Frank's Campaign; Or, The Farm and the Camp Page 2

  CHAPTER II. THE PRIZE

  A few rods distant from the Town Hall, but on the opposite side of thestreet, stood the Rossville Academy. It had been for some years underthe charge of James Rathburn, A. M., a thorough scholar and a skilfulteacher. A large part of his success was due to his ability in makingthe ordinary lessons of the schoolroom interesting to his scholars.

  Some forty students attended the academy, mostly from the town ofRossville. Mr. Rathburn, however, received a few boarders into hisfamily.

  There were three classes in the Latin language; but the majority ofthose who had taken it up stopped short before they had gone beyond theLatin Reader. One class, however, had commenced reading the Aeneid ofVirgil, and was intending to pursue the full course of preparation forcollege; though in regard to one member of the class there was some doubtwhether he would be able to enter college. As this boy is to be our herowe will take a closer look at him.

  Frank Frost is at this time in his sixteenth year. He is about themedium size, compactly made, and the healthful color in his cheeks isgood evidence that he is not pursuing his studies at the expense of hishealth. He has dark chestnut hair, with a slight wave, and is altogethera fine-looking boy.

  At a desk behind him sits John Haynes, the son of Squire Haynes,introduced in our last chapter. He is nearly two years older than Frank,and about as opposite to him in personal appearance as can well beimagined. He has a thin face, very black hair is tall of his age, andalready beginning to feel himself a young man. His manner is full ofpretension. He never forgets that his father is the richest man in town,and can afford to give him advantages superior to those possessed by hisschoolfellows. He has a moderate share of ability but is disinclined towork hard. His affectation of Superiority makes him as unpopular amonghis schoolfellows as Frank is popular.

  These two boys, together with Henry Tufts, constitute the preparatoryclass of Rossville Academy. Henry is mild in his manners, and arespectable student, but possesses no positive character. He comes froma town ten miles distant, and boards with the principal. Frank, thoughthe youngest of the three, excels the other two in scholarship. Butthere is some doubt whether he will be able to go to college. His fatheris in moderate circumstances, deriving a comfortable subsistence from asmall farm, but is able to lay by a very small surplus every year, andthis he feels it necessary to hold in reserve for the liquidation ofthe mortgage held by Squire Haynes. Frank's chance of attaining what hecovets-a college education-seems small; but he is resolved at leastto prepare for college, feeling that even this will constitute a veryrespectable education.

  The reader is introduced to the main schoolroom of the Rossville Academyon the morning of the day of which the war meeting takes place.

  At nine o'clock the bell rang, and the scholars took their seats. Afterthe preliminary devotional exercise, Mr. Rathburn, instead of calling upthe first class at once, paused a moment, and spoke as follows:

  "Scholars, I need not remind you that on the first day of the term,with the design of encouraging you to aim at improvement in Englishcomposition, I offered two prizes-one for the best essay written by aboy over fourteen years of age; the other for the best composition byany one under that age. It gives me pleasure to state that in most ofthose submitted to me I recognize merit, and I should be glad if it werein my power to give three times as many prizes. Those of you, however,who are unsuccessful will feel repaid by the benefit you have yourselvesderived from the efforts you have made for another end."

  During this address, John Haynes looked about him with an air ofcomplacency and importance. He felt little doubt that his own essay onthe "Military Genius of Napoleon" would win the prize. He did not somuch care for this, except for the credit it would give him. But hisfather, who was ambitious for him, had promised him twenty-fivedollars if he succeeded, and he had already appropriated this sum inimagination. He had determined to invest it in a handsome boat which hehad seen for sale in Boston on his last visit to that city.

  "After careful consideration," continued the teacher, "I have decidedthat the prize should be adjudged to an essay entitled 'The Duties ofBoys on the Present National Crisis,' written by Frank Frost."

  There was a general clapping of hands at this announcement. Frank wasa general favorite, and even his disappointed rivals felt a degree ofsatisfaction in feeling that he had obtained the prize.

  There was one exception, however. John Haynes turned pale, and then red,with anger and vexation. He scowled darkly while the rest of the boyswere applauding, and persuaded himself that he was the victim of a greatpiece of injustice.

  Frank's face flushed with pleasure, and his eyes danced with delight. Hehad made a great effort to succeed, and he knew that at home they wouldbe very happy to hear that the prize had been awarded to him.

  "Frank Frost will come forward," said Mr. Rathburn.

  Frank left his seat, and advanced modestly. Mr. Rathburn placed in hishand a neat edition of Whittier's Poem's in blue and gold.

  "Let this serve as an incentive to renewed effort," he said.

  The second prize was awarded to one of the girls. As she has no part inour story, we need say nothing more on this point.

  At recess, Frank's desk was surrounded by his schoolmates, who weredesirous of examining the prize volumes. All expressed hearty good-will,congratulating him on his success, with the exception of John Haynes.

  "You seem mighty proud of your books, Frank Frost," said he with asneer. "We all know that you're old Rathburn's favorite. It didn't makemuch difference what you wrote, as long as you were sure of the prize."

  "For shame, John Haynes!" exclaimed little Harvey Grover impetuously."You only say that because you wanted the prize yourself, and you'redisappointed."

  "Disappointed!" retorted John scornfully. "I don't want any of oldRathburn's sixpenny books. I can buy as many as I please. If he'd given'em to me, I should have asked him to keep 'em for those who needed 'emmore."

  Frank was justly indignant at the unfriendly course which John choseto pursue, but feeling that it proceeded from disappointed rivalry, hewisely said nothing to increase his exasperation. He put the two bookscarefully away in his desk, and settled himself quietly to his day'slessons.

  It was not until evening that John and his father met. Both had beenchafed--the first by his disappointment, the second by the failureof his effort to prevent the town's voting bounties to volunteers.In particular he was incensed with Mr. Frost, for his imputationof interested motives, although it was only in return for a similarimputation brought against himself.

  "Well, father, I didn't get the prize," commenced John, in adiscontented voice.

  "So much the worse for you," said his father coldly. "You might havegained it if you had made an effort."

  "No, I couldn't. Rathburn was sure to give it to his favorite."

  "And who is his favorite?" questioned Squire Haynes, not yet siding withhis son.

  "Frank Frost, to be sure."

  "Frank Frost!" repeated the squire, rapidly wheeling round to his son'sview of the matter. His dislike of the father was so great that itreadily included the son. "What makes you think he is the teacher'sfavorite?"

  "Oh, Rathburn is always praising him for something or other. All theboys know Frank Frost is his pet. You won't catch him praising me, if Iwork ever so hard."

  John did not choose to mention that he had not yet tried this method ofsecuring the teacher's approval.

  "Teachers should never have favorites," said the squire dogmatically."It is highly detrimental to a teacher's influence, and subversive ofthe principles of justice. Have you got your essay with you, John?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "You may sit down and read it to me, and if I think it deserving, I willtake care that you sha'n't lose by the teacher's injustice."

  John readily obeyed. He hurried up to his chamber, and, opening hiswriting-desk, took out a sheet of foolscap, three sides of which werewritten over. This he brought down-stairs with him. He began to hopethat he m
ight get the boat after all.

  The squire, in dressing-gown and slippers, sat in a comfortablearmchair, while John in a consequential manner read his rejectedessay. It was superficial and commonplace, and abundantly marked withpretension, but to the squire's warped judgment it seemed to haveremarkable merit.

  "It does you great credit, John," said he emphatically. "I don't knowwhat sort of an essay young Frost wrote, but I venture to say it wasnot as good. If he's anything like his father, he is an impertinentjackanapes."

  John pricked up his ears, and listened attentively.

  "He grossly insulted me at the town meeting to-day, and I sha'n't soonforget it. It isn't for his interest to insult a man who has the powerto annoy him that I possess."

  "Haven't you got a mortgage on his farm?"

  "Yes, and at a proper time I shall remind him of it. But to come back toyour own affairs. What was the prize given to young Frost?"

  "A blue-and-gold copy of Whittier's Poems, in two volumes."

  "Plain binding, I suppose."

  "Yes, sir."

  "Very well. The next time I go to Boston, I will buy you the same thingbound in calf. I don't intend that you shall suffer by your teacher'sinjustice."

  "It wasn't so much the prize that I cared for," said John, who feltlike making the most of his father's favorable mood, "but you know youpromised me twenty-five dollars if I gained it."

  "And as you have been defrauded of it, I will give you thirty instead,"said the squire promptly.

  John's eyes sparkled with delight. "Oh, thank you, sir!" he said. "Iwouldn't change places with Frank Frost now for all his prize."

  "I should think not, indeed," said the squire pompously. "Your positionas the son of a poor farmer wouldn't be quite so high as it is now."

  As he spoke he glanced complacently at the handsome furniture whichsurrounded him, the choice engravings which hung on the walls, and thefull-length mirror in which his figure was reflected. "Ten years fromnow Frank Frost will be only a common laborer on his father's farm--thatis," he added significantly, "if his father manages to keep it; whileyou, I hope, will be winning distinction at the bar."

  Father and son were in a congenial mood that evening, and a commonhatred drew them more closely together than mutual affection had everdone. They were very much alike--both cold, calculating, and selfish.The squire was indeed ambitious for his son, but could hardly be saidto love him, since he was incapable of feeling a hearty love for any oneexcept himself.

  As for John, it is to be feared that he regarded his father chiefly asone from whom he might expect future favors. His mother had been a good,though not a strong-minded woman, and her influence might have been ofadvantage to her son; but unhappily she had died when John was in histenth year, and since then he had become too much like his father.