Chapter VII. In Franklin's Footsteps

by Horatio Alger

　　"Father," said Harry, the next morning, as Mr. Walton was about toleave the house, "there's something I want to say to you.""What is it?" asked his father, imagining it was some trifle."I'll go out with you, and tell you outside.""Very well, my son."Harry put on his cap, and followed his father into the open air."Now, my son, what is it?""I want to go away from home.""Away from home! Where?" asked Mr. Walton, in surprise."I don't know where; but somewhere where I can earn my own living.""But you can do that here. You can give me your help on the farm,as you always have done.""I don't like farming, father.""You never told me that before. Is it because of the hard work?""No," said Harry, earnestly. "I am not afraid of hard work; butyou know how it is, father. This isn't a very good farm, and it'sall you can do to make a living for the rest of us out of it. If Icould go somewhere, where I could work at something else, I couldsend you home my wages.""I am afraid a boy like you couldn't earn very large wages.""I don't see why not, father. I'm strong and stout, and willing towork.""People don't give much for boys' work.""I don't expect much; but I know I can get something, and by andby it will lead to more. I want to help you to pay for that cowyou've just bought of Squire Green.""I don't see how I'm going to pay for it," said Mr. Walton, witha sigh. "Hard money's pretty scarce, and we farmers don't get muchof it.""That's just what I'm saying, father. There isn't much money to begot in farming. That's why I want to try something else.""How long have you been thinking of this plan, Harry?""Only since last night.""What put it into your head?""That book I got as a prize.""It is the life of Franklin, isn't it?""Yes.""Did he go away from home when he was a boy?""Yes, and he succeeded, too.""I know he did. He became a famous man. But it isn't every boy thatis like Franklin.""I know that. I never expect to become a great man like him; butI can make something."Harry spoke those words in a firm, resolute tone, which seemed toindicate a consciousness of power. Looking in his son's face, theelder Walton, though by no means a sanguine man, was inclined tothink favorably of the scheme, But he was cautious, and he did notwant Harry to be too confident of success."It's a new idea to me," he said. "Suppose you fail?""I don't mean to.""But suppose you do--suppose you get sick?""Then I'll come home. But I want to try. There must be somethingfor me to do in the world.""There's another thing, Harry. It takes money to travel round, andI haven't got any means to give you,""I don't want any, father. I mean to work my way. I've got twenty-fivecents to start with. Now, father, what do you say?""I'll speak to your mother about it.""To-day?""Yes, as soon as I go in."With this Harry was content. He had a good deal of confidence thathe could carry his point with both parents. He went into the house,and said to his mother:"Mother, father's going to speak to you about my going away fromhome. Now don't you oppose it.""Do you really think it would be a good plan, Harry?""Yes, mother.""And if you're sick will you promise to come right home?""Yes, I'll promise that.""Then I won't oppose your notion, though I ain't clear about itsbeing wise.""We'll talk about that in a few months, mother.""Has Harry spoken to you about his plan of going away from home?"asked the farmer, when he reentered the house."Yes," said Mrs. Walton."What do you think?""Perhaps we'd better let the lad have his way. He's promised tocome home if he's taken sick.""So let it be, then, Harry. When do you want to go?""As soon as I can.""You'll have to wait till Monday. It'll take a day or two to fixup your clothes," said his mother."All right, mother.""I don't know but you ought to have some new shirts. You haven'tgot but two except the one you have on.""I can get along, mother. Father hasn't got any money to spend forme. By the time I want some new shirts, I'll buy them myself.""Where do you think of going, Harry? Have you any idea?""No, mother. I'm going to trust to luck. I shan't go very far. WhenI've got fixed anywhere I'll write, and let you know."In the evening Harry resumed the "Life of Franklin," and before hewas ready to go to bed he had got two thirds through with it. Itpossessed for him a singular fascination. To Harry it was no alonethe "Life of Benjamin Franklin." It was the chart by which hemeant to steer in the unknown career which stretched before him. Heknew so little of the world that he trusted implicitly to that asa guide, and he silently stored away the wise precepts in conformitywith which the great practical philosopher had shaped and moldedhis life.During that evening, however, another chance was offered to Harry,as I shall now describe.As the family were sitting around the kitchen table, on which wasplaced the humble tallow candle by which the room was lighted, therewas heard a scraping at the door, and presently a knock. Mr. Waltonanswered it in person, and admitted the thin figure and sharp,calculating face of Squire Green."How are you, neighbor?" he said, looking about him with hisparrotlike glance. "I thought I'd just run in a minute to see youas I was goin' by.""Sit down, Squire Green. Take the rocking-chair.""Thank you, neighbor. How's the cow a-doin'?""Middling well. She don't give as much milk as the one I lost.""She'll do better bymeby. She's a good bargain to you, neighbor.""I don't know," said Hiram Walton, dubiously. "She ought to be agood cow for the price you asked.""And she is a good cow," said the squire, emphatically; "and you'relucky to get her so cheap, buyin' on time. What are you doin' there,Harry? School through, ain't it?""Yes, sir.""I hear you're a good scholar. Got the prize, didn't you?""Yes," said Mr. Walton; "Harry was always good at his books.""I guess he knows enough now. You'd ought to set him to work.""He is ready enough to work," said Mr. Walton. "He never was lazy.""That's good. There's a sight of lazy, shiftless boys about inthese days. Seems as if they expected to earn their bread 'n buttera-doin' nothin'. I've been a thinkin', neighbor Walton, that you'llfind it hard to pay for that cow in six months.""I am afraid I shall," said the farmer, thinking in surprise, "Canhe be going to reduce the price?""So I thought mebbe we might make an arrangement to make it easier.""I should be glad to have it made easier, squire. It was hard onme, losing that cow by disease.""Of course. Well, what I was thinkin' was, you might hire out yourboy to work for me. I'd allow him two dollars a month and board,and the wages would help pay for the cow."Harry looked up in dismay at this proposition. He knew very wellthe meanness of the board which the squire provided, how inferiorit was even to the scanty, but well-cooked meals which he got athome; he knew, also that the squire had the knack of getting morework out of his men than any other farmer in the town; and theprospect of being six months in his employ was enough to terrifyhim. He looked from Squire Green's mean, crafty face to his father'sin anxiety and apprehension. Were all his bright dreams of futuresuccess to terminate in this?