e manuscript, the latter entered enthusiastically into them, and at
once requested the privilege of reading the story. Harry awaited his
judgment with some anxiety.

"Why, Harry, this is capital," said Oscar, looking up from the
perusal.

"Do you really think so, Oscar?"

"If I didn't think so, I wouldn't say so."

"I thought you might say so out of friendship."

"I don't say it is the best I ever read, mind you, but I have read a
good many that are worse. I think you managed the _denouement_
(you're a French scholar, so I'll venture on the word) admirably."

"I only hope the editor of the 'Standard' will think so."

"If he doesn't, there are other papers in Boston; the 'Argus' for
instance."

"I'll try the 'Standard' first, because I have already written for
it."

"All right. Don't you want me to go to the office with you?"

"I wish you would. I shall be bashful."

"I am not troubled that way. Besides, my father's name is well
known, and I'll take care to mention it. Sometimes influence goes
farther than merit, you know."

"I should like to increase my income by writing for the city papers.
Even if I only made fifty dollars a year, it would all be clear gain."

Harry's desire was natural. He had no idea how many shared it.
Every editor of a successful weekly could give information on this
subject. Certainly there is no dearth of aspiring young
writers--Scotts and Shakspeares in embryo--in our country, and if all
that were written for publication succeeded in getting into print,
the world would scarcely contain the books and papers which would
pour in uncounted thousands from the groaning press.

When the two boys arrived in Boston they took a carriage to Oscar's
house. It was situated on Beacon Street, not far from the Common,--a
handsome brick house with a swell front, such as they used to build
in Boston. No one of the family was in, and Oscar and Harry went up
at once to the room of the former, which they were to share together.
It was luxuriously furnished, so Harry thought, but then our hero had
been always accustomed to the plainness of a country home.

"Now, old fellow, make yourself at home," said Oscar. "You can get
yourself up for dinner. There's water and towels, and a brush."

"I don't expect to look very magnificent," said Harry. "You must
tell your mother I am from the country."

"I would make you an offer if I dared," said Oscar.

"I am always open to a good offer."