"But I can
learn. I was thinking of studying law. That's a good trade, isn't it?"
"Splendid!" assented Mr. Royce, warmly. "And there are always so many
openings. You see, nobody studies law--lawyers are as scarce as hen's
teeth."
"Just the same, I think I'll have a try at it," said Freddie,
sturdily. "There's always room at the top, you know," he added, with a
grin. "I can go to the night-school at the University, and I ought to
be able to earn enough to live on, as a clerk or something. I know how
to read and write."
"That will help, of course," agreed Mr. Royce. "But I'm afraid that,
right at first, anyway, you can scarcely hope to live in the style to
which you have been accustomed."
Freddie turned on him with fire in his eyes.
"Look here," he said, "suppose you give me a job. I'll do my work and
earn my wages--try me and see."
There was something in his face that touched me, and I glanced at Mr.
Royce. I saw that his gruffness was merely a mantle to cloak his real
feelings; and the result was that Freddie Swain was set to work as a
copying-clerk at a salary of fifteen dollars a week. He applied
himself to his work with an energy that surprised me, and I learned
that he was taking the night-course at the University, as he had
planned.
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