“You are a born mathematician,” his teacher remarked to him one evening, after giving him some intricate problems to test his knowledge, “and I have not the slightest fear for you in mathematics; but you are still a trifle behind in Greek and Latin, and so we will devote the most of our time to those branches,” and at this hint of his deficiency Clifford worked along those lines with redoubled diligence.
He had found himself very popular after his heroic deed became known to the public, but he bore his honors with exceeding modesty, and had but little to say about the affair. Glowing accounts of it had been published in both the New Haven and local papers. Professor Harding had been interviewed, and had spoken in the highest terms of commendation of his pupil, while, as Squire Talford and his peculiarities were well known, there appeared more than one strong hint regarding the hard life which the boy had led during the four years of his bondage with him.
According to the conditions of the contract which the squire had made with Mrs. Faxon, Clifford was to receive twenty-five dollars in money and a suit of new clothes on the day when his time expired. The contemplation of this approaching expenditure of money made the wretched miser—for he was nothing else, when it came to putting out his dollars for other people—cross and miserable, and he racked his brain for some excuse by which he could evade his obligation.
He broached the subject to Clifford one evening about a week previous to the expiration of his time.
“I suppose you’re bound to go the first of the month?” he remarked, with evident embarrassment, for he had felt very uncomfortable in the lad’s presence ever since he had so boldly faced him and freely spoken his mind.
“Yes, sir; my time will be up one week from to-night.”
“Couldn’t you be persuaded to sign for a couple of years longer, if I’d agree to do better by you?”
The youth flushed crimson, and a peculiar gleam leaped into his eyes at the proposition; but, instantly putting a strong curb upon himself, he quickly responded:
“I think not, sir; I have made my plans to go to college, and I do not care to change them.”
“What good will a college education do you?” the man demanded, with an ill-concealed sneer; “you won’t have a penny when you get through, and, if you’re aspiring to a profession, there’ll have to be another four years’ course atop of that.”