He began, too, to look about for something to do.  He was anxious for a job in a store or an office, where be could wear good clothes and not have to work hard at manual labor.

This is a common desire of country boys
who go to town to live.

The trouble was, however, that he knew next to nothing of business of any kind.  Was this the fault of his education, thus far?  His school education, I mean.  I ask the question.

He finally concluded to take a course in a school that advertised to fit a person to engage in any business whatever in three months, without regard to age, sex, or previous condition.  He went to this school.

I have no quarrel with institutions that make a business of fitting young men and women to engage in commercial pursuits.  I know of many excellent institutions of this kind.  But I nevertheless submit the record of “Dodd” Weaver in his connection with this college, so called.

The man at the head of the institution was a brisk, nervous sort of person, a shrewd fellow, and given to much flourishing with a pen, which was to him much mightier than any sword.  He could whirl off a scroll-winged eagle on a blank sheet of foolscap, in a twinkling—­a royal bird, with a banner in his beak, on which was inscribed “Go to ——­ college,” and which the king of birds was bearing towards the sun for advertising purposes.  He could also add a column of figures with wonderful rapidity, and occasional accuracy!  He was a believer in lightning methods and processes everywhere.  His own education had been wrought out on that plan.  He was seeking a fortune by the same route.  He drew crowds of boys into his school.  It was through them he made his money.

“Dodd” had much skill with a pen, as will be remembered by his sketching Mr. Bright’s face on the board one afternoon.  He took to the practice in writing with some alacrity, but for the rest of the work he soon did as the others did—­studied little, and in lieu of a recitation listened to a long and disjointed talk by “the professor.”  He was held to no account for his work, and whether it was right or wrong made little difference.  He found that his teacher would profess to know things of which he knew he was ignorant, and, in a word, that there was an air of shoddy, not to say dishonesty, about the whole institution.

This did not trouble him greatly, however.  It was only in keeping with what he conceived he had finally discovered the whole world to be—­a gigantic sham—­and he mentally remarked to himself “I told you so,” and drew an unusually large spread-eagle upon a fresh sheet of foolscap.

He stayed three months in the school and then graduated.  His diploma was handed to him by a venerable gentleman who delighted in the appellation “president of the board,” while an orchestra, composed of young ladies of the school, all of whom were learning to play the violin, by the “short method,” discoursed most execrable music from an improvised platform that had been built in the church, for the occasion.  Six other pupils came through with “Dodd,” and their going out was used as an advertisement to lure still another half dozen to fill the places left vacant.