Horatio Alger - In Search of Treasure

“I wish I could send you to college, Guy,” said Mr. Fenwick, as they sat in the library, reading by the soft light of a student lamp.

The speaker was the Rev. Mr. Fenwick, the pastor of a church in Bayport, a few miles from New Bedford, Massachusetts.

“I don’t think I care much about going to college, father,” said Guy, a bright, manly, broad-shouldered boy of sixteen.

“When I was of your age, Guy,” replied his father, “I was already a student of Harvard. You are ready for college, but my means are not sufficient to send you there.”

“Don’t worry about that, father. There are other paths to success than through college.”

“I am rather surprised to hear you speak so indifferently, Guy. At the academy you are acknowledged to be the best Latin and Greek scholar they have had for years.”

“That may be, father.”

“It is so. The principal so assured me, and he would not misrepresent just to please me.”

“I am glad that I have so good a reputation.”

“With such qualifications it seems certain you would achieve success in college, graduate high, and, in time, become a distinguished professional man, or perhaps professor.”

“Perhaps I might; but, father, in spite of my taste for study, I have one taste still stronger.”

“What is that?”

“A taste for adventure. I want to see the world, to visit strange countries, to become acquainted with strange people.”

As the boy spoke his face became flushed and animated.

Mr. Fenwick looked surprised.

“Certainly,” he said, “you don’t get this taste from me. When I was a boy I used to stay indoors to read and study. I cared nothing for the sports and games that interested my school companions.”

Guy smiled.

“I believe you, father,” he said. “You don’t go out half enough now. Instead of shutting yourself up in your study, you would be stronger and healthier if you would walk five miles a day.”

Mr. Fenwick slightly shuddered.

He was a pale, thin man, with an intellectual look, but had the air of a scholar and a recluse.

“I couldn’t do it, Guy,” he said. “Even if I walk a mile, I feel that it is a hardship. It is tame and monotonous. I don’t see where you get your red cheeks and exuberant spirits from.”

“From my mother’s family, I think, father.”

“Very likely. Your mother was bright and animated when I married her, but she broke down under the manifold duties and engagements of a minister’s wife.”

“That is true. Poor mother!”

Guy sighed, and his bright face looked sorrowful, for it was only a twelvemonth since his mother was laid away in the little graveyard at Bayport.

“You look very much like your uncle George, your mother’s brother, as he was at your age.”

“He became a sailor?”

“Yes. He had an extraordinary love for the sea. If he had been content to live on land and follow some mercantile business, he would, in all probability, be living to-day.”

“How did he die?”

“He took a fever at some infected port, and died on shipboard. The poor fellow was still a comparatively young man, little more than thirty, and it seemed sad that he should be cut off at such an early age.”

“Was his body brought home?”

“No. Sailors are superstitious, and they don’t like to sail in a ship that has a dead body on board. So poor George was sewed up in a sack, and committed to the ocean depths. His chest was sent to us, and is stored in the attic.”

“Have you ever opened it?”

“Yes, I opened it, but didn’t examine the contents. Probably there was nothing except a sailor’s plain outfit. As to money, George was not a man to save anything. He was extravagant and prodigal, like most of his class.”

“Was he a common sailor?”

“No; he was second mate, and received fair wages. He did not have your education, but had good native talent, but nothing could divert him from his plan of going to sea.”

“Well, father, I suppose there must be sailors. You would hardly want everybody to go to college?”

“No, Guy.”

“Even if they were qualified.”

“Still, I should not care to have my son a sailor.”

“I don’t care to be one, father, but I own I should like to take a single voyage—a good long one—so as to see a little of the world. I think, after that, I should be more content to settle down to some business on shore. By the way, father, is there any objection to my examining the contents of Uncle George’s chest?”

“I have no objection, Guy; but I think it will hardly repay you for the time.”

“My time isn’t of very much importance just now. Somehow I have a great desire to see if I can find anything that will throw light on my uncle’s life and character.”

“Very well, Guy; do as you like. And now, I must get to work on my sermon for next Sunday. It is Friday evening, and I must make progress, as I may have one of my bad headaches to-morrow.”

“Can I help you, father?” asked Guy, with a humorous smile.

Mr. Fenwick smiled, too. Though so different in temperament, he was really fond and proud of his lively son.

“I hardly think your additions would be for the edification of my people,” he said.

“Perhaps they might suit some of the young folks,” suggested Guy.

“Doubtless they would. If you would like to try your hand at sermon writing you can write a sermon and submit it to me. If suitable, I will preach it, and give you credit for it.”

Guy laughed.

“I’ll think of it, father,” he said. “I am going to make a call on one of my schoolmates, and will leave you to do your writing undisturbed.”

The schoolmate with whom Guy spent his evening was Tom Todd, a boy of about his own age. He had a sister some ten years older than himself, who was a teacher in one of the Bayport schools. She, as well as Tom, liked the bright son of the minister, and he received a cordial greeting from both.

“So you have got through school life, Guy?” she said.

“Yes, Miss Todd.”

“And you are fitted for college? Does your father think of Harvard for you?”

“He would like to have me go, but there are two objections in the way.”

“What are they?”

“First, he can’t afford the expense.”

“What is the second?”

“I have no desire to go.”

“That is the most important. If you really desired to go, I think you could borrow money enough somewhere, for you are acknowledged to be an excellent scholar.”

“Thank you for the compliment; but it is no disappointment to me not to go, though it is to my father. He is a regular bookworm, you know.”

“I know that he is not practical.”

“Come, Guy, let us have our game of checkers,” said Tom. “Let me see, I beat you last time.”

“Then it is my turn to beat you now.”

The boys played for an hour and a half, then Guy rose to go.

“What is your hurry? It is early yet.”

“That is true, but father is nervous, and he doesn’t like to have me out after half past nine o’clock. I left him writing his sermon for Sunday.”

“Why don’t you offer to help him, Guy?” asked Tom, with a smile.

“I did.”

“Really and truly?” said Tom, laughing.

“Yes; really and truly.”

“I suppose,” remarked Miss Todd, “he did not accept your offer?”

“No; he thought that what I would write would not be edifying.”

“If you would write a sermon, Guy, I would go to hear it,” said Tom.

“And I, too,” added his sister, the teacher.

“Then I should be sure of a congregation of two. Well, I will think of it.”