time three or four of the irregular verbs.  You are going about three
times as fast as I did when I commenced French."

"Perhaps I have a better teacher than you had," said Harry, smiling.

"I shouldn't wonder," said Oscar.  "That explains it to my
satisfaction.  Well, now the lesson is over, sit down and we'll have
a chat.  Oh, by the way, there's one thing I want to speak to you
about.  We've got a debating society at our school.  It is called
'The Clionian Society.'  Most of the students belong to it.  How
would you like to join?"

"I should like it very much.  Do you think they would admit me?"

"I don't see why not.  I'll propose you at the next meeting, Thursday
evening.  Then the nomination will lie over a week, and be acted upon
at the next meeting."

"I wish you would.  I never belonged to a debating society, but I
should like to learn to speak."

"It's nothing when you're used to it.  It's only the first time you
know, that troubles you.  By Jove!  I remember how my knees trembled
when I first got up and said Mr. President.  I felt as if all eyes
were upon me, and I wanted to sink through the floor.  Now I can get
up and chatter with the best of them.  I don't mean that I can make
an eloquent speech or anything of that kind, but I can talk at a
minute's notice on almost any subject."

"I wish I could."

"Oh, you can, after you've tried a few times.  Well, then, it's
settled.  I'll propose you at the next meeting."

"How lucky I am to have fallen in with you, Oscar."

"I know what you mean.  I'm your guide, philosopher, and friend, and
all that sort of thing.  I hope you'll have proper veneration for me.
It's rather a new character for me.  Would you believe it, Harry,--at
home I am regarded as a rattle-brained chap, instead of the dignified
Professor that you know me to be.  Isn't it a shame?"

"Great men are seldom appreciated at home, Oscar."

"I know that.  I shall have to get a certificate from you, certifying
to my being a steady and erudite young man."

"I'll give it with the greatest pleasure."

"Holloa, there's a knock.  Come in!" shouted Oscar.

The door opened, and Fitzgerald Fletcher entered the room.

"How are you, Fitz?" said Oscar.  "Sit down and make yourself
comfortable.  You know my friend, Harry Walton, I believe?"

"I believe I had the honor to meet him here one evening," said
Fitzgerald stiffly, slightly emphasizing the word "honor."

"I hope you are well, Mr. Fletcher," said Harry, more amused than
disturbed by the manner of the aristocratic visitor.

"Thank you, my health is good," said Fitzgerald with equal stiffness,
and forthwith turned to Oscar, not deigning to devote any more
attention to Harry.

Our hero had intended to remain a short time longer, but, under the
circumstances, as Oscar's attention would be occupied by Fletcher,
with whom he was not on intimate terms, he thought he might spend the
evening more profitably at home in study.

"If you'll excuse me, Oscar," he said, rising, "I will leave you now,
as I have something to do this evening."

"If you insist upon it, Harry, I will excuse you.  Come round Friday
evening."

"Thank you."

"Do you have to work at the printing office in the evening?" Fletcher
deigned to inquire.

"No; I have some studying to do."

"Reading and spelling, I suppose," sneered Fletcher.

"I am studying French."

"Indeed!" returned Fletcher, rather surprised.  "How can you study it
without a teacher?"

"I have a teacher."

"Who is it?"

"Professor Vincent," said Harry, smiling.

"You didn't know that I had developed into a French Professor, did
you, Fitz?  Well, it's so, and whether it's the superior teaching or
not, I can't say, but my scholar is getting on famously."

"It must be a great bore to teach," said Fletcher.

"Not at all.  I like it."

"Every one to his taste," said Fitzgerald unpleasantly.

"Good-night, Oscar.  Good-night, Mr. Fletcher," said Harry, and made
his exit.

"You're a strange fellow, Oscar," said Fletcher, after Harry's
departure.

"Very likely, but what particular strangeness do you refer to now?"

"No one but you would think of giving lessons to a printer's devil."

"I don't know about that."

"No one, I mean, that holds your position in society."

"I don't know that I hold any particular position in society."

"Your family live on Beacon Street, and move in the first circles.  I
am sure my mother would be disgusted if I should demean myself so far
as to give lessons to any vulgar apprentice."

"I don't propose to give lessons to any vulgar apprentice."

"You know whom I mean.  This Walton is only a printer's devil."

"I don't know that that is any objection to him.  It isn't morally
wrong to be a printer's devil, is it?"

"What a queer fellow you are, Oscar.  Of course I don't mean that.  I
daresay he's well enough in his place, though he seems to be very
forward and presuming, but you know that he's not your equal."

"He is not my equal in knowledge, but I shouldn't be surprised if he
would be some time.  You'd be astonished to see how fast he gets on."

"I daresay.  But I mean in social position."

"It seems to me you can't think of anything but social position."

"Well, it's worth thinking about."

"No doubt, as far as it is deserved.  But when it is founded on
nothing but money, I wouldn't give much for it."

"Of course we all know that the higher classes are more refined--"

"Than printers' devils and vulgar apprentices, I suppose," put in
Oscar, laughing,

"Yes."

"Well, if refinement consists in wearing kid gloves and stunning
neckties, I suppose the higher classes, as you call them, are more
refined."

"Do you mean me?" demanded Fletcher, who was noted for the character
of his neckties.

"Well, I can't say I don't.  I suppose you regard yourself as a
representative of the higher classes, don't you?"

"To be sure I do," said Fletcher, complacently.

"So I supposed.  Then you see I had a right to refer to you.  Now
listen to my prediction.  Twenty-five years from now, the boy whom
you look down upon as a vulgar apprentice will occupy a high
position, and you will be glad to number him among your
acquaintances."

"Speak for yourself, Oscar," said Fletcher, scornfully.

"I speak for both of us."

"Then I say I hope I can command better associates than this friend
of yours."

"You may, but I doubt it."

"You seem to be carried away by him," said Fitzgerald, pettishly.  "I
don't see anything very wonderful about him, except dirty hands."

"Then you have seen more than I have."

"Of course a fellow who meddles with printer's ink must have dirty
hands.  Faugh!" said Fletcher, turning up his nose.

At the same time he regarded complacently his own fingers, which he
carefully kept aloof from anything that would soil or mar their
aristocratic whiteness.

"The fact is, Fitz," said Oscar, argumentatively, "our upper ten, as
we call them, spring from just such beginnings as my friend Harry
Walton.  My own father commenced life in a printing office.  But, as
you say, he occupies a high position at present."

"Really!" said Fletcher, a little taken aback, for he knew that
Vincent's father ranked higher than his own.

"I daresay your own ancestors were not always patricians."

Fletcher winced.  He knew well enough that his father commenced life
as a boy in a country grocery, but in the mutations of fortune had
risen to be the proprietor of a large dry-goods store on Washington
Street.  None of the family cared to look back to the beginning of
his career.  They overlooked the fact that it was creditable to him
to have risen from the ranks, though the rise was only in wealth, for
Mr. Fletcher was a purse-proud parvenu, who owed all the
consideration he enjoyed to his commercial position.  Fitz liked to
have it understood that he was of patrician lineage, and carefully
ignored the little grocery, and certain country relations who
occasionally paid a visit to their wealthy relatives, in spite of the
rather frigid welcome they received.

"Oh, I suppose there are exceptions," Fletcher admitted reluctantly.
"Your father was smart."

"So is Harry Walton.  I know what he is aiming at, and I predict that
he will be an influential editor some day."

"Have you got your Greek lesson?" asked Fletcher, abruptly, who did
not relish the course the conversation had taken.

"Yes."

"Then I want you to translate a passage for me.  I couldn't make it
out."

"All right."

Half an hour later Fletcher left Vincent's room.

"What a snob he is!" thought Oscar.

And Oscar was right.




CHAPTER IX.

THE CLIONIAN SOCIETY.

On Thursday evening the main school of the Academy building was
lighted up, and groups of boys, varying in age from thirteen to
nineteen, were standing in different parts of the room.  These were
members of the Clionian Society, whose weekly meeting was about to
take place.

At eight o'clock precisely the President took his place at the
teacher's desk, with the Secretary at his side, and rapped for order.
The presiding officer was Alfred DeWitt, a member of the Senior
Class, and now nearly ready for college.  The Secretary was a member
of the same class, by name George Sanborn.

"The Secretary will read the minutes of the last meeting," said the
President, when order had been obtained.

George Sanborn rose and read his report, which was accepted.

"Are any committees prepared to report?" asked the President.

The Finance Committee reported through its chairman, recommending
that the fee for admission be established at one dollar, and that
each member be assessed twenty-five cents monthly.

"Mr. President," said Fitzgerald Fletcher, rising to his feet, "I
would like to say a word in reference to this report."

"Mr. Fletcher has the floor."

"Then, Mr. President, I wish to say that I disagree with the Report
of the Committee.  I think a dollar is altogether too small.  It
ought to be at least three dollars, and I myself should prefer five
dollars.  Again, sir, the Committee has recommended for the monthly
assessment the ridiculously small sum of twenty-five cents.  I think
it ought to be a dollar."

"Mr. President, I should like to ask the gentleman his reason," said
Henry Fairbanks, Chairman of the Finance Committee.  "Why should we
tax the members to such an extent, when the sums reported are
sufficient to defray the ordinary expenses of the Society, and to
leave a small surplus besides?"

"Mr. President," returned Fletcher, "I will answer the gentleman.  We
don't want to throw open the Society to every one that can raise a
dollar.  We want to have an exclusive society."

"Mr. President," said Oscar Vincent, rising, "I should like to ask
the gentleman for how many he is speaking.  He certainly is not
speaking for me.  I don't want the Society to be exclusive.  There
are not many who can afford to pay the exorbitant sums which he
desires fixed for admission fee and for monthly assessments, and I
for one am not willing to exclude any good fellow who desires to
become one of us, but does not boast as heavy a purse as the
gentleman who has just spoken."

These remarks of Oscar were greeted with applause, general enough to
show that the opinions of nearly all were with him.

"Mr. President," said Henry Fairbanks, "though I am opposed to the
gentleman's suggestion, (does he offer it as an amendment?) I have no
possible objection to his individually paying the increased rates
which he recommends, and I am sure the Treasurer will gladly receive
them."

Laughter and applause greeted this hit, and Fletcher once more arose,
somewhat vexed at the reception of his suggestion.

"I don't choose--" he commenced.

"The gentleman will address the chair," interrupted the President.

"Mr. President, I don't choose to pay more than the other members,
though I can do it without inconvenience.  But, as I said, I don't
believe in being too democratic.  I am not in favor of admitting
anybody and everybody into the Society."

"Mr. President," said James Hooper, "I congratulate the gentleman on
the flourishing state of his finances.  For my own part, I am not
ashamed to say that I cannot afford to pay a dollar a month
assessment, and, were it required, I should be obliged to offer my
resignation."

"So much the better," thought Fitzgerald, for, as Hooper was poor,
and went coarsely clothed, he looked down upon him.  Fortunately for
himself he did not give utterance to his thought.

"Does Mr. Fletcher put his recommendation into the form of an
amendment?" asked, the President.

"I do."

"Be kind enough to state it, then."

Fletcher did so, but as no one seconded it, no action was of course
taken.

"Nominations for membership are now in order," said the President.

"I should like to propose my friend Henry Walton."

"Who is Henry Walton?" asked a member.

"Mr. President, may I answer the gentleman?" asked Fitzgerald
Fletcher, rising to his feet.

"As the nominee is not to be voted upon this evening, it is not in
order."

"Mr. President," said Oscar, "I should be glad to have the gentleman
report his information."

"Mr. Fletcher may speak if he desires it, but as the name will be
referred to the Committee on Nominations, it is hardly necessary."

"Mr. President, I merely wish to inform the Society, that Mr. Walton
occupies the dignified position of printer's devil in the office of
the 'Centreville Gazette.'"

"Mr. President," said Oscar, "may I ask the indulgence of the Society
long enough to say that I am quite aware of the fact.  I will add
that Mr. Walton is a young man of excellent abilities, and I am
confident will prove an accession to the Society."

"I cannot permit further remarks on a matter which will come in due
course before the Committee on Nominations," said the President.

"The next business in order is the debate."

Of the debate, and the further proceedings, I shall not speak, as
they are of no special interest.  But after the meeting was over,
groups of members discussed matters which had come up during the
evening.  Fletcher approached Oscar Vincent, and said, "I can't see,
Oscar, why you are trying to get that printer's devil into our
Society."

"Because he's a good fellow, and smart enough to do us credit."

"If there were any bootblacks in Centreville I suppose you'd be
proposing them?" said Fletcher with a sneer.

"I might, if they were as smart as my friend Walton."

"You are not very particular about your friends," said Fletcher in
the same tone.

"I don't ask them to open their pocket-books, and show me how much
money they have."

"I prefer to associate with gentlemen."

"So do I."

"Yet you associate with that printer's devil."

"I consider him a gentleman."

Fletcher laughed scornfully.

"You have strange ideas of a gentleman," he said.

"I hold the same," said James Hooper, who had come up in time to hear
the last portion of the conversation.  "I don't think a full purse is
the only or the chief qualification of a gentleman.  If labor is to
be a disqualification, then I must resign all claims to be considered
a gentleman, as I worked on a farm for two years before coming to
school, and in that way earned the money to pay my expenses here."

Fletcher turned up his nose, but did not reply.

Hooper was a good scholar and influential in the Society, but in
Fletcher's eyes he was unworthy of consideration.

"Look here, Fletcher,--what makes you so confoundedly exclusive is
your ideas?" asked Henry Fairbanks.

"Because I respect myself," said Fletcher in rather a surly tone.

"Then you have one admirer," said Fairbanks.

"What do you mean by that?" asked Fletcher, suspiciously.

"Nothing out of the way.  I believe in self-respect, but I don't see
how it is going to be endangered by the admission of Oscar's friend
to the Society."

"Am I expected to associate on equal terms with a printer's devil?"

"I can't answer for you.  As for me, if he is a good fellow, I shall
welcome him to our ranks.  Some of our most eminent men have been
apprenticed to the trade of printer.  I believe, after all, it is the
name that has prejudiced you."

"No it isn't.  I have seen him."

"Henry Walton?"

"Yes."

"Where?"

"In Oscar's room."

"Well?"

"I don't like his appearance."

"What's the matter with his appearance?" asked Oscar.

"He looks low."

"That's where I must decidedly contradict you, Fitz, and I shall
appeal confidently to the members of the Society when they come to
know him, as they soon will, for I am sure no one else shares your
ridiculous prejudices.  Harry Walton, in my opinion, is a true
gentleman, without reference to his purse, and he is bound to rise
hereafter, take my word for it."

"There's plenty of room for him to rise," said Fletcher with a sneer.

"That is true not only of him, but of all of us, I take it."

"Do you refer to me?"

"Oh no," said Oscar with sarcasm.  "I am quite aware that you are at
the pinnacle of eminence, even if you do flunk in Greek occasionally."

Fitzgerald had failed in the Greek recitation during the day, and
that in school parlance is sometimes termed a "flunk."  He bit his
lip in mortification at this reference, and walked away, leaving
Oscar master of the situation.

"You had the best of him there, Vincent," said George Sanborn.  "He
has gone off in disgust."

"I like to see Fletcher taken down," said Henry Fairbanks.  "I never
saw a fellow put on so many airs.  He is altogether too aristocratic
to associate with ordinary people."

"Yes," said Oscar, "he has a foolish pride, which I hope he will some
time get rid of."

"He ought to have been born in England, and not in a republic."

"If he had been born in England, he would have been unhappy unless he
had belonged to the nobility," said Alfred DeWitt.

"Look here, boys," said Tom Carver, "what do you say to mortifying
Fitz's pride?"

"Have you got a plan in view, Tom?  If so, out with it."

"Yes: you know the pedler that comes into town about once a month to
buy up rags, and sell his tinwares."

"I have seen him.  Well, what of him?"

"He is coming early next week.  Some of us will see him privately,
and post him up as to Fitz's relations and position, and hire him to
come up to school, and inquire for Fitz, representing himself as his
cousin.  Of course Fitz will deny it indignantly, but he will persist
and show that he knows all about the family."

"Good!  Splendid!" exclaimed the boys laughing.  "Won't Fitz be
raving?"

"There's no doubt about that.   Well, boys, I'll arrange it all, if
you'll authorize me."

"Go ahead, Tom.  You can draw upon us for the necessary funds."

Fletcher had retired to his room, angry at the opposition his
proposal had received, and without any warning of the humiliation
which awaited him.




CHAPTER X.

THE TIN-PEDLER.

Those of my readers who live in large cities are probably not
familiar with the travelling tin-pedler, who makes his appearance at
frequent intervals in the country towns and villages of New England.
His stock of tinware embraces a large variety of articles for
culinary purposes, ranging from milk-pans to nutmeg-graters.  These
are contained in a wagon of large capacity, in shape like a box, on
which he sits enthroned a merchant prince.  Unlike most traders, he
receives little money, most of his transactions being in the form of
a barter, whereby be exchanges his merchandise for rags, white and
colored, which have accumulated in the household, and are gladly
traded off for bright tinware.  Behind the cart usually depend two
immense bags, one for white, the other for colored rags, which, in
time, are sold to paper manufacturers.  It may be that the very paper
on which this description is printed, was manufactured from rags so
collected.

Abner Bickford was the proprietor of such an establishment as I have
described.  No one, at first sight, would have hesitated to class him
as a Yankee.  He was long in the limbs, and long in the face, with a
shrewd twinkle in the eye, a long nose, and the expression of a man
who respected himself and feared nobody.  He was unpolished, in his
manners, and knew little of books, but he belonged to the same
resolute and hardy type of men who in years past sprang to arms, and
fought bravely for an idea.  He was strong in his manhood, and would
have stood unabashed before a king.  Such was the man who was to
mortify the pride of Fitzgerald Fletcher.

Tom Carver watched for his arrival in Centreville, and walking up to
his cart, accosted him.

"Good-morning, Mr. Bickford."

"Good-mornin', young man.  You've got the advantage of me.  I never
saw you before as I know of."

"I am Tom Carver, at your service."

"Glad to know you.  Where do you live?  Maybe your wife would like
some tinware this mornin'?" said Abner, relaxing his gaunt features
into a smile.

"She didn't say anything about it when I came out," said Tom,
entering into the joke.

"Maybe you'd like a tin-dipper for your youngest boy?"

"Maybe I would, if you've got any to give away."

"I see you've cut your eye-teeth.  Is there anything else I can do
for you?  I'm in for a trade."

"I don't know, unless I sell myself for rags."

"Anything for a trade.  I'll give you two cents a pound."

"That's too cheap.  I came to ask your help in a trick we boys want
to play on one of our number."

"Sho! you don't say so.  That aint exactly in my line."

"I'll tell you all about it.  There's a chap at our school--the
Academy, you know--who's awfully stuck up.  He's all the time
bragging about belonging to a first family in Boston, and turning up
his nose at poorer boys.  We want to mortify him."

"Just so!" said Abner, nodding.  "Drive ahead!"

"Well, we thought if you'd call at the school and ask after him, and
pretend he was a cousin of yours, and all that, it would make him
mad."

"Oh, I see," said Abner, nodding, "he wouldn't like to own a
tin-pedler for his cousin."

"No," said Tom; "he wants us to think all his relations are rich.  I