“Why don’t you get a place in the Department?” said Williams, that enviable fellow, who had light duties, several hours each day to himself, and eight hundred a year!

“That’s more easily said than done!” And Salmon shook his head.

“No, it isn’t!” The fortunate Williams sat with his legs upon the table, one foot on the other, a pipe in his mouth, and a book in his hand, enjoying himself.  “You have an uncle in the Senate.  Ask him to use his influence for you.  He can get you a place.”  And puffing a fragrant cloud complacently into the air, he returned to his pleasant reading.

Salmon walked the room.  He went out and walked the street.  A sore struggle was taking place in his breast.  Should he give up the school?  Should he go and ask this thing of his uncle?  Oh, for somebody to whom he could go for counsel and sympathy!

“Williams is perhaps right I may wait a year, and not get another pupil.  Meanwhile I am growing shabby.  I need a new pair of boots.  My washerwoman must be paid.  Why not get a clerkship as a temporary thing, if nothing more?  My uncle can get it for me, without any trouble to himself.  It is not like asking him for money.”

Yet he dreaded to trouble the Senator even thus much.  Proud and sensitive natures do not like to beg favors, any way.

“I’ll wait one day longer.  Then, if not a pupil applies, I’ll go to my uncle—­”

He waited twenty-four hours.  Not a pupil.  Then, desperate and discouraged at last, Salmon buttoned his coat, and walked fast through the streets to his uncle’s boarding-house.

It was evening.  The Senator was at home.

“Well, Salmon?” inquiringly.  “How do you get on?”

“Poorly,” said Salmon, sitting down, with his hat on his knee.

“You must have patience, boy!” said the Senator, laying down a pamphlet open at the page where he was reading when his nephew came in.  “Pluck and patience,—­those are the two oars that pull the boat.”

“I have patience enough, and I don’t think I’m lacking in pluck,” replied Salmon, coldly.  “But one thing I lack, and am likely to lack,—­pupils, I’ve only one, and I expect every day to lose him.”

“Well, what can I do for you?” said the Senator, perceiving that his nephew had come for something.

“I would like to have you get me a place in the Treasury Department.”

It was a minute before Dudley Chase replied.  He took up the pamphlet, rolled it together, then threw it abruptly upon the table.

“Salmon,” said he, “listen.  I once got an appointment for a nephew of mine, and it ruined him.  If you want half-a-dollar with which to buy a spade, and go out and dig for your living, I’ll give it to you cheerfully.  But I will not get you a place under Government.”

Salmon felt a choking sensation in his throat.  He knew his uncle did not mean it for unkindness; but the sentence seemed hard.  He arose, speechless for a moment, mechanically brushing his hat.