Sink or Swim; or, Harry Raymond's Resolve

by Jr. Horatio Alger

“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. 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 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, 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 might be interpreted to mean, “Boys, you will now have the privilege of hearing me speak.”