For the rest of the week, Harry went about his work weighed down with
his important secret--a secret which he had not even shared with
Ferguson. If the essay was declined, as he thought it might very
possibly be, he did not want any one to know it. If it were
accepted, and printed, it would be time enough then to make it known.
But there were few minutes in which his mind was not on his literary
venture. His preoccupation was observed by his fellow-workmen in the
office, and he was rallied upon it, good-naturedly, by Ferguson, but
in a different spirit by Clapp.
"It seems to me you are unusually silent, Harry," said Ferguson.
"You're not in love, are you?"
"Not that I know of," said Harry, smiling. "It's rather too early
yet."
"I've known boys of your age to fancy themselves in love."
"He is is more likely thinking up some great discovery," said Clapp,
sneering. "You know he's a second Franklin."
"Thank you for the compliment," said our hero, good-humoredly, "but I
don't deserve it. I don't expect to make any great discovery at
present."
"I suppose you expect to set the river on fire, some day," said
Clapp, sarcastically.
"I am afraid it wouldn't do much good to try," said Harry, who was
too sensible to take offence. "It isn't so easily done."
"I suppose some day we shall be proud of having been in the same
office with so great a man," pursued Clapp.
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