Chapter II. The Prize

by Horatio Alger

　　A few rods distant from the Town Hall, but on the opposite sideof the street, stood the Rossville Academy. It had been for someyears under the charge of James Rathburn, A. M., a thoroughscholar and a skilful teacher. A large part of his success wasdue to his ability in making the ordinary lessons of theschoolroom interesting to his scholars.Some forty students attended the academy, mostly from the town ofRossville. Mr. Rathburn, however, received a few boarders intohis family.There were three classes in the Latin language; but the majorityof those who had taken it up stopped short before they had gonebeyond the Latin Reader. One class, however, had commencedreading the Aeneid of Virgil, and was intending to pursue thefull course of preparation for college; though .n regard to onemember of the class there was some doubt whether he would be ableto enter college. As this boy is to be our hero we will take acloser look at him.Frank Frost is at this time in his sixteenth year. He is aboutthe medium size, compactly made, and the heallhful color in hischeeks is good evidence that he is not pursuing his studies atthe expense of his health. He has dark chestnut hair, with aslight wave, and is altogether a fine-looking boy.At a desk behind him sits John Haynes, the son of Squire Haynes,introduced in our last chapter. He is nearly two years older thanFrank, and about as opposite to him in personal appearance as canwell be imagined. He has a thin face, very black hair is tall ofhis age, and already beginning to feel himself a young man. Hismanner is full of pretension. He never forgets that his father isthe richest man in town, and can afford to give him advantagessuperior to those possessed by his schoolfellows. He has amoderate share of ability but is disinclined to work hard. Hisaffectation of Superiority makes him as unpopular among hisschoolfellows as Frank is popular.These two boys, together with Henry Tufts, constitute the preparatoryclass of Rossville Academy. Henry is mild in his manners, and arespectable student, but possesses no positive character. He comesfrom a town ten miles distant, and boards with the principal. Frank,though the youngest of the three, excels the other two in scholarship.But there is some doubt whether he will be able to go to college. Hisfather is in moderate circumstances, deriving a comfortablesubsistence from a small farm, but is able to lay by a very smallsurplus every year, and this he feels it necessary to hold in reservefor the liquidation of the mortgage held by Squire Haynes. Frank'schance of attaining what he covets-a college education-seems small;but he is resolved at least to prepare for college, feeling that eventhis will constitute a very respectable education.The reader is introduced to the main schoolroom of the RossvilleAcademy on the morning of the day of which the war meeting takesplace.At nine o'clock the bell rang, and the scholars took their seats.After the preliminary devotional exercise, Mr. Rathburn, instead ofcalling up the first class at once, paused a moment, and spoke asfollows:"Scholars, I need not remind you that on the first day of the term,with the design of encouraging you to aim at improvement in Englishcomposition, I offered two prizes-one for the best essay written by aboy over fourteen years of age; the other for the best composition byany one under that age. It gives me pleasure to state that in most ofthose submitted to me I recognize merit, and I should be glad if itwere in my power to give three times as many prizes. Those of you,however, who are unsuccessful will feel repaid by the benefit you haveyourselves derived from the efforts you have made for another end."During this address, John Haynes looked about him with an air ofcomplacency and importance. He felt little doubt that his own essayon the "Military Genius of Napoleon" would win the prize. He did notso much care for this, except for the credit it would give him. Buthis father, who was ambitious for him, had promised him twenty-fivedollars if he succeeded, and he had already appropriated this sum inimagination. He had determined to invest it in a handsome boat whichhe had seen for sale in Boston on his last visit to that city."After careful consideration," continued the teacher, "I have decidedthat the prize should be adjudged to an essay entitled 'The Duties ofBoys on the Present National Crisis,' written by Frank Frost."There was a general clapping of hands at this announcement. Frank wasa general favorite, and even his disappointed rivals felt a degree ofsatisfaction in feeling that he had obtained the prize.There was one exception, however. John Haynes turned pale, and thenred, with anger and vexation. He scowled darkly while the rest of theboys were applauding, and persuaded himself that he was the victim ofa great piece of injustice.Frank's face flushed with pleasure, and his eyes danced withdelight. He had made a great effort to succeed, and he knew thatat home they would be very happy to hear that the prize had beenawarded to him."Frank Frost will come forward," said Mr. Rathburn.Frank left his seat, and advanced modestly. Mr. Rathburn placedin his hand a neat edition of Whittier's Poem's in blue and gold."Let this serve as an incentive to renewed effort," he said.The second prize was awarded to one of the girls. As she has nopart in our story, we need say nothing more on this point.At recess, Frank's desk was surrounded by his schoolmates, whowere desirous of examining the prize volumes. All expressedhearty good-will, congratulating him on his success, with theexception of John Haynes."You seem mighty proud of your books, Frank Frost," said he witha sneer. "We all know that you're old Rathburn's favorite. Itdidn't make much difference what you wrote, as long as you weresure of the prize.""For shame, John Haynes!" exclaimed little Harvey Groverimpetuously. "You only say that because you wanted the prizeyourself, and you're disappointed.""Disappointed!" retorted John scornfully. "I don't want any ofold Rathburn's sixpenny books. I can buy as many as I please. Ifhe'd given 'em to me, I should have asked him to keep 'em forthose who needed 'em more."Frank was justly indignant at the unfriendly course which Johnchose to pursue, but feeling that it proceeded from disappointedrivalry, he wisely said nothing to increase his exasperation. Heput the two books carefully away in his desk, and settled himselfquietly to his day's lessons.It was not until evening that John and his father met. Both hadbeen chafed--the first by his disappointment, the second by thefailure of his effort to prevent the town's voting bounties tovolunteers. In particular he was incensed with Mr. Frost, for hisimputation of interested motives, although it was only in returnfor a similar imputation brought against himself."Well, father, I didn't get the prize," commenced John, in adiscontented voice."So much the worse for you," said his father coldly. "You mighthave gained it if you had made an effort.""No, I couldn't. Rathburn was sure to give it to his favorite.""And who is his favorite?" questioned Squire Haynes, not yetsiding with his son."Frank Frost, to be sure.""Frank Frost!" repeated the squire, rapidly wheeling round to hisson's view of the matter. His dislike of the father was so greatthat it readily included the son. "What makes you think he is theteacher's favorite?""Oh, Rathburn is always praising him for something or other. Allthe boys know Frank Frost is his pet. You won't catch himpraising me, if I work ever so hard."John did not choose to mention that he had not yet tried thismethod of securing the teacher's approval."Teachers should never have favorites," said the squiredogmatically. "It is highly detrimental to a teacher's influence,and subversive of the principles of justice. Have you got youressay with you, John?""Yes, sir.""You may sit down and read it to me, and if I think it deserving,I will take care that you sha'n't lose by the teacher'sinjustice."John readily obeyed. He hurried up to his chamber, and, openinghis writing-desk, took out a sheet of foolscap, three sides ofwhich were written over. This he brought down-stairs with him. Hebegan to hope that he might get the boat after all.The squire, in dressing-gown and slippers, sat in a comfortablearmchair, while John in a consequential manner read his rejectedessay. It was superficial and commonplace, and abundantly markedwith pretension, but to the squire's warped judgment it seemed tohave remarkable merit."It does you great credit, John," said he emphatically. "I don'tknow what sort of an essay young Frost wrote, but I venture tosay it was not as good. If he's anything like his father, he isan impertinent jackanapes."John pricked up his ears, and listened attentively."He grossly insulted me at the town meeting to-day, and I sha'n'tsoon forget it. It isn't for his interest to insult a man who hasthe power to annoy him that I possess.""Haven't you got a mortgage on his farm?""Yes, and at a proper time I shall remind him of it. But to comeback to your own affairs. What was the prize given to youngFrost?""A blue-and-gold copy of Whittier's Poems, in two volumes.""Plain binding, I suppose.""Yes, sir.""Very well. The next time I go to Boston, I will buy you the samething bound in calf. I don't intend that you shall suffer by yourteacher's injustice.""It wasn't so much the prize that I cared for," said John, whofelt like making the most of his father's favorable mood, "butyou know you promised me twenty-five dollars if I gained it.""And as you have been defrauded of it, I will give you thirtyinstead," said the squire promptly.John's eyes sparkled with delight. "Oh, thank you, sir!" he said."I wouldn't change places with Frank Frost now for all hisprize.""I should think not, indeed," said the squire pompously. "Yourposition as the son of a poor farmer wouldn't be quite so high asit is now."As he spoke he glanced complacently at the handsome furniturewhich surrounded him, the choice engravings which hung on thewalls, and the full-length mirror in which his figure wasreflected. "Ten years from now Frank Frost will be only a commonlaborer on his father's farm--that is," he added significantly,"if his father manages to keep it; while you, I hope, will bewinning distinction at the bar."Father and son were in a congenial mood that evening, and acommon hatred drew them more closely together than mutualaffection had ever done. They were very much alike--both cold,calculating, and selfish. The squire was indeed ambitious for hisson, but could hardly be said to love him, since he was incapableof feeling a hearty love for any one except himself.As for John, it is to be feared that he regarded his fatherchiefly as one from whom he might expect future favors. Hismother had been a good, though not a strong-minded woman, and herinfluence might have been of advantage to her son; but unhappilyshe had died when John was in his tenth year, and since then hehad become too much like his father.