ing minute flecks of frost, and my clothing (mainly cotton)
seemed hardly thicker than gossamer, and yet I looked upon those working
men with a distinct feeling of envy. Had I secured "a job" I should have
been pulling a saw up and down through the ice, at the same time that I
dreamed of touring the west as a lecturer--of such absurd contradictions
are the visions of youth.

I don't know exactly what I would have done had not my brother happened
along on his way to a school near Chicago. To him I confessed my
perplexity. He paid my board bill (which was not very large) and in
return I talked him into a scheme which promised great things for us
both--I contracted to lecture under his management! He was delighted at
the opportunity of advancing me, and we were both happy.

Our first engagement was at Cyene, a church which really belonged to
Eaton's circuit, and according to my remembrance the lecture was a
moderate success. After paying all expenses we had a little money for
carfare, and Franklin was profoundly impressed. It really seemed to us
both that I had at last entered upon my career. It was the kind of
service I had been preparing for during all my years at school--but
alas! our next date was a disaster. We attempted to do that which an
older and fully established lecturer would not have ventured. We tried
to secure an audience with only two days' advance work, and of course we
failed.

I called a halt. I could not experiment on the small fund which my
father had given Frank for his business education.

However, I borrowed a few dollars of him and bought a ticket to Rock
River, a town near Chicago. I longed to enter the great western
metropolis, but dared not do so--yet. I felt safe only when in sight of
a plowed field.

At a junction seventy miles out of the city, we separated, he to attend
a school, and I to continue my education in the grim realities of life.

From office to office in Rock River I sullenly plodded, willing to work
for fifty cents a day, until at last I secured a clerkship in a small
stationery jobbing house which a couple of school teachers had strangely
started, but on Saturday of the second week the proprietor called me to
him and said kindly, but firmly, "Garland, I'm afraid you are too
literary and too musical for this job. You have a fine baritone voice
and your ability to vary the text set before you to copy, is remarkable,
and yet I think we must part."

The reasons for this iron