A LITERARY DEBUT.
Harry waited eagerly for the next issue of the "Weekly Standard." It
was received by Mr. Anderson in exchange for the "Centreville
Gazette," and usually came to hand on Saturday morning. Harry was
likely to obtain the first chance of examining the paper, as he was
ordinarily sent to the post-office on the arrival of the morning mail.
His hands trembled as he unfolded the paper and hurriedly scanned the
contents. But he looked in vain for his essay on Ambition. There
was not even a reference to it. He was disappointed, but he soon
became hopeful again.
"I couldn't expect it to appear so soon," he reflected. "These city
weeklies have to be printed some days in advance. It may appear yet."
So he was left in suspense another week, hopeful and doubtful by
turns of the success of his first offering for the press. He was
rallied from time to time on his silence in the office, but he
continued to keep his secret. If his contribution was slighted, no
one should know it but himself.
At last another Saturday morning came around and again he set out for
the post-office. Again he opened the paper with trembling fingers,
and eagerly scanned the well-filled columns. This time his search
was rewarded. There, on the first column of the last page, in all
the glory of print, was his treasured essay!
A flash of pleasure tinged his cheek, and his heart beat rapidly, as
he read his first printed production. It is a great event in the
life of a literary novice, when he first sees himself. Even Byron
says,--
"'Tis pleasant, sure, to see one's self in print."
To our young hero the essay read remarkably well--better than he had
expected; but then, very likely he was prejudiced in its favor. He
read it through three times on his way back to the printing office,
and each time felt better satisfied.
"I wonder if any of the readers will think it was written by a boy?"
thought Harry. Probably many did so suspect, for, as I have said,
though the thoughts were good and sensible, the article was only
moderately well expressed. A practised critic would readily have
detected marks of immaturity, although it was a very creditable
production for a boy of sixteen.
"Shall I tell Ferguson?" thought Harry.
On the whole he concluded to remain silent just at present. He knew
Ferguson took the paper, and waited to see if he would make any
remark about it.
"I should like to hear him speak of it, without knowing that I was
the writer," thought our hero.
Just before he reached the office, he discovered with satisfaction
the following editorial reference to his article:--
"We print in another column an essay on 'ambition' by a new
contributor. It contains some good ideas, and we especially commend
it to the perusal of our young readers. We hope to hear from
'Franklin' again."
"That's good," thought Harry. "I am glad the editor likes it. I
shall write again as soon as possible."
"What makes you look so bright, Harry?" asked Ferguson, as he
re-entered the office. "Has any one left you a fortune?"
"Not that I know of," said Harry. "Do I look happier than usual?"
"So it seems to me."
Harry was spared answering this question, for Clapp struck in,
grumbling, as usual: "I wish somebody'd leave me a fortune. You
wouldn't see me here long."
"What would you do?" asked his fellow-workman.
"Cut work to begin with. I'd go to Europe and have a jolly time."
"You can do that without a fortune."
"I should like to know how?"
"Be economical, and you can save enough in three years to pay for a
short trip. Bayard Taylor was gone two years, and only spent five
hundred dollars."
"Oh, hang economy!" drawled Clapp. "It don't suit me. I should like
to know how a feller's going to economize on fifteen dollars a week."
"I could."
"Oh, no doubt," sneered Clapp, "but a man can't starve."
"Come round and take supper with me, some night," said Ferguson,
good-humoredly, "and you can judge for yourself whether I believe in
starving."
Clapp didn't reply to this invitation. He would not have enjoyed a
quiet evening with his fellow-workman. An evening at billiards or
cards, accompanied by bets on the games, would have been much more to
his mind.
"Who is Bayard Taylor, that made such a cheap tour in Europe?" asked
Harry, soon afterward.
"A young journalist who had a great desire to travel. He has lately
published an account of his tour. I don't buy many books, but I
bought that. Would you like to read it?"
"Very much."
"You can have it any time."
"Thank you."
On Monday, a very agreeable surprise awaited Harry.
"I am out of copy," he said, going up to Mr. Anderson's table.
"Here's a selection for the first page," said Mr. Anderson. "Cut it
in two, and give part of it to Clapp."
Could Harry believe his eyes! It was his own article on ambition,
and it was to be reproduced in the "Gazette." Next to the delight of
seeing one's self in print for the first time, is the delight of
seeing that first article copied. It is a mark of appreciation which
cannot be mistaken.
Still Harry said nothing, but, with a manner as unconcerned as
possible, handed the lower half of the essay to Clapp to set up. The
signature "Franklin" had been cut off, and the name of the paper from
which the essay had been cut was substituted.
"Wouldn't Clapp feel disgusted," thought Harry, "if he knew that he
was setting up an article of mine. I believe he would have a fit."
He was too considerate to expose his fellow-workman to such a
contingency, and went about his work in silence.
That evening he wrote to the publisher of the "Standard," inclosing
the price of two copies of the last number, which he desired should
be sent to him by mail. He wished to keep one himself, and the other
he intended to forward to his father, who, he knew, would sympathize
with him in his success as well as his aspirations. He accompanied
the paper by a letter in which he said,--
"I want to improve in writing as much as, I can. I want to be
something more than a printer, sometime. I shall try to qualify
myself for an editor; for an editor can exert a good deal of
influence in the community. I hope you will approve my plans."
In due time Harry received the following reply:--
"My dear son:--I am indeed pleased and proud to hear of your success,
not that it is a great matter in itself, but because I think it shows
that you are in earnest in your determination to win an honorable
position by honorable labor. I am sorry that my narrow means have
not permitted me to give you those advantages which wealthy fathers
can bestow upon their sons. I should like to have sent you to
college and given you an opportunity afterward of studying for a
profession. I think your natural abilities would have justified such
an outlay. But, alas! poverty has always held me back. It shuts out
you, as it has shut out me, from the chance of culture. Your
college, my boy, must be the printing office. If you make the best
of that, you will find that it is no mean instructor. Not Franklin
alone, but many of our most eminent and influential men have
graduated from it.
"You will be glad to hear that we are all well. I have sold the cow
which I bought of Squire Green, and got another in her place that
proves to be much better. We all send much love, and your mother
wishes me to say that she misses you very much, as indeed we all do.
But we know that you are better off in Centreville than you would be
at home, and that helps to make us contented. Don't forget to write
every week.
"Your affectionate father,
"HIRAM WALTON.
"P. S.--If you print any more articles, we shall be interested to
read them."
Harry read this letter with eager interest. He felt glad that his
father was pleased with him, and it stimulated him to increased
exertions.
"Poor father!" he said to himself. "He has led a hard life,
cultivating that rocky little farm. It has been hard work and poor
pay with him. I hope there is something better in store for him. If
I ever get rich, or even well off, I will take care that he has an
easier time."
After the next issue of the "Gazette" had appeared, Harry informed
Ferguson in confidence that he was the author of the article on
Ambition.
"I congratulate you, Harry," said his friend. "It is an excellent
essay, well thought out, and well expressed. I don't wonder, now you
tell me of it. It sounds like you. Without knowing the authorship,
I asked Clapp his opinion of it."
"What did he say?"
"Are you sure it won't hurt your feelings?"
"It may; but I shall get over it. Go ahead."
"He said it was rubbish."
Harry laughed.
"He would be confirmed in his decision, if he knew that I wrote it,"
he said.
"No doubt. But don't let that discourage you. Keep on writing by
all means, and you'll become an editor in time."