“Seems to me you can do a good many things. You told me you’d canvassed for books, sold newspapers, and worked in a mill. And now you’re being councillor in a boys’ camp.”
“None of those jobs paid eighteen dollars a week, though, sir.”
“No, but what I’m getting at is that if you can do those things you can do other things. The only problem is to find something that will bring you real money. With, say, a couple of hundred dollars I dare say you wouldn’t be afraid to start college.”
“N-no, sir. Two hundred wouldn’t go very far, though, would it? Even at a state university?”
“It would pay your tuition, maybe. Tell you what I want you to do, Sam, when you get home. You go and see John Holden. I’m going to write to him about you. He’s a fine fellow. You can’t help liking him. And he is going to be a good man to know before very long. He’s only just making his start now, but he’s the sort you can’t stop, and in five years he will be Somebody in your town. You go and see him and tell him who you are. Get to know him. John and I are pretty good friends; have been ever since we were freshmen in college; they used to call us the Pair of Jacks. In that way you and I’ll be able to keep in touch. I’m a fairly busy man when I get back to work and I’m not much of a letter-writer, but if you’ll let me hear from you now and then I’ll see that your letters don’t go unanswered. And I’ll keep my eyes open and see if I can’t find some job that will put some money in your pocket when next summer comes.”
“I’d like that,” responded Sam gratefully. “I’d be willing to do ’most anything, I guess. Only—only I wouldn’t want you to—to just make up a job for me, Mr. York.”
“You’re certainly suspicious!” laughed the other. “But I give you my word, Sam, that if I find anything for you it will be real work and well worth the pay. Here we are, with four minutes to spare. By the way, how about funds? All right that way, are you?”
“I have enough, thanks.”
“Quite sure? Glad to lend you a few dollars. You can return it when you reach camp, you know.”