Walter Sherwood's Probation

“I am quite aware,” he said, “that old heads are not often to be found on young shoulders.”

“Then you think it will be right for me to enjoy myself this summer?”

“I want you to do so.”

“One of my college friends, Frank Clifford, has invited me to pass a month with him in the Adirondacks. The Cliffords have a lodge not far from Blue Mountain Lake. Frank’s mother and sisters will be abroad, and he wants me to keep him company.”

“I can think of no objection. How shall you spend your time?”

“In hunting and fishing. There are splendid chances for both up there, so Clifford says.”

“Go and have your good time. When you come back we will talk of your future plans.”

Walter’s stay was prolonged to eight weeks, and when he returned it was already nearing the end of August. He was browned by exposure, and looked the picture of health.

“Now I am ready to go to work, Doctor Mack,” he said. “Have you any plans for me?”

“How would you like to go into a drug-store? I have a college classmate who is a very successful druggist in Syracuse.”

Walter shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t believe I have a taste for making pills,” he said.

“I thought not. What do you think of entering a dry-goods store? I am acquainted with the head of a prominent establishment in New York.”

“It is a very respectable position, but I should feel cabined, cribbed, confined in it.”

“I am at the end of my tether. Have you formed any plans of your own?”

“Well, not exactly.”

“But you have thought somewhat on the subject?”

“Yes,” answered Walter.

“If at all possible, I shall let you have your own way.”

“You may think me foolish,” said Walter hesitatingly.

“I don’t know. Let me hear what you have to propose.”

“I thought,” said Walter eagerly, “I would like to go out West.”

“What would you do when you got there?”

“There must be lots of things to do.”

“Very likely. You might buy an ax and clear the virgin forests.”

“I am afraid I wouldn’t be a success at that.”

“You have no definite idea as to what you would do?”

“No. I could tell better when I got out there.”

“Now, about the expense. How much money would you need? You would require to live till you begin to earn something.”

“How much will it cost me to get to Chicago?”

“Say about twenty-five dollars.”

“I think, guardian, if you will advance me a hundred dollars, that will be sufficient.”

“For how long a time?”

“For a year. You see, I expect to earn my own living by the time I have spent fifty dollars in all. I should go to a cheap boarding-place, of course. I should be able to pay my way.”

“You will be content, then, with a hundred dollars, Walter?”

“Yes; perhaps I could make it do on less.”

“No; you shall have a hundred. If absolutely necessary, you can send for more.”

“No,” said Walter confidently; “I won’t do that. I shall get along somehow. I want to make a man of myself.”

“That is a commendable ambition. Still, sometimes a young man finds it hard to obtain employment. If you had a trade, now, it might be different. Suppose, for instance, you were a journeyman tailor, you could readily find a place in Chicago or any good-sized city.”

“I shouldn’t care to be a tailor.”

“I shouldn’t care to employ you if you were,” said his guardian, smiling. “One thing I would like to guard you against. Don’t be too particular about what you take up. With so small an outfit as you have stipulated for, you will have to go to work at something soon. Then, again, you won’t be able to live as well as you have been accustomed to do here and in college.”

“I understand that, and am prepared for it. I want to rough it.”

“Possibly you will have your wish granted. I don’t want to discourage you, Walter. I only want to prepare you for what may, and probably will, come.”

“Do you know any one in Chicago, Doctor Mack? I might find it pleasant to have an acquaintance.”

“Yes, I know a retired merchant named Archer. He lives on Indiana Avenue. I don’t remember the number, but you can easily find his name in the directory. His name is Allen Archer.”

Walter noted the name in a new memorandum book which he had purchased.

“Where would you advise me to put up on my arrival in Chicago?” he asked.

“There are several good houses—the Sherman, Tremont, Palmer House; but they will be beyond your means. Indeed, any hotel will be. Still you might go to some good house for a day. That will give you time to hunt up a modest boarding-house.”

“An excellent plan!” said Walter, in a tone of satisfaction. “Do you know, my dear guardian, I shall go out in the best of spirits. I feel—in Shakespeare’s words—that the world is mine oyster.”

“I hope you will be able to open it, Walter. You have my best wishes. Don’t forget that you will have to depend on yourself.”