Produced by David Edwards, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive) +-------------------------------------------------+ |Transcriber's note: | | | |Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | | | +-------------------------------------------------+ THE YOUNG SALESMAN By HORATIO ALGER, JR. Author of "The Errand Boy," "Mark Mason's Victory," "Tom Temple's Career," "Tony, the Hero," "The Train Boy," etc., etc. A. L. BURT COMPANY, PUBLISHERS NEW YORK THE YOUNG SALESMAN. CHAPTER I. ON BOARD THE "ARCTURUS." Halfway across the Atlantic the good ship _Arcturus_ was making her way from Liverpool to New York. She was a sailing vessel, and her speed by no means equaled that of the mighty steamships, more than one of which passed her, leaving her far behind. While she was used chiefly for freight, she carried a few passengers, less than twenty in all. I wish to call the reader's attention to the occupants of one of the small staterooms, a man and a boy. There was a great contrast between them. The man was thin and hollow-cheeked, and as he lay in his berth he looked to be, as he was, in the last stages of consumption. The boy, who must have been nearly sixteen, was the picture of health. He was inclined to be dark, with black hair, bright eyes, and with considerable color in his cheeks. He bent over the reclining figure, and asked, with anxious solicitude: "How do you feel, father?" "No better, Scott," and the father began to cough. "Does it hurt you to cough?" "Yes, but it won't trouble me long." "You will be better?" said the boy, half inquiringly. "No, Scott, I shall never be better. I am very near the end." "You don't mean that?" exclaimed the boy, in pained surprise. "Yes, I do, Scott, and you may as well know it. I doubt whether I shall live to see New York." Scott Walton looked dismayed, for till now he had not suspected that his father's life was in danger. Yet, as he gazed at the fragile form, he was forced to believe that his father spoke truly. "What will become of me," he said, with emotion, "alone in a strange land?" "That is what I want to speak to you about." Here the man began to cough again. "Don't talk, father. It makes you cough." "I must, my son. Perhaps I may have no other chance. I am sorry that I must leave you almost penniless." "I don't mind that, father. If you could only live----" "Don't interrupt me, for there are some things I must tell you. You will find in my wallet twenty pounds in English bank notes, worth in America about one hundred dollars. This sum will support you while you are looking for a situation, for you will need to find work." "I am strong and willing to work, father."