An Unofficial PatriotGardener, Helen H. (Helen Hamilton)
History
An Unofficial Patriot
Gardener, Helen H. (Helen Hamilton)
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Fiction
"Father," he said, abruptly, "I don't feel as if I ought to waste any
more time at college. There is a tremendous upheaval just ahead of us.
Could you--would you just as soon I should?--I've got an offer with two
of the other fellows, and I--"
Mr. Davenport recognized in the boy's unusual hesitancy of speech an
unaccustomed quality of unrest and uncertainty. He looked over his
gold-bowed glasses.
"Why, what is it, son? Out with it," he said, smiling.
"Well, it's like this: You remember Shapleigh, of the class last year?
Well, you know his father owns that little free-soil paper out in
Missouri that I get every once in a while. It's democratic, you know,
but free-soil."
Griffith nodded. "Very good little paper, too. Don't fully agree with
those last editorials--too fiery--but a very decent little sheet."
Beverly was evidently pleased.
"Well, the old gentleman is tired of the fight, and Shap wrote me that
if Donaldson and I will each put in $1,500, his father will turn the
paper over to the three of us. Shap knows how to run the business end of
the concern. That's what he has done since he was graduated. Shap wants
me for political editor, mostly. He's a red-hot free-soiler, and he
knows I am. I sent him my last two speeches and he used 'em in the
paper. He says they took like wildfire; his constituents liked 'em
first-class. You know, I've always thought I'd like to be a newspaper
man. Think so more than ever now. Times are so hot, and there is such a
lot to be said. They need new blood to the front, and--"
Griffith was laughing gently and looking quizzically, with lips pursed
up, at this ambitious son of his; but the boy went on:
"The fact is, father, I've worried over it all this term. I hated to
ask you if you could let me have the money. It is such a splendid
chance--one of a lifetime, I think. I do wish you'd let me."
At last he had fallen into his boyish form of speech, and Griffith
laughed aloud.
"_Let_ you? _Let_ you be an editor of a fiery free-soil paper out in
Missouri, hey? The fellow that edits a paper out there just now can't
be made out of very meek stuff, Bev. It won't be a nest of roses for any
three young birds that try it, I reckon. D'yeh see that account in the
_Gazette_, yesterday, of the mob out there near Kansas City?"
"Yes, I did; and that's the very thing that decided me to ask you
to-day. Of course, you'd really own the stock. It would only be in my
name till I could pay you for it, and--"
"Beverly," said his father, gravely, "if you've made up your mind fully
to this thing, and are sure you know what you want and can do, I reckon
you don't need to worry over the money for the stock. But are you
_sure_ you want to leave college before you finish? Isn't it a little
premature?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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