Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive)
[Illustration: HORATIO ALGER’S BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.]
SINK OR SWIM;
OR,
HARRY RAYMOND’S RESOLVE.
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.,
AUTHOR OF “RAGGED DICK,” “FAME AND FORTUNE,” “MARK, THE MATCH
BOY,” “ROUGH AND READY,” “BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY,” “RUFUS
AND ROSE,” “CAMPAIGN SERIES,” “LUCK AND
PLUCK SERIES,” ETC.
THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO.,
PHILADELPHIA,
CHICAGO, TORONTO.
FAMOUS ALGER BOOKS.
RAGGED DICK SERIES. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 6 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
RAGGED DICK.
FAME AND FORTUNE.
MARK THE MATCH BOY.
ROUGH AND READY.
BEN THE LUGGAGE BOY
RUFUS AND ROSE.
TATTERED TOM SERIES. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. FIRST
SERIES.
TATTERED TOM.
PAUL THE PEDDLER.
PHIL THE FIDDLER.
SLOW AND SURE.
TATTERED TOM SERIES. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. SECOND SERIES.
JULIUS.
THE YOUNG OUTLAW.
SAM’S CHANCE.
THE TELEGRAPH BOY.
CAMPAIGN SERIES. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 3 vols.
FRANK’S CAMPAIGN.
PAUL PRESCOTT’S CHARGE.
CHARLIE CODMAN’S CRUISE.
LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. FIRST
SERIES.
LUCK AND PLUCK.
SINK OR SWIM.
STRONG AND STEADY.
STRIVE AND SUCCEED.
LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. SECOND SERIES.
TRY AND TRUST.
BOUND TO RISE.
RISEN FROM THE RANKS.
HERBERT CARTER’S LEGACY.
BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
BRAVE AND BOLD.
JACK’S WARD.
SHIFTING FOR HIMSELF.
WAIT AND HOPE.
PACIFIC SERIES. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo.
THE YOUNG ADVENTURER.
THE YOUNG MINER.
THE YOUNG EXPLORERS.
BEN’S NUGGET.
ATLANTIC SERIES. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols.
THE YOUNG CIRCUS RIDER.
DO AND DARE.
HECTOR’S INHERITANCE.
HELPING HIMSELF.
WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
BOB BURTON.
THE STORE BOY.
LUKE WALTON.
STRUGGLING UPWARD.
NEW WORLD SERIES. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
DIGGING FOR GOLD.
FACING THE WORLD.
IN A NEW WORLD.
_Other Volumes in Preparation._
COPYRIGHT BY A. K. LORING, 1870.
To
_MY MOTHER_,
THIS VOLUME
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
“SINK OR SWIM” is the second volume of the “LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES,” and,
like its predecessor, is designed to illustrate the truth that a manly
spirit is better than the gifts of fortune.
It does not fall to the lot of many boys to meet with such adventures
or to encounter such trials as befell the young hero of this story; but
it will be of service to all, to adopt Harry Raymond’s motto. If there
are any of my young readers who are disposed to envy Harry’s final good
fortune, let them remember that the best way to strive for success is
to deserve it; and then, if it does not come, there will at least be a
consciousness of well-doing, which in itself is a rich reward.
NEW YORK, November 1, 1879.
SINK OR SWIM; OR, HARRY RAYMOND’S RESOLVE.
CHAPTER I.
THE VERNON HIGH SCHOOL.
“Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my
heart to this vote.”
These words were declaimed in a clear, ringing voice from the platform
of the Vernon High School. The speaker was a boy of fifteen, well-knit,
and vigorous, with a frank, manly expression, and a prepossessing face.
His dark chestnut hair waved slightly above a high, intellectual brow,
and his attitude, as he faced his school-mates, was one of ease and
unconscious grace. His eye flashed as he declaimed with appropriate
emphasis the patriotic extract which commences in the well-known
words quoted above. He had learned the orator’s secret,—to be in
earnest,—and he carried his audience with him. When, at the conclusion
of his declamation, he bowed and walked to his desk, the boys broke
into spontaneous applause. Though this was contrary to the rules of the
school, Reuben Tower, A. M., the principal, uttered no reprimand. He had
himself been pleased with the declamation, and sympathized to some extent
with the scholars.
“Very well indeed, Master Raymond! You speak as if you felt it,” he said.
Harry Raymond looked gratified at this double commendation. The applause
of his school-mates pleased him, for he was by no means indifferent to
their good opinion, which he tried on all occasions to deserve. He was no
less pleased with Mr. Tower’s praise, for he had a high respect for his
ability, and that praise was never lightly bestowed.
I have spoken of Harry’s good appearance. I am obliged to confess that
his dress had nothing to do with this. In fact, his jacket and pants
were of very coarse texture, and by no means elegant in fit. Besides
this, they appeared, though neat, to have seen considerable service, and
there was a patch on one knee,—very small, indeed, but still a patch.
In fact, I may as well state at the outset, that Harry was the son of a
house-carpenter,—an industrious and intelligent man, but still of limited
income, and obliged to economize strictly in order to lay aside, as he
made it a point to do, a hundred dollars a year, as a provision for the
future.
The applause which followed our hero’s declamation was almost unanimous.
I say _almost_, for there were two boys who did not join in it. One
of these was James Turner, a boy about Harry’s age, but more slightly
made. He was the son of Squire Turner, the wealthiest man in Vernon, and
his dress afforded quite a contrast to the ill-fitting garments of our
young hero. The village tailor’s skill had not been deemed sufficient,
but James had accompanied his father to New York, where his measure had
been left with a Broadway tailor, who had made up the suit and sent it
to Vernon by express. The cloth was very fine, and there was a style and
neatness of fit about the clothes of which James felt very proud. He
regarded his companions with a supercilious air, as if convinced of his
own immeasurable superiority, in dress at least.
James Turner did not participate in the applause called forth by Harry
Raymond’s declamation. On the contrary, he sat with an unpleasant sneer
on his lips, and cast a glance of scorn at the patch, which his quick eye
had detected in our hero’s pants.
There was another boy, sitting next to James, who also refrained from
joining in the applause. This was Tom Barton, a friend and hanger-on of
James Turner, who, by persistent flattery, earned the privilege of being
treated with half-contemptuous familiarity and condescension by the young
aristocrat. He knew that James did not like Harry Raymond, and the sneer
which he saw on the lips of his patron gave him the cue. He attempted
to imitate it, and gaze scornfully at the young orator in his momentary
triumph.
“James Turner!” called out the principal.
James Turner rose from his seat, and walked to the platform, which he
ascended, greeting the audience with a stiff and consequential bow, and
an air which might be interpreted to mean, “Boys, you will now have the
privilege of hearing _me_ speak.”
James had selected a good piece,—Patrick Henry’s well-known appeal to
arms, familiar to every school-boy, commencing, “I have but one lamp by
which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience.”
It is a fine piece of oratory, lofty in tone and sentiment, and should
be spoken with dignified earnestness. James Turner’s voice, which was
shrill, was scarcely calculated to do justice to it. Still it would not
have called out any demonstration from the young auditory, but for one
or two peculiar ideas on the part of James, as to the proper way of
speaking it. When he came to the clause, “We have prostrated ourselves
before the throne,” he suited the action to the word, and sank upon his
knees. But, afraid of soiling his pantaloons, he first spread out his
silk handkerchief on the platform, and this spoiled whatever effect the
action might otherwise have had. There was a general titter, which the
young aristocrat saw with anger. At the end of the sentence, he rose
from his knees, and, with a general scowl at the boys, kept on with his
declamation.
But a more serious _contretemps_ awaited him. A little further on, the
orator says, “We have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the
throne.” Here again, James, with a striking lack of judgment, thought it
would heighten the effect to suit the action to the word. Accordingly,
he prepared to kick out with his right foot. Unfortunately, he was
so provoked with his school-mates, for their lack of appreciation of
the other point he had made, that he executed the manœuvre, if it may
properly be so called, with a spiteful emphasis which was too much for
his equilibrium. He lost his balance, and fell forward in a ludicrous
manner, and rolled over on the floor of the school-room.
It could not be expected that fifty school-boys could restrain their
merriment under such trying circumstances. There was a wild burst of
laughter, in which, after an ineffectual attempt to resist the infection,
Mr. Tower himself was compelled to join. Boys laughed till the tears came
into their eyes, and the merriment was only increased when James Turner
rose to his feet, and with an air of offended majesty marched indignantly
to his seat, darting a look of withering scorn, as he meant it to be, at
his youthful audience.
The laughter recommenced, and became almost hysteric. The principal,
however, quickly recovered himself, and said:—
“Boys, that will do. Turner, you must excuse the boys for a little
good-natured merriment at your expense. I think your conception of the
gestures proper to use with your piece is not quite correct. However,
that is a point on which the most experienced speakers are apt to make
mistakes; not only boys, but men. Your intention was good, though the
effect was injured by circumstances.”
These remarks ought to have appeased the offended orator, but he
evidently did not mean to be appeased so readily. His feeling of
mortification was swallowed up in a greater feeling of anger and
irritation at the presumption of his school-mates, in daring to laugh at
him, the son of the richest man in Vernon. He felt that he was entitled,
rather, to be treated with respect and deference. So he sat sullenly
through the remainder of the speaking, with an ill-tempered scowl upon
his features.
When the speaking was over, Mr. Tower rose and said:—
“Boys, you are aware that at the commencement of the term I offered a
prize to the boy who, in your own judgment, should be pronounced to have
succeeded best in declamation, taking into consideration the whole term.
As this is the last time we shall declaim before vacation, I will call
for the vote now. I shall distribute small slips of paper among you, and
I will ask each boy to inscribe upon his slip the name of that one who,
in his opinion, deserves the prize. We will afterwards count the votes.”
Slips of paper were accordingly distributed, and the boys were soon busy
in recording their votes.
“Sheffield, you may collect the votes,” said Mr. Tower.
The boy referred to passed among the desks with his hat, and the slips
of paper were deposited therein. These were handed to the teacher, who
forthwith proceeded to count them.
The count over, he rapped on his desk.
“Boys,” he said, “I will announce the vote. Votes cast, fifty. Of
those Walter Sheffield has one; James Turner, two; and the remainder,
forty-seven in number, are for Harry Raymond, to whom I have great
pleasure in awarding the prize, of which he has been pronounced worthy
by the nearly unanimous vote of his school-mates. Raymond, you will come
forward.”
Harry Raymond advanced towards the teacher’s desk, amid the loud applause
of his companions.
Mr. Tower placed in his hands a handsomely bound volume, consisting of
selections from the best efforts of orators, ancient and modern, saying:—
“I have great pleasure in giving you this volume, Raymond, for my own
judgment approves the selection of your school-fellows. I trust you will
be able to express in your life, as you have so appropriately done upon
the platform, the lofty and elevated sentiments of our best orators.”
There was a flush of gratification upon our hero’s cheek, as he received
the book with a respectful bow, and returned to his seat amid the renewed
applause of his fellow-pupils.