STRIVE AND SUCCEED
OR
THE PROGRESS OF WALTER CONRAD
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.
AUTHOR OF “ERIE TRAIN BOY,” “YOUNG ACROBAT,”
“ONLY AN IRISH BOY,” “BOUND TO RISE,”
“STRONG AND STEADY,” “JULIUS,
THE STREET BOY,” ETC.
NEW YORK
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS
------------------------------------------------------------------------
ALGER SERIES FOR BOYS.
UNIFORM WITH THIS VOLUME.
BY HORATIO ALGER, JR.
Adrift in New York.
A Cousin’s Conspiracy.
Andy Gordon.
Andy Grant’s Pluck.
Bob Burton.
Bound to Rise.
Brave and Bold.
Cash Boy.
Chester Rand.
Do and Dare.
Driven from Home.
Erie Train Boy.
Facing the World.
Five Hundred Dollars.
Frank’s Campaign.
Grit.
Hector’s Inheritance.
Helping Himself.
Herbert Caster’s Legacy.
In a New World.
Jack’s Ward.
Jed, the Poor House Boy.
Joe’s Luck.
Julius, the Street Boy.
Luke Walton.
Making His Way.
Mark Mason.
Only an Irish Boy.
Paul, the Peddler.
Phil, the Fiddler.
Ralph Raymond’s Heir.
Risen from the Ranks.
Sam’s Chance.
Shifting for Himself.
Sink or Swim.
Slow and Sure.
Store Boy.
Strive and Succeed.
Strong and Steady.
Struggling Upward.
Tin Box.
Tom, the Bootblack.
Tony, the Tramp.
Try and Trust.
Wait and Hope.
Walter Sherwood’s Probation.
Young Acrobat.
Young Adventurer.
Young Outlaw.
Young Salesman.
_Price, Post-Paid, 35c. each, or any three books for $1.00._
HURST & COMPANY
PUBLISHERS, NEW YORK.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
TO
MY YOUNG FRIENDS,
ISABELLA AND EDWIN,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
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PREFACE.
“STRIVE AND SUCCEED” is reprinted from the pages of _Young Israel_, a
New York juvenile magazine, to which it was contributed as a serial. It
is complete in itself, and can be read independently; but those who have
read its predecessor, “Strong and Steady,” may be interested to learn
that it traces the subsequent career of Walter Conrad, showing how he
continued to paddle his own canoe, and chronicles the adventures of
Joshua Drummond after his flight from home.
As Walter’s success as a teacher at the West may seem to some
improbable, in view of his youth, I am led to say that I know of more
than one case equally remarkable, in particular that of a gentleman
since prominent as a politician. The moral of the book is contained in
the title. As a rule of action, I recommend it confidently to all my
young readers.
NEW YORK, Oct. 1, 1872.
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STRIVE AND SUCCEED.
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CHAPTER I
WALTER CONRAD’S MISSION.
A LONG train was running at moderate speed over a Wisconsin railroad.
Among the passengers was a stout, gentlemanly-looking boy, who looked
much more than sixteen, although he had not yet reached that age. On the
seat beside him was a large carpetbag, which contained all the clothing
he carried with him. As the conductor passed through the car, the boy
asked:
“Are we near Benton?”
“It is the next station.”
“Is that the place to take the stage for Portville?”
“Yes.”
“Can you tell me how far I shall have to ride in the stage?”
“A matter of ten miles or thereabouts.”
“Thank you.”
The conductor passed on, and the boy began to shake the dust from his
coat, and, opening his carpetbag, deposited therein a copy of _Harper’s
Magazine_ which he had been reading. I may as well introduce him at once
to the reader as Walter Conrad, whose previous adventures have been
related in “Strong and Steady.” For the benefit of such of my present
readers as have not read this volume, I will sketch his history in
brief.
Walter Conrad, then, not quite a year since, had received, when at
boarding school, the unexpected intelligence of his father’s serious
illness. On reaching home, he found his parent dead. Subsequently he
learned that his father had bought shares to the extent of a hundred
thousand dollars in the Great Metropolitan Mining Company, and through
the failure of this company had probably lost everything. This
intelligence had doubtless hastened his death. Walter was, of course,
obliged to leave school, and accepted temporarily an invitation from Mr.
Jacob Drummond, of Stapleton, a remote kinsman, to visit him. In
extending the invitation Mr. Drummond was under the illusion that Walter
was the heir to a large property. On learning the truth, his manner was
changed completely, and Walter, finding himself no longer welcome as a
guest, proposed to enter Mr. Drummond’s store as a clerk. Being a strong
and capable boy, he was readily received on board wages. The board,
however, proved to be very poor, and his position was made more
disagreeable by Joshua Drummond, three years older than himself, who,
finding he could get nothing out of him, took a dislike to him. Walter
finally left Mr. Drummond’s employ, and, led by his love of adventure,
accepted an offer to travel as a book agent in Ohio. Here he was
successful, though he met with one serious adventure, involving him in
some danger, but was finally led to abandon the business at the request
of Clement Shaw, his father’s executor, for the following reason:
The head of the Great Metropolitan Mining Company, through whom his
father had been led to invest his entire fortune in it, was a man named
James Wall, a specious and plausible man, through whose mismanagement it
was believed it had failed. He was strongly suspected of conspiring to
make a fortune out of it at the expense of the other stockholders. He
had written to Mr. Shaw, offering the sum of two thousand dollars for
the thousand shares now held by Walter, an offer which the executor did
not feel inclined to accept until he knew that it was made in good
faith. He, therefore, wrote to Walter to change his name and go on to
Portville, the home of Mr. Wall, and there use all his shrewdness to
discover what he could of the position of the mining company, and Mr.
Wall’s designs in relation thereto. It may be added that after selling
the balance of the estate, Walter was found entitled to five hundred
dollars. He had, besides, cleared eighty-seven dollars net profit on his
sales as book agent.
Such is Walter’s story, though, for the present, we shall have to call
our hero Gilbert Howard--an assumed name, which he had adopted at the
executor’s suggestion, lest his real name might excite the suspicions of
Mr. Wall and so defeat the purpose of his journey.
Walter had scarcely made his preparations to leave the cars, when the
whistle sounded, and the train, gradually slackening its speed, came to
a stop.
“Benton!” called the conductor, rapidly, half opening the door.
“I am near my journey’s end,” thought Walter.
Several passengers descended from the train and gathered on the
platform. Among them, of course, was our hero.
A shabby-looking stage stood just beside the station house. Knowing that
it was a ten miles’ journey, and important to get a comfortable seat,
Walter passed through the building, and took a seat inside. Several
other passengers followed leisurely until the carriage was nearly full.
While Walter was wondering how soon they would start, a gentleman,
accompanied by a boy of about Walter’s age, approached the driver, who
was about to take his seat.
“Didn’t you see anything of my carriage, Abner?”
“No, General Wall,” said Abner, respectfully. “I didn’t see it anywhere
on the road.”
“That is very strange,” muttered Mr. Wall, discontentedly. “I told Henry
to drive over for me. Are you sure you might not have passed without
seeing it?”
“I’d have seed it if it had been on the road,” said Abner, with more
emphasis than strict adherence to grammatical rules.
“I suppose we must ride with you, then,” said Mr. Wall. “Can you give us
seats inside?”
The driver came to the door, and, opening it, looked in.
“There’s one seat,” he said. “Your son can ride outside with me.”
John Wall evidently did not fancy this arrangement. The fact was that it
was beginning to sprinkle, and, being nicely dressed, he did not want to
get wet.
“I want to ride inside,” he said.
“I’d like to accommodate you,” said the driver, “but there’s only room
for one.”
“I don’t see why I haven’t as good right to a seat inside as anybody
else,” said John, in a grumbling tone.
John Wall was rather a stout, freckle-faced boy, dressed with some
pretension to style, and sporting a pair of kid gloves. He secretly
considered himself to be unusually good-looking, and on the strength of
his father’s wealth gave himself airs of superiority to which he was not
entitled. His manners were decidedly arrogant and overbearing, and he
was far from being a favorite in Portville, although a great many
things, which would not have been excused in another less favored by
fortune, were forgiven him on account of his father’s wealth.
“I’d like to stretch the inside of the stage if I could,” said Abner,
good-naturedly, “but that ain’t easy.”
“You may sit in my lap, John,” said his father.
“I’d rather not,” said John, sullenly.
“Then I think you will have to make up your mind to sit with Abner.”
“I ain’t going to spoil my clothes,” growled the discontented boy.
“Here is an umbrella for you,” said his father.
Meanwhile John had been peering into the coach and espied Walter on the
back seat. Accustomed to regard his own convenience as a matter of more
importance than that of anybody else, he was led to make a very selfish
proposal.
“There’s a boy inside,” he said. “Perhaps he’ll get outside and give me
his seat.”
This proposal struck Walter as refreshingly cool, but having a sense of
what was due to himself, and always having been in the habit of standing
up for his rights, he did not propose to gratify John.
“Thank you,” said he, dryly; “I’d rather keep my seat.”
“But I don’t want to get wet.”
“Nor I,” said Walter.
“I don’t see why I haven’t as much right to ride inside as he,” grumbled
John, turning to the driver.
“So you would, and better, too, if you’d got in first,” said Abner,
rather disgusted at John’s selfishness. “But I must be starting. So if
you’re going along with me, you’d better climb up.”
“I’ll give you twenty-five cents if you’ll give me your seat,” said
John, making a last appeal to Walter.
“Thank you,” said Walter, coldly; “I’m not in want of money.”
“Get up without any more fuss, John,” said his father, impatiently.
Very discontentedly John climbed up to the box and took his seat beside
the driver. He felt very angry with our hero for declining to sacrifice
his own convenience to him. It appeared to him that, as the son of
General Wall, the richest man in Portville, he had a right to the best
of everything.
“Do you know who that boy is, that wouldn’t give me his seat?” he asked
of Abner.
“Never saw him before,” said the driver.
“Is he going to Portville?”
“Yes, so he told me.”
“Do you know where he is going to stop?”
“No, he didn’t tell me.”
“Do you think it’s going to rain much?”
“I reckon it will be a smart sprinkle. You’d better take off them kid
gloves of your’n if you don’t want them spoiled.”
“I don’t see why that boy wouldn’t give me his seat. He hasn’t got on as
good clothes as I have,” grumbled John.
“Well, if your clothes are spoiled your father’s got money enough to buy
you some new ones,” said Abner.
“That’s true,” said John, with an air of importance. “My father’s very
rich.”
“I expect you’ll be rich, too, some day,” said Abner.
“I expect I shall,” said John, complacently. “I’m going to be a lawyer.”
“All right,” said the driver, jocosely; “I’ll give you all my law
business.”
“Oh, I shan’t settle down here,” said John, loftily. “I’m going to
Detroit or Chicago. I want to be in a big place.”
“I reckon you’ll be too smart for Portville,” said Abner, with sly
sarcasm.
“I guess I can do as well as any of the city lawyers,” said John. “I am
reading Cæsar already.”
“Who’s he?”
“A Latin author.”
“You don’t say! You must know a mighty lot.”
“Oh, it ain’t hard when you’re used to it,” said John, condescendingly.
The rain subsided, and John had the satisfaction of saving his clothes
from injury, so that he ended the journey in a more amiable frame of
mind than could have been anticipated.
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