beat my way back to Portland,
and, walking into the office, offered myself.
“‘What!’ said the man. ‘What do you know about braking? I would like to
know who sent you on such a fool’s errand?’ and he raved and stamped,
and swore he would discharge everyone on the train. But on the next
train, I went out as head brakeman. All the elements got together,—it
rained and snowed and froze, and when I got to Silverton, almost
frozen, I slipped from the train and tramped home, a much disheartened
young man.
“But just to show my father I had something in me, and wanted to make
my way in life, I asked to be sent to an institution of learning, where
I stayed just one week. Then I got a place attending to the ink roller
in the local printing office, where the town paper was published,
which, to this day, I do not think can be beaten,”—and Mr. Davenport
laughed in his hearty way.