Paul Prescott's Charge by Jr. Horatio Alger (best fiction novels to read TXT) 📕

“When you call me by my right name,” said Paul, quietly, “I will answer, and not before.”

“You're mighty independent,” sneered Dawkins. “I don't know but I may have to teach you manners.”

“You had better wait till you are qualified,” said Paul, coolly.

Dawkins approached our hero menacingly, but Paul did not look in the least alarmed, and he concluded to attack him with words only.

“I understand you have set yourself up as my rival!” he said, mockingly.

“Not just yet,” said Paul, “but in time I expect to be.”

“So you expect my place,” said Dawkins, glancing about him.

“We'll talk about that three months hence,” said Paul.

“Don't hurt yourself studying,” sneered Dawkins, scornfully.

To this Paul did not deign a reply, but the same day he rose one in his class.

Our hero had a large stock of energy and determination. When he had once set his mind upon a thing, he kept steadily at work till he accomplished it. This is the great secret of success. It sometimes happens that a man who has done nothing will at once accomplish a brilliant success by one spasmodic effort, but such cases are extremely rare.

“Slow and sure wins the race,” is an old proverb that has a great deal of truth in it.

Paul worked industriously.

The kind sexton and his wife, who noticed his assiduity, strove to dissuade him from working so steadily.

“You are working too hard, Paul,” they said.

“Do I look pale?” asked Paul, pointing with a smile to his red cheeks.

“No, but you will before long.”

“When I am, I will study less. But you know, Uncle Hugh,” so the sexton instructed him to call him, “I want to make the most of my present advantages. Besides, there's a particular boy who thinks I am stupid. I want to convince him that he is mistaken.”

“You are a little ambitious, then, Paul?”

“Yes, but it isn't that alone. I know the value of knowledge, and I want to secure as much as I can.”

“That is an excellent motive, Paul.”

“Then you won't make me study less?”

“Not unless I see you are getting sick.”

Paul took good care of this. He knew how to play as well as to study, and his laugh on the playground was as merry as any. His cheerful, obliging disposition made him a favorite with his companions. Only George Dawkins held out; he had, for some reason, imbibed a dislike for Paul.

Paul's industry was not without effect. He gradually gained position in his class.

“Take care, Dawkins,” said one of his companions—the same one who had before spoken to Paul—“Paul Prescott will be disputing your place with you. He has come up seventeen places in a month.”

“Much good it'll do him,” said Dawkins, contemptuously.

“For all that, you will have to be careful; I can tell you that.”

“I'm not in the least afraid. I'm a little too firm in my position to be ousted by Young Stupid.”

“Just wait and see.”

Dawkins really entertained no apprehension. He had unbounded confidence in himself, and felt a sense of power in the rapidity with which he could master a lesson. He therefore did not study much, and though he could not but see that Paul was rapidly advancing, he rejected with scorn the idea that Young Stupid could displace him.

This, however, was the object at which Paul was aiming. He had not forgotten the nickname which Dawkins had given him, and this was the revenge which he sought,—a strictly honorable one.

At length the day of his triumph came. At the end of the month the master read off the class-list, and, much to his disgust, George Dawkins found himself playing second fiddle to Young Stupid.