Henry stretched the half-crown--with difficulty, for it meant a week's pocket-money--and when his companion had left he executed a wild dance round the table. Ambition had been fired within him again. He determined that not even the Slough of Despond, to which he likened the shop of Mr. Griggs, would discourage him for a day in his onward march to that City Beautiful where one's life was spent in writing fine thoughts for mankind to read and remember. The difficulty remained: how to get the opportunity? All the copy-book maxims of his boyhood availed him nothing; all the stories of brave men who seized opportunity instead of waiting for it to turn up, inspired, encouraged, whispered of hope, but did not bring the situation to a simpler issue. Soon after this evening he determined to induce Trevor to come down from his gorgeous generalisings to plain facts. "It is all very well to say my essay is so good, but do you honestly think I should go on writing things like that if I wish to become a journalist?" It took something out of Henry to put it so bluntly. Despite the familiar manner in which Trevor addressed him, the youth, who was naturally reticent, always spoke of him with deference due to one of older years, and especially to one who was a real live journalist. Henry, however, was gradually losing his country shyness, and the fact that Mr. Trevor Smith continued in his debt to the extent of seven-and-sixpence encouraged him to greater boldness in his dealings with that slippery gentleman. "I confess that I have had enough of old Griggs. There is nothing to learn from him, and I do think I should like to get work on a newspaper. Is there any chance of an opening on the _Guardian_ at Wheelton? I have been pegging in at my shorthand for the last three weeks, you know." "Well, since you put it that way, and since you seem to be dead set on giving old Griggs the slip, there is one thing you could do," Trevor admitted, now that he had been asked to come down to hard facts. "What is that?" asked Henry eagerly. "Get your gov'nor to shell out to old Spring, and he'll take you on like a shot." "Shell out?" said Henry, evidently not alive to Trevor's slang. "What do you mean?" "Why," returned his professional adviser, with a smile at the rustic ignorance, "haven't you seen advertisements in the daily papers something like this: 'The editor of a well-known provincial weekly has an opening for journalistic pupil. Moderate premium. Small salary after first six months'? There's your opportunity." "Ah, I see the idea," said Henry, upon whom a light had dawned. "What do you say to that?" Trevor pursued. "Yes, that might do, and no doubt dad would 'shell out,' as you call it. But is there any such vacancy at present?"