hat Sunday. Monday morning saw him at
work as errand-boy in an office, earning enough for his keep at the
boarding-house where his mother found him at times when his father was
alone keeping bar. That night he registered at the nearest evening school
to complete his course. The Doctor kept a grip on his studies, as he had
promised, and saw him through. It was not easy sledding, but it was better
than the smelly saloon. From the public school he graduated into the
Cooper Institute, where his teachers soon took notice of the wide-awake
lad. Karl was finding himself. He took naturally to the study of
languages, and threw himself into it with all the ardor of an army
marching without baggage train to meet an enemy. He had "got to win," and
he did. All the while he earned his living working as a clerk by day--with
very little baggage yet to boast of--and sitting up nights with his books.
When he graduated from the Institute, the battle was half won.

The other half he fought on his own ground, with the enemy's tents in
sight. His attainments procured for him a place in the Lenox Library,
where his opportunity for reading was limited only by his ambition. He
made American history and literature his special study, and in the course
of time achieved great distinction in his field. "And they were married
and lived happily ever after" might by right be added to his story. He did
marry an East Side girl who had been his sweetheart while he was fighting
his uphill battle, and they have to-day two daughters attending college.

It is the drawback to these stories that, being true, they must respect
the privacy of their heroes. If that were not so, I should tell you that
this hero's name is not Karl, but one much better befitting his fight and
his victory; that he was chosen historian of his home State, and held the
office with credit until spoils politics thrust him aside, and that he
lives to-day in the capital city of another State, an authority whose word
is not lightly questioned on any matter pertaining to Americana. That is
the record of the East Side boy who was driven from home for refusing to
tend bar in his father's saloon on Sunday because it was not right.

He never saw his father again. He tried more than once, but the door of
his home was barred against him. Not with his mother's consent; in long
after years, when once again Dr. Schauffler preached at Olivet, a little
German woman came up after the sermon and held out h