Sink or Swim; or, Harry Raymond's Resolve

Title: Sink or Swim; or, Harry Raymond's Resolve

Author: Jr. Horatio Alger

Release date: May 16, 2019 [eBook #59517]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/59517

Credits: Produced by David Edwards and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)

[ii]

HORATIO ALGER’S BOOKS FOR BOYS AND GIRLS.

[iii]

SINK OR SWIM; OR, HARRY RAYMOND’S RESOLVE.

BY HORATIO ALGER, Jr.,

AUTHOR OF “RAGGED DICK,” “FAME AND FORTUNE,” “MARK, THE MATCH BOY,” “ROUGH AND READY,” “BEN, THE LUGGAGE BOY,” “RUFUS AND ROSE,” “CAMPAIGN SERIES,” “LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES,” ETC.

THE JOHN C. WINSTON CO., PHILADELPHIA, CHICAGO, TORONTO.

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FAMOUS ALGER BOOKS.

RAGGED DICK SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 6 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

TATTERED TOM SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. First Series.

TATTERED TOM SERIES. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. Second Series.

CAMPAIGN SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 vols.

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. First Series.

LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. Second Series.

BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

PACIFIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo.

ATLANTIC SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols.

WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

NEW WORLD SERIES. By Horatio Alger, Jr. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.

Other Volumes in Preparation.

Copyright by A. K. Loring, 1870.

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To MY MOTHER, THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.

[vi]

[vii]

PREFACE.

“Sink or Swim” is the second volume of the “Luck and Pluck Series,” and, like its predecessor, is designed to illustrate the truth that a manly spirit is better than the gifts of fortune.

It does not fall to the lot of many boys to meet with such adventures or to encounter such trials as befell the young hero of this story; but it will be of service to all, to adopt Harry Raymond’s motto. If there are any of my young readers who are disposed to envy Harry’s final good fortune, let them remember that the best way to strive for success is to deserve it; and[viii] then, if it does not come, there will at least be a consciousness of well-doing, which in itself is a rich reward.

New York, November 1, 1879.

[9]

CHAPTER I. THE VERNON HIGH SCHOOL.

“Sink or swim, live or die, survive or perish, I give my hand and my heart to this vote.”

These words were declaimed in a clear, ringing voice from the platform of the Vernon High School. The speaker was a boy of fifteen, well-knit, and vigorous, with a frank, manly expression, and a prepossessing face. His dark chestnut hair waved slightly above a high, intellectual brow, and his attitude, as he faced his school-mates, was one of ease and unconscious grace. His eye flashed as he declaimed with appropriate emphasis the patriotic extract which commences in the well-known words quoted above.[10] He had learned the orator’s secret,—to be in earnest,—and he carried his audience with him. When, at the conclusion of his declamation, he bowed and walked to his desk, the boys broke into spontaneous applause. Though this was contrary to the rules of the school, Reuben Tower, A. M., the principal, uttered no reprimand. He had himself been pleased with the declamation, and sympathized to some extent with the scholars.

“Very well indeed, Master Raymond! You speak as if you felt it,” he said.

Harry Raymond looked gratified at this double commendation. The applause of his school-mates pleased him, for he was by no means indifferent to their good opinion, which he tried on all occasions to deserve. He was no less pleased with Mr. Tower’s praise, for he had a high respect for his ability, and that praise was never lightly bestowed.

I have spoken of Harry’s good appearance. I am obliged to confess that his dress had nothing to do with this. In fact, his jacket and pants were of very coarse texture, and by no means elegant in fit. Besides this, they appeared, though neat, to have seen[11] considerable service, and there was a patch on one knee,—very small, indeed, but still a patch. In fact, I may as well state at the outset, that Harry was the son of a house-carpenter,—an industrious and intelligent man, but still of limited income, and obliged to economize strictly in order to lay aside, as he made it a point to do, a hundred dollars a year, as a provision for the future.

The applause which followed our hero’s declamation was almost unanimous. I say almost, for there were two boys who did not join in it. One of these was James Turner, a boy about Harry’s age, but more slightly made. He was the son of Squire Turner, the wealthiest man in Vernon, and his dress afforded quite a contrast to the ill-fitting garments of our young hero. The village tailor’s skill had not been deemed sufficient, but James had accompanied his father to New York, where his measure had been left with a Broadway tailor, who had made up the suit and sent it to Vernon by express. The cloth was very fine, and there was a style and neatness of fit about the clothes of which James felt very proud. He regarded his companions with a supercilious air,[12] as if convinced of his own immeasurable superiority, in dress at least.

James Turner did not participate in the applause called forth by Harry Raymond’s declamation. On the contrary, he sat with an unpleasant sneer on his lips, and cast a glance of scorn at the patch, which his quick eye had detected in our hero’s pants.

There was another boy, sitting next to James, who also refrained from joining in the applause. This was Tom Barton, a friend and hanger-on of James Turner, who, by persistent flattery, earned the privilege of being treated with half-contemptuous familiarity and condescension by the young aristocrat. He knew that James did not like Harry Raymond, and the sneer which he saw on the lips of his patron gave him the cue. He attempted to imitate it, and gaze scornfully at the young orator in his momentary triumph.

“James Turner!” called out the principal.

James Turner rose from his seat, and walked to the platform, which he ascended, greeting the audience with a stiff and consequential bow, and an air which[13] might be interpreted to mean, “Boys, you will now have the privilege of hearing me speak.”

James had selected a good piece,—Patrick Henry’s well-known appeal to arms, familiar to every school-boy, commencing, “I have but one lamp by which my feet are guided, and that is the lamp of experience.”

It is a fine piece of oratory, lofty in tone and sentiment, and should be spoken with dignified earnestness. James Turner’s voice, which was shrill, was scarcely calculated to do justice to it. Still it would not have called out any demonstration from the young auditory, but for one or two peculiar ideas on the part of James, as to the proper way of speaking it. When he came to the clause, “We have prostrated ourselves before the throne,” he suited the action to the word, and sank upon his knees. But, afraid of soiling his pantaloons, he first spread out his silk handkerchief on the platform, and this spoiled whatever effect the action might otherwise have had. There was a general titter, which the young aristocrat saw with anger. At the end of the[14] sentence, he rose from his knees, and, with a general scowl at the boys, kept on with his declamation.

But a more serious contretemps awaited him. A little further on, the orator says, “We have been spurned, with contempt, from the foot of the throne.” Here again, James, with a striking lack of judgment, thought it would heighten the effect to suit the action to the word. Accordingly, he prepared to kick out with his right foot. Unfortunately, he was so provoked with his school-mates, for their lack of appreciation of the other point he had made, that he executed the manœuvre, if it may properly be so called, with a spiteful emphasis which was too much for his equilibrium. He lost his balance, and fell forward in a ludicrous manner, and rolled over on the floor of the school-room.

It could not be expected that fifty school-boys could restrain their merriment under such trying circumstances. There was a wild burst of laughter, in which, after an ineffectual attempt to resist the infection, Mr. Tower himself was compelled to join. Boys laughed till the tears came into their eyes, and the merriment was only increased when James[15] Turner rose to his feet, and with an air of offended majesty marched indignantly to his seat, darting a look of withering scorn, as he meant it to be, at his youthful audience.

The laughter recommenced, and became almost hysteric. The principal, however, quickly recovered himself, and said:—

“Boys, that will do. Turner, you must excuse the boys for a little good-natured merriment at your expense. I think your conception of the gestures proper to use with your piece is not quite correct. However, that is a point on which the most experienced speakers are apt to make mistakes; not only boys, but men. Your intention was good, though the effect was injured by circumstances.”

These remarks ought to have appeased the offended orator, but he evidently did not mean to be appeased so readily. His feeling of mortification was swallowed up in a greater feeling of anger and irritation at the presumption of his school-mates, in daring to laugh at him, the son of the richest man in Vernon. He felt that he was entitled, rather, to be treated with respect and deference. So he sat sullenly through[16] the remainder of the speaking, with an ill-tempered scowl upon his features.

When the speaking was over, Mr. Tower rose and said:—

“Boys, you are aware that at the commencement of the term I offered a prize to the boy who, in your own judgment, should be pronounced to have succeeded best in declamation, taking into consideration the whole term. As this is the last time we shall declaim before vacation, I will call for the vote now. I shall distribute small slips of paper among you, and I will ask each boy to inscribe upon his slip the name of that one who, in his opinion, deserves the prize. We will afterwards count the votes.”

Slips of paper were accordingly distributed, and the boys were soon busy in recording their votes.

“Sheffield, you may collect the votes,” said Mr. Tower.

The boy referred to passed among the desks with his hat, and the slips of paper were deposited therein. These were handed to the teacher, who forthwith proceeded to count them.

The count over, he rapped on his desk.

[17]

“Boys,” he said, “I will announce the vote. Votes cast, fifty. Of those Walter Sheffield has one; James Turner, two; and the remainder, forty-seven in number, are for Harry Raymond, to whom I have great pleasure in awarding the prize, of which he has been pronounced worthy by the nearly unanimous vote of his school-mates. Raymond, you will come forward.”

Harry Raymond advanced towards the teacher’s desk, amid the loud applause of his companions.

Mr. Tower placed in his hands a handsomely bound volume, consisting of selections from the best efforts of orators, ancient and modern, saying:—

“I have great pleasure in giving you this volume, Raymond, for my own judgment approves the selection of your school-fellows. I trust you will be able to express in your life, as you have so appropriately done upon the platform, the lofty and elevated sentiments of our best orators.”

There was a flush of gratification upon our hero’s cheek, as he received the book with a respectful bow, and returned to his seat amid the renewed applause of his fellow-pupils.

[18]

CHAPTER II. SOUR GRAPES.

Harry Raymond lived in a small house, just off the main street, fronting on a narrow road or lane. The building lot, consisting of an acre of land, his father had bought three years before for one hundred and fifty dollars. After purchasing and paying for it cash down, he found that he had but one hundred dollars left towards the house which he wanted to build. Under these circumstances he went to Squire Turner, who was the moneyed man of the village, and asked for a loan. Knowing that his money would be safe, the squire agreed to furnish him what money he might need towards the house, taking a mortgage upon it when it was completed.

Mr. Raymond, therefore, at once commenced building. His house cost a thousand dollars, of which Squire Turner furnished him seven hundred, the balance being made up of his own labor and cash[19] in hand. So, when all was done, he regarded himself as worth a property of twelve hundred dollars, subject to a mortgage of seven hundred. During the three years that had since elapsed he had managed, besides paying interest, to pay up three hundred dollars of the mortgage, leaving only four hundred due. This had not been accomplished without some economy; but his wife and Harry had cheerfully acquiesced in this, being anxious for the time to come when they might be clear owners of the little house.

The house contained six rooms, and stood about fifty feet back from the street. The land in the rear made an excellent garden, supplying them with all the vegetables of which they had need.

Besides Harry, there was his sister Katy, a little girl of ten, sweet and winning in her ways, to whom he was warmly attached.

Mr. Raymond had kept Harry steadily at school, feeling that a good education would be of far more value to him in after life than the small amount he might earn if kept at work. Harry had justified this determination, having acquitted himself on all occasions most creditably in all the studies which he[20] pursued. Out of school he found time to work in the garden, and assist in various ways, by sawing and splitting what wood was required for family use, so that his father, on returning from his day’s labor was not under the necessity of fatiguing himself by extra work.

We will now return to the Vernon High School.

When school was dismissed, Harry Raymond was surrounded by his friends, eager to congratulate him on his success.

“I congratulate you, Harry,” said Walter Sheffield, good-naturedly, “which is doing the handsome thing, considering that I was your rival. You only had forty-six more votes than I. That’s what I call a close shave.”

“You voted for yourself, didn’t you, Sheffield?” said Will Pomeroy.

“I’m not going to expose myself, if I did,” said Walter.

“Shouldn’t wonder if Turner voted for himself,” said one of the boys, in a low voice.

“But he had two votes.”

“Oh, Tom Barton cast the other vote, of course,”[21] said Will Pomeroy, rather contemptuously. “He fawns upon Turner just because he’s rich. I wish him joy of his friend.”

“Say, Turner, did you vote for yourself?” called out one of the boys.

“None of your business!” said James Turner, sharply.

He stood a little on one side with his crony, Tom Barton, surveying the scene with an ill-tempered scowl. It was very disagreeable to him to see Harry Raymond’s triumph. In fact, he hated our hero, for no good reason except that Harry was his acknowledged superior in acquirements, always standing higher in his classes, and received from his school-mates a degree of respect and deference which James Turner with all his money could not buy.

“Why don’t you come and congratulate Raymond on his prize?”

“I’d rather congratulate him on his pantaloons,” said James, with a sneer.

“What’s the matter with them?” demanded Will Pomeroy, supposing at first that Harry might have soiled them in some way.

[22]

“Patches seem to be in fashion,” said James, with another sneer.

Of course the attention of all the boys was attracted to Harry’s knee, and the patch, which had hitherto escaped observation, was discovered.

Harry Raymond’s cheek flushed, for he saw that an insult was intended, but he did not at once speak.

“For shame, Turner!” said Will Pomeroy, indignantly, and it was evident that the other boys sympathized with him in his feeling.

“What should I be ashamed of?” retorted Turner.

“For your meanness in twitting Harry with the patch.”

“I didn’t; I only mentioned it.”

“You are envious because he got the prize.”

“What do I care for the trumpery prize? It didn’t cost more than a dollar and a half. My father will buy me a dozen such books, if I want them.”

“Perhaps he will; but for all that you’d have taken it quick enough if you could have got it. It isn’t the value of the book, it’s what it means.”

“What does it mean?”

[23]

“That Harry Raymond is the best speaker in the Vernon High School.”

“Boys,” said Harry, quietly, “don’t trouble yourselves to defend me. I don’t care what James Turner says. Perhaps the book didn’t cost more than a dollar and a half, but it was given me by your votes, and that makes it worth more to me than if it cost a hundred dollars. I haven’t had a chance to say it before, but I am grateful to you for your kindness in awarding it to me, and I shall always treasure it for that reason.”

“Three cheers for Harry Raymond!” called out Walter Sheffield, waving his arm, and giving the signal.

The three cheers were given with a will, and Harry looked gratified at this proof of the regard in which he was held.

“Now three groans for James Turner!” said another.

“No, boys,” said Harry, promptly; “don’t do that.”

“But he insulted you.”

“I suppose you mean about the patch. But never[24] mind about that. You all know that my father is a poor man, and can’t afford to buy me expensive clothes. If I get my clothes torn, I can’t afford to throw them aside. I don’t like patches any better than anybody, but till I get richer I shall wear them.”

Harry spoke so manfully, that the boys heartily sympathized with him. It might have been supposed that James Turner would have been convinced of his meanness, and ashamed of it; but he was essentially a mean boy, and it may be added that a part of his meanness came to him from his father, who, though a rich man, was sordid and covetous, and never known to do a generous action. So James now could not refrain from a parting sneer.

“If Raymond wears patches because he is poor,” he said, “I’ll give him a pair of pants that I’ve got through wearing, any time when he’ll come up to the house.”

“You needn’t trouble yourself,” said Harry, angry at the insult. “When I want your cast-off clothes I’ll let you know. I’ll go in rags first.”

“Just as you choose,” said James, sneering.[25] “There’s no accounting for tastes. Come along, Barton.”

The two boys walked away, not much regretted by those they left behind. If they had heard the remarks made about them after their departure, neither would have felt particularly complimented.

“The beggarly upstart!” said James to his companion. “He puts on airs enough for a pauper.”

“So he does,” said Barton. “He can’t speak half as well as you. But Mr. Tower’s prejudiced.”

“I don’t care for his miserable prizes,” said James. “They’re not worth thinking of.”

It was only another illustration of the well-known fable of the fox and the grapes.

[26]

CHAPTER III. A SUDDEN BLOW.

Harry Raymond, after receiving the congratulations of his school-mates, took his way homeward. He was not obliged to travel by the road, as there was a short cut across the field.

At the end of ten minutes he threw open the door, and went into the house. His mother was ironing, and Katy sat near by, reading a book.

“See what I’ve got, mother,” said Harry, holding up his prize.

“What is it, Harry?”

“It’s the prize for declamation. The boys took a vote, and it was awarded to me by forty-seven votes out of fifty.”

“I am very glad to hear it,” said Mrs. Raymond, and her face wore a proud look, as she glanced at the bright and animated face of her son.

[27]