LITMIR.BIZ

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promises more than that," said Ferguson. "Mark my words, Mr.

      Anderson; that boy is going to make his mark some day."

      "It is a little too soon to say that, isn't it?"

      "No; I judge from what I see. He is industrious and ambitious, and is bound to succeed. The world will hear of him yet."

      Mr. Anderson smiled. He liked what he had seen of his new apprentice, but he thought Ferguson altogether too sanguine.

      "He's a good, faithful boy," he admitted, "but it takes more than that to rise to distinction. If all the smart boys turned out smart men, they'd be a drug in the market."

      But Ferguson held to his own opinion, notwithstanding. Time will show which was right.

      The next day Ferguson said, "Harry, come round to my house, and take tea to-night. I've spoken to my wife about you, and she wants to see you."

      "Thank you, Mr. Ferguson," said Harry. "I shall be very glad to come."

      "I'll wait till you are ready, and you can walk along with me."

      "All right; I will be ready in five minutes."

      They set out together for Ferguson's modest home, which was about half a mile distant. As they passed up the village street Harry's attention was drawn to two boys who were approaching them. One he recognized at once as Fitzgerald Fletcher. He had an even more stunning necktie than when Harry first met him, and sported a jaunty little cane, which he swung in his neatly gloved hand.

      "I wonder if he'll notice me," thought Harry. "At any rate, I won't be wanting in politeness."

      "Good-afternoon, Mr. Fletcher," he said, as they met.

      Fitzgerald stared at him superciliously, and made the slightest possible nod.

      "Who is that?" asked Ferguson.

      "It is a boy who has great contempt for printers' devils and low apprentices," answered Harry. "I was introduced to him two evenings ago, but he evidently doesn't care about keeping up the acquaintance."

      "Who is that, Fitz?" asked his companion in turn.

      "It's a low fellow—a printer's devil," answered Fitz, shortly.

      "How do you happen to know him?"

      "Oscar Vincent introduced him to me. Oscar's a queer fellow. He belongs to one of the first families in Boston—one of my set, you know, and yet he actually invited that boy to his room."

      "He's rather a good-looking boy—the printer."

      "Think so?" drawled Fitz. "He's low—all apprentices are. I mean to keep him at a distance."

      CHAPTER VII

A PLEASANT EVENING

      "This is my house," said Ferguson, pausing at the gate.

      Harry looked at it with interest.

      It was a cottage, containing four rooms, and a kitchen in the ell part. There was a plot of about a quarter of an acre connected with it. Everything about it was neat, though very unpretentious.

      "It isn't a palace," said Ferguson, "but," he added cheerfully, "it's a happy home, and from all I've read, that is more than can be said of some palaces. Step right in and make yourself at home."

      They entered a tiny entry, and Mrs. Ferguson opened the door of the sitting-room. She was a pleasant-looking woman, and her face wore a smile st welcome.

      "Hannah," said Ferguson, "this is our new apprentice, Harry Walton."

      "I am glad to see you," she said, offering her hand. "My husband has spoken of you. You are quite welcome, if you can put up with humble fare."

      "That is what I have always been accustomed to," said Harry, beginning to feel quite at home.

      "Where are the children, Hannah?"

      Two children, a boy and a girl, of six and four years respectively, bounded into the room and answered for themselves. They looked shyly at Harry, but before many minutes their shyness had worn off, and the little girl was sitting on his knee, while the boy stood beside him. Harry was fond of children, and readily adapted himself to his young acquaintances.

      Supper was soon ready—a plain meal, but one that Harry enjoyed. He could not help comparing Ferguson's plain, but pleasant home, with Clapp's mode of life.

      The latter spent on himself as much as sufficed his fellow-workman to support a wife and two children, yet it was easy to see which found the best enjoyment in life.

      "How do you like your new business?" asked Mrs. Ferguson, as she handed Harry a cup of tea.

      "I like all but the name," said our hero, smiling.

      "I wonder how the name came to be applied to a printer's apprentice any more than to any other apprentice," said Mrs. Ferguson.

      "I never heard," said her husband. "It seems to me to be a libel upon our trade. But there is one comfort. If you stick to the business, you'll outgrow the name."

      "That is lucky; I shouldn't like to be called the wife of a –. I won't pronounce the word lest the children should catch it."

      "What is it, mother?" asked Willie, with his mouth full.

      "It isn't necessary for you to know, my boy."

      "Do you know Mr. Clapp?" asked Harry.

      "I have seen him, but never spoke with him."

      "I never asked him round to tea," said Ferguson.

      "I don't think he would enjoy it any better than I. His tastes are very different from mine, and his views of life are equally different."

      "I should think so," said Harry.

      "Now I think you and I would agree very well. Clapp dislikes the business, and only sticks to it because he must get his living in some way. As for me, if I had a sum of money, say five thousand dollars, I would still remain a printer, but in that case I would probably buy out a paper, or start one, and be a publisher, as well as a printer."

      "That's just what I should like," said Harry.

      "Who knows but we may be able to go into partnership some day, and carry out our plan."

      "I would like it," said Harry; "but I am afraid it will be a good while before we can raise the five thousand dollars."

      "We don't need as much. Mr. Anderson started on a capital of a thousand dollars, and now he is in comfortable circumstances."

      "Then there's hopes for us."

      "At any rate I cherish hopes of doing better some day. I shouldn't like always to be a journeyman. I manage to save up a hundred dollars a year. How much have we in the savings bank, Hannah?"

      "Between four and five hundred dollars, with interest."

      "It has taken me four years to save it up. In five more, if nothing happens, I should be worth a thousand dollars. Journeymen printers don't get rich very fast."

      "I hope to have saved up something myself, in five years," said Harry.

      "Then our plan may come to pass, after all. You shall be editor, and I publisher."

      "I should think you would prefer to be an editor," said his wife.

      "I am diffident of my powers in the line of composition," said Ferguson. "I shouldn't be afraid to undertake local items, but when it comes to an elaborate editorial, I should rather leave it in other hands."

      "I always liked writing," said Harry. "Of course I have only had a school-boy's practice, but I mean to practise more in my leisure hours."

      "Suppose you write a poem for the 'Gazette,' Walton."

      Harry smiled.

      "I am not ambitious enough for that," he replied. "I will try plain prose."

      "Do so," said Ferguson, earnestly. "Our plan may come to something after all, if we wait patiently. It will do no harm to prepare yourself as well as you can. After a while you might write something for the 'Gazette.' I think Mr. Anderson would put it in."

      "Shall

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