t the debts
would all be paid, and a small balance be left for the family. It was but
a small amount, but it enabled Dudley to lay aside his blue overalls, and
return to the old school again. Dr. Parmlee, the principal, was delighted
to have such a good pupil back again. Whittaker came back about the same
time, and the very first day he whispered to some of the boys that Dudley
smelled of soap-grease. The boys laughed thoughtlessly, as boys are apt
to do, and passed the poor joke round. Dudley maintained the respect of
the school in general, but there was a small clique, who never knew their
lessons, but who prided themselves on being genteel dunces. These folks
used to talk about the soap-grease, even in Dr. Parmlee's presence; but
the Doctor quietly retorted that if Crawford's hands smelled of
soap-grease, that was better than to have soap-grease inside his head and
pomatum on the outside. They were a little more modest after this, but
they could not forbear allusions that kept Dudley under fire. His mother,
who was very proud of her son's independence, could not but feel sorry
that he was subject to such persecutions. "Ah, mother," he would say,
"the thing that I am proudest of in my life is, that I spent a year in
Bluff's soap factory. Don't think that I am annoyed at the barkings of
lap-dogs."

At last came the day of graduation. Dudley led the class. There was a
great crowd of fine people. The last speech of all on the programme was
"Honest Work Honorable--Dudley Crawford." With a characteristic manliness
he stood up bravely for work. So fine were his arguments, so undaunted
his bearing, that the audience were carried away. Dr. Parmlee took off
his spectacles to wipe his eyes. Dudley's mother could not conceal her
pleasure. "Franklin's hands had printers' ink on them," he said, "but
they were shaken by princes and savans--the lightning did not despise
them. Garibaldi's fingers were soiled with candle-grease, but they have
moulded a free nation. Stephenson's fingers were black with coal, and
soiled with machine oil of a fireman's work, but they pointed out
highways to commerce and revolutionized civilization. There are those"
(Whittaker and his set looked crestfallen here) "who will gladly take the
hand of worthless loafers, or of genteel villains" (here certain ladies
looked down), "but who would not have dared shake hands with Franklin,
the printer, with Garibaldi, the tallow-chandler, with Stephenson, the
stoker