VACATION BEGINS AT THE ACADEMY.
Not long after his election as a member of the Clionian Society, the
summer term of the Prescott Academy closed. The examination took
place about the tenth of June, and a vacation followed, lasting till
the first day of September. Of course, the Clionian Society, which
was composed of Academy students, suspended its meetings for the same
length of time. Indeed, the last meeting for the season took place
during the first week in June, as the evenings were too short and too
warm, and the weather was not favorable to oratory. At the last
meeting, an election was held of officers to serve for the following
term. The same President and Vice-President were chosen; but as the
Secretary declined to serve another term, Harry Walton, considerably
to his surprise, found himself elected in his place.
Fitzgerald Fletcher did not vote for him. Indeed, he expressed it as
his opinion that it was a shame to elect a "printer's devil"
Secretary of the Society.
"Why is it?" said Oscar. "Printing is a department of literature,
and the Clionian is a literary society, isn't it?"
"Of course it is a literary society, but a printer's devil is not
literary."
"He's as literary as a tin-pedler," said Tom Carver, maliciously.
Fletcher turned red, but managed to say, "And what does that prove?"
"We don't object to you because you are connected with the tin
business."
"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Fletcher, angrily. "What have I
to do with the tin business?"
"Oh, I beg pardon, it's your cousin that's in it."
"I deny the relationship," said Fletcher, "and I will thank you not
to refer again to that vulgar pedler."
"Really, Fitz, you speak rather roughly, considering he's your
cousin. But as to Harry Walton, he's a fine fellow, and he has an
excellent handwriting, and I was very glad to vote for him."
Fitzgerald walked away, not a little disgusted, as well at the
allusion to the tin-pedler, as at the success of Harry Walton in
obtaining an office to which he had himself secretly aspired. He had
fancied that it would sound well to put "Secretary of the Clionian
Society" after his name, and would give him increased consequence at
home. As to the tin-pedler, it would have relieved his mind to hear
that Mr. Bickford had been carried off suddenly by an apoplectic fit,
and notwithstanding the tie of kindred, he would not have taken the
trouble to put on mourning in his honor.
Harry Walton sat in Oscar Vincent's room, on the last evening of the
term. He had just finished reciting the last French lesson in which
he would have Oscar's assistance for some time to come.
"You have made excellent progress," said Oscar. "It is only two
months since you began French, and now you take a long lesson in
translation."
"That is because I have so good a teacher. But do you think I can
get along without help during the summer?"
"No doubt of it. You may find some difficulties, but those you can
mark, and I will explain when I come back. Or I'll tell you what is
still better. Write to me, and I'll answer. Shall I write in
French?"
"I wish you would, Oscar."
"Then I will. I'm rather lazy with the pen, but I can find time for
you. Besides, it will be a good way for me to keep up my French."
"Shall you be in Boston all summer, Oscar?"
"No; our family has a summer residence at Nahant, a sea-shore place
twelve miles from Boston. Then I hope father will let me travel
about a little on my own account. I want to go to Saratoga and Lake
George."
"That would be splendid."
"I wish you could go with me, Harry."
"Thank you, Oscar, but perhaps you can secure Fletcher's company.
That will be much better than that of a 'printer's devil' like
myself."
"It may show bad taste, but I should prefer your company,
notwithstanding your low employment."
"Thank you, Oscar. I am much obliged."
"Fitz has been hinting to me how nice it would be for us to go off
somewhere together, but I don't see it in that light. I asked him
why he didn't secure board with his cousin, the tin-pedler, but that
made him angry, and he walked away in disgust. But I can't help
pitying you a little, Harry."
"Why? On account of my occupation?"
"Partly. All these warm summer days, you have got to be working at
the case, while I can lounge in the shade, or travel for pleasure.
Sha'n't you have a vacation?"
"I don't expect any. I don't think I could well be spared. However,
I don't mind it. I hope to do good deal of studying while you are
gone."
"And I sha'n't do any."
"Neither would I, perhaps, in your position. But there's a good deal
of difference between us. You are a Latin and Greek scholar, and can
talk French, while I am at the bottom of the ladder. I have no time
to lose."
"You have begun to mount the ladder, Harry. Don't be discouraged.
You can climb up."
"But I must work for it. I haven't got high enough up to stop and
rest. But there is one question I want to ask you, before you go."
"What is it?"
"What French book would you recommend after I have finished this
Reader? I am nearly through now."
"Telemaque will be a good book to take next. It is easy and
interesting. Have you got a French dictionary?"
"No; but I can buy one."
"You can use mine while I am gone. You may as well have it as not.
I have no copy of Telemaque, but I will send you one from Boston."
"Agreed, provided you will let me pay you for it."
"So I would, if I had to buy one. But I have got an old copy, not
very ornamental, but complete. I will send it through the mail."
"Thank you, Oscar. How kind you are!"
"Don't flatter me, Harry. The favors you refer to are but trifles.
I will ask a favor of you in return."
"I wish you would."
"Then help me pack my trunk. There's nothing I detest so much.
Generally I tumble things in helter-skelter, and get a good scolding
from mother for doing it, when she inspects my trunk."
"I'll save you the trouble, then. Bring what you want to carry home,
and pile it on the floor, and I'll do the packing."
"A thousand thanks, as the French say. It takes a load off my mind.
By the way, here's a lot of my photographs. Would you like one to
remember your professor by?"
"Very much, Oscar."
"Then take your choice. They don't do justice to my beauty, which is
of a stunning description, as you are aware, nor do they convey an
idea of the lofty intellect which sits enthroned behind my classic
brow; but such as they are, you are welcome to one."
"Any one would think, to hear you, that you had no end of
self-conceit, Oscar," said Harry, laughing.
"How do you know that I haven't? Most people think they are
beautiful. A photographer told my sister that he was once visited by
a frightfully homely man from the the country, who wanted his 'picter
took.' When the result was placed before him, he seemed
dissatisfied. 'Don't you think it like?' said the artist.--'Well,
ye-es,' he answered slowly, 'but it hasn't got my sweet expression
about the mouth!'"
"Very good," said Harry, laughing; "that's what's the matter with
your picture."
"Precisely. I am glad your artistic eye detects what is wanting.
But, hold! there's a knock. It's Fitz, I'll bet a hat."
"Come in!" he cried, and Fletcher walked in.
"Good-evening, Fletcher," said Oscar. "You see I'm packing, or
rather Walton is packing. He's a capital packer."
"Indeed!" sneered Fletcher. "I was not aware that Mr. Walton was in
that line of business. What are his terms?"
"I refer you to him."
"What do you charge for packing trunks, Mr. Walton?"
"I think fifty cents would be about right," answered Harry, with
perfect gravity. "Can you give me a job, Mr. Fletcher?"
"I might, if I had known it in time, though I am particular who
handles my things."
"Walton is careful, and I can vouch for his honesty," said Oscar,
carrying out the joke. "His wages in the printing office are not
large, and he would be glad to make a little extra money."
"It must be very inconvenient to be poor," said Fletcher, with a
supercilious glance at our hero, who was kneeling before Oscar's
trunk.
"It is," answered Harry, quietly, "but as long as work is to be had I
shall not complain."
"To be sure!" said Fletcher. "My father is wealthy, and I shall not
have to work."
"Suppose he should fail?" suggested Oscar.
"That is a very improbable supposition," said Fletcher, loftily.
"But not impossible?"
"Nothing is impossible."
"Of course. I say, Fitz, if such a thing should happen, you've got
something to fall back upon."
"To what do you refer?"
"Mr. Bickford could give you an interest in the tin business."
"Good-evening!" said Fletcher, not relishing the allusion.
"Good-evening! Of course I shall see you in the city."
"I suppose I ought not to tease Fitz," said Oscar, after his visitor
had departed, "but I enjoy seeing how disgusted he looks."
In due time the trunk was packed, and Harry, not without regret, took
leave of his friend for the summer.