"
"It has taken me four years to save it up. In five more, if nothing
happens, I should be worth a thousand dollars. Journeymen printers
don't get rich very fast."
"I hope to have saved up something myself, in five years," said Harry.
"Then our plan may come to pass, after all. You shall be editor, and
I publisher."
"I should think you would prefer to be an editor," said his wife.
"I am diffident of my powers in the line of composition," said
Ferguson. "I shouldn't be afraid to undertake local items, but when
it comes to an elaborate editorial, I should rather leave it in other
hands."
"I always liked writing," said Harry. "Of course I have only had a
school-boy's practice, but I mean to practise more in my leisure
hours."
"Suppose you write a poem for the 'Gazette,' Walton."
Harry smiled.
"I am not ambitious enough for that," he replied. "I will try plain
prose."
"Do so," said Ferguson, earnestly. "Our plan may come to something
after all, if we wait patiently. It will do no harm to prepare
yourself as well as you can. After a while you might write something
for the 'Gazette.' I think Mr. Anderson would put it in."
"Shall I sign it P. D.?" asked Harry.
"P. D. stands for Doctor of Philosophy."
"I don't aspire to such a learned title. P. D. also stands for
Printer's Devil."
"I see. Well, joking aside, I advise you to improve yourself in
writing.
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