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Risen from the Ranks: Harry Walton's Success, a novel by Horatio Alger |
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Chapter 33. An Unexpected Proposal |
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_ CHAPTER XXXIII. AN UNEXPECTED PROPOSAL During his temporary editorship, Harry did not feel at liberty to make any decided changes in the character or arrangement of the paper; but he was ambitious to improve it, as far as he was able, in its different departments. Mr. Anderson had become rather indolent in the collection of local news, merely publishing such items as were voluntarily contributed. Harry, after his day's work was over, made a little tour of the village, gathering any news that he thought would be of interest to the public. Moreover he made arrangements to obtain news of a similar nature from neighboring villages, and the result was, that in the course of a month he made the "Gazette" much more readable. "Really, the 'Gazette' gives a good deal more news than it used to," was a common remark. It was probably in consequence of this improvement that new subscriptions began to come in, not from Centreville alone, but from towns in the neighborhood. This gratified and encouraged Harry, who now felt that he was on the right tack. There was another department to which he devoted considerable attention. This was a condensed summary of news from all parts of the world, giving the preference and the largest space, of course, to American news. He aimed to supply those who did not take a daily paper with a brief record of events, such as they would not be likely, otherwise, to hear of. Of course all this work added to his labors as compositor; and his occasional sketches for Boston papers absorbed a large share of his time. Indeed, he had very little left at his disposal for rest and recreation. "I am afraid you are working too hard, Harry," said Ferguson. "You are doing Mr. Anderson's work better than he ever did it, and your own too." "I enjoy it," said Harry. "I work hard I know, but I feel paid by the satisfaction of finding that my labors are appreciated." "When Mr. Anderson gets back, he will find it necessary to employ you as assistant editor, for it won't do to let the paper get back to its former dulness." "I will accept," said Harry, "if he makes the offer. I feel more and more that I must be an editor." "You are certainly showing yourself competent for the position." "I have only made a beginning," said our hero, modestly. "In time I think I could make a satisfactory paper." One day, about two months after Mr. Anderson's departure, Ferguson and Harry were surprised, and not altogether agreeably, by the entrance of John Clapp and Luke Harrison. They looked far from prosperous. In fact, both of them were decidedly seedy. Going West had not effected an improvement in their fortunes. "Is that you, Clapp?" asked Ferguson. "Where did you come from?" "From St. Louis." "Then you didn't feel inclined to stay there?" "Not I. It's a beastly place. I came near starving." Clapp would have found any place beastly where a fair day's work was required for fair wages, and my young readers in St. Louis, therefore, need not heed his disparaging remarks. "How was it with you, Luke?" asked Harry. "Do you like the West no better than Clapp?" "You don't catch me out there again," said Luke. "It isn't what it's cracked up to be. We had the hardest work in getting money enough to get us back." As Luke did not mention the kind of hard work by which the money was obtained, I may state here that an evening's luck at the faro table had supplied them with money enough to pay the fare to Boston by railway; otherwise another year might have found them still in St. Louis. "Hard work doesn't suit your constitution, does it?" said Ferguson, slyly. "I can work as well as anybody," said Luke; "but I haven't had the luck of some people." "You were lucky enough to have your fare paid to the West for you." "Yes, and when we got there, the rascal left us to shift for ourselves. That aint much luck." "I've always had to shift for myself, and always expect to," was the reply. "Oh, you're a model!" sneered Clapp. "You always were as sober and steady as a deacon. I wonder they didn't make you one." "And Walton there is one of the same sort," said Luke. "I say, Harry, it was real mean in you not to send me the money I wrote for. You hadn't it, had you?" "Yes," said Harry, firmly; "but I worked hard for it, and I didn't feel like giving it away." "Who asked you to give it away? I only wanted to borrow it." "That's the same thing--with you. You were not likely to repay it again." "Do you mean to insult me?" blustered Luke. "No, I never insult anybody. I only tell the truth. You know, Luke Harrison, whether I have reason for what I say." "I wouldn't leave a friend to suffer when I had plenty of money in my pocket," said Luke, with an injured air. "If you had been a different sort of fellow I would have asked you for five dollars to keep me along till I can get work. I've come back with empty pockets." "I'll lend you five dollars if you need it," said Harry, who judged from Luke's appearance that he told the truth. "Will you?" said Luke, brightening up. "That's a good fellow. I'll pay you just as soon as I can." Harry did not place much reliance on this assurance; but he felt that he could afford the loss of five dollars, if loss it should prove, and it might prevent Luke's obtaining the money in a more questionable way. "Where's Mr. Anderson?" asked Clapp, looking round the office. "He's been in Michigan for a couple of months." "You don't say so! Why, who runs the paper?" "Ferguson and I," said Harry. "I mean who edits it?" "Harry does that," said his fellow-workman. "Whew!" ejaculated Clapp, in surprise. "Why, but two years ago you was only a printer's devil!" "He's risen from the ranks," said Ferguson, "and I can say with truth that the 'Gazette' has never been better than since it has been under his charge." "How much does old Anderson pay you for taking his place?" asked Luke, who was quite as much surprised as Clapp. "I don't ask anything extra. He pays me fifteen dollars a week as compositor." "You're doing well," said Luke, enviously. "Got a big pile of money laid up, haven't you?" "I have something in the bank." "Harry writes stories for the Boston papers, also," said Ferguson. "He makes a hundred or two that way." "Some folks are born to luck," said Clapp, discontentedly. "Here am I, six or eight years older, out of a place, and without a cent to fall back upon. I wish I was one of your lucky ones." "You might have had a few hundred dollars, at any rate," said Ferguson, "if you hadn't chosen to spend all your money when you were earning good wages." "A man must have a little enjoyment. We can't drudge all the time." "It's better to do that than to be where you are now." But Clapp was not to be convinced that he was himself to blame for his present disagreeable position. He laid the blame on fortune, like thousands of others. He could not see that Harry's good luck was the legitimate consequence of industry and frugality. After a while the two left the office. They decided to seek their old boarding-house, and remain there for a week, waiting for something to turn up. The next day Harry received the following letter from Mr. Anderson:--
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