The beginning of this yarn is my poor father’s character.  There never was a better man, nor a handsomer, nor (in my view) a more unhappy ­unhappy in his business, in his pleasures, in his place of residence, and (I am sorry to say it) in his son.  He had begun life as a land-surveyor, soon became interested in real estate, branched off into many other speculations, and had the name of one of the smartest men in the State of Muskegon.  “Dodd has a big head,” people used to say; but I was never so sure of his capacity.  His luck, at least, was beyond doubt for long; his assiduity, always.  He fought in that daily battle of money-grubbing, with a kind of sad-eyed loyalty like a martyr’s; rose early, ate fast, came home dispirited and over-weary, even from success; grudged himself all pleasure, if his nature was capable of taking any, which I sometimes wondered; and laid out, upon some deal in wheat or corner in aluminium, the essence of which was little better than highway robbery, treasures of conscientiousness and self-denial.

Unluckily, I never cared a cent for anything but art, and never shall.  My idea of man’s chief end was to enrich the world with things of beauty, and have a fairly good time myself while doing so.  I do not think I mentioned that second part, which is the only one I have managed to carry out; but my father must have suspected the suppression, for he branded the whole affair as self-indulgence.

“Well,” I remember crying once, “and what is your life?  You are only trying to get money, and to get it from other people at that.”

He sighed bitterly (which was very much his habit), and shook his poor head at me.

“Ah, Loudon, Loudon!” said he, “you boys think yourselves very smart.  But, struggle as you please, a man has to work in this world.  He must be an honest man or a thief, Loudon.”

You can see for yourself how vain it was to argue with my father.  The despair that seized upon me after such an interview was, besides, embittered by remorse; for I was at times petulant, but he invariably gentle; and I was fighting, after all, for my own liberty and pleasure, he singly for what he thought to be my good.  And all the time he never despaired.  “There is good stuff in you, Loudon,” he would say; “there is the right stuff in you.  Blood will tell, and you will come right in time.  I am not afraid my boy will ever disgrace me; I am only vexed he should sometimes talk nonsense.”  And then he would pat my shoulder or my hand with a kind of motherly way he had, very affecting in a man so strong and beautiful.

As soon as I had graduated from the high school, he packed me off to the Muskegon Commercial Academy.  You are a foreigner, and you will have a difficulty in accepting the reality of this seat of education.  I assure you before I begin that I am wholly serious.  The place really existed, possibly exists to-day:  we were proud of it in the State, as something exceptionally nineteenth-century and civilised; and my father, when he saw me to the cars, no doubt considered he was putting me in a straight line for the Presidency and the New Jerusalem.

“Loudon,” said he, “I am now giving you a chance that Julius Cæsar could not have given to his son ­a chance to see life as it is, before your own turn comes to start in earnest.  Avoid rash speculation, try to behave like a gentleman; and if you will take my advice, confine yourself to a safe, conservative business in railroads.  Breadstuffs are tempting, but very dangerous; I would not try breadstuffs at your time of life; but you may feel your way a little in other commodities.  Take a pride to keep your books posted, and never throw good money after bad.  There, my dear boy, kiss me good-bye; and never forget that you are an only chick, and that your dad watches your career with fond suspense.”

The commercial college was a fine, roomy establishment, pleasantly situate among woods.  The air was healthy, the food excellent, the premium high.  Electric wires connected it (to use the words of the prospectus) with “the various world centres.”  The reading-room was well supplied with “commercial organs.”  The talk was that of Wall Street; and the pupils (from fifty to a hundred lads) were principally engaged in rooking or trying to rook one another for nominal sums in what was called “college paper.”  We had class hours, indeed, in the morning, when we studied German, French, book-keeping, and the like goodly matters; but the bulk of our day and the gist of the education centred in the exchange, where we were taught to gamble in produce and securities.  Since not one of the participants possessed a bushel of wheat or a dollar’s worth of stock, legitimate business was of course impossible from the beginning.  It was cold-drawn gambling, without colour or disguise.  Just that which is the impediment and destruction of all genuine commercial enterprise, just that we were taught with every luxury of stage effect.  Our simulacrum of a market was ruled by the real markets outside, so that we might experience the course and vicissitude of prices.  We must keep books, and our ledgers were overhauled at the month’s end by the principal or his assistants.  To add a spice of verisimilitude, “college paper” (like poker chips) had an actual marketable value.  It was bought for each pupil by anxious parents and guardians at the rate of one cent for the dollar.  The same pupil, when his education was complete, resold, at the same figure, so much as was left him to the college; and even in the midst of his curriculum, a successful operator would sometimes realise a proportion of his holding, and stand a supper on the sly in the neighbouring hamlet.  In short, if there was ever a worse education it must have been in that academy where Oliver met Charles Bates.

When I was first guided into the exchange to have my desk pointed out by one of the assistant teachers, I was overwhelmed by the clamour and confusion.  Certain blackboards at the other end of the building were covered with figures continually replaced.  As each new set appeared, the pupils swayed to and fro, and roared out aloud with a formidable and to me quite meaningless vociferation; leaping at the same time upon the desks and benches, signalling with arms and heads, and scribbling briskly in note-books.  I thought I had never beheld a scene more disagreeable; and when I considered that the whole traffic was illusory, and all the money then upon the market would scarce have sufficed to buy a pair of skates, I was at first astonished, although not for long.  Indeed, I had no sooner called to mind how grown-up men and women of considerable estate will lose their temper about halfpenny points, than (making an immediate allowance for my fellow-students) I transferred the whole of my astonishment to the assistant teacher, who ­poor gentleman ­had quite forgot to show me to my desk, and stood in the midst of this hurly-burly, absorbed and seemingly transported.

“Look, look,” he shouted in my ear; “a falling market!  The bears have had it all their own way since yesterday.”

“It can’t matter,” I replied, making him hear with difficulty, for I was unused to speak in such a babel, “since it is all fun.”

“True,” said he; “and you must always bear in mind that the real profit is in the book-keeping.  I trust, Dodd, to be able to congratulate you upon your books.  You are to start in with ten thousand dollars of college paper, a very liberal figure, which should see you through the whole curriculum, if you keep to a safe, conservative business....  Why, what’s that?” he broke off, once more attracted by the changing figures on the board.  “Seven, four, three!  Dodd, you are in luck:  this is the most spirited rally we have had this term.  And to think that the same scene is now transpiring in New York, Chicago, St. Louis, and rival business centres!  For two cents, I would try a flutter with the boys myself,” he cried, rubbing his hands; “only it’s against the regulations.”

“What would you do, sir?” I asked.

“Do?” he cried, with glittering eyes.  “Buy for all I was worth!”

“Would that be a safe, conservative business?” I inquired, as innocent as a lamb.

He looked daggers at me.  “See that sandy-haired man in glasses?” he asked, as if to change the subject.  “That’s Billson, our most prominent undergraduate.  We build confidently on Billson’s future.  You could not do better, Dodd, than follow Billson.”

Presently after, in the midst of a still growing tumult, the figures coming and going more busily than ever on the board, and the hall resounding like Pandemonium with the howls of operators, the assistant teacher left me to my own resources at my desk.  The next boy was posting up his ledger, figuring his morning’s loss, as I discovered later on; and from this ungenial task he was readily diverted by the sight of a new face.

“Say, Freshman,” he said, “what’s your name?  What?  Son of Big Head Dodd?  What’s your figure?  Ten thousand!  O, you’re away up!  What a soft-headed clam you must be to touch your books!”

I asked him what else I could do, since the books were to be examined once a month.

“Why, you galoot, you get a clerk!” cries he.  “One of our dead beats ­that’s all they’re here for.  If you’re a successful operator, you need never do a stroke of work in this old college.”

The noise had now become deafening; and my new friend, telling me that some one had certainly “gone down,” that he must know the news, and that he would bring me a clerk when he returned, buttoned his coat and plunged into the tossing throng.  It proved that he was right:  some one had gone down; a prince had fallen in Israel; the corner in lard had proved fatal to the mighty; and the clerk who was brought back to keep my books, spare me all work, and get all my share of the education, at a thousand dollars a month, college paper (ten dollars, United States currency), was no other than the prominent Billson whom I could do no better than follow.  The poor lad was very unhappy.  It’s the only good thing I have to say for Muskegon Commercial College, that we were all, even the small fry, deeply mortified to be posted as defaulters; and the collapse of a merchant prince like Billson, who had ridden pretty high in his days of prosperity, was, of course, particularly hard to bear.  But the spirit of make-believe conquered even the bitterness of recent shame; and my clerk took his orders, and fell to his new duties, with decorum and civility.

Such were my first impressions in this absurd place of education; and, to be frank, they were far from disagreeable.  As long as I was rich, my evenings and afternoons would be my own; the clerk must keep my books, the clerk could do the jostling and bawling in the exchange; and I could turn my mind to landscape-painting and Balzac’s novels, which were then my two pre-occupations.  To remain rich, then, became my problem; or, in other words, to do a safe, conservative line of business.  I am looking for that line still; and I believe the nearest thing to it in this imperfect world is the sort of speculation sometimes insidiously proposed to childhood, in the formula, “Heads I win; tails you lose.”  Mindful of my father’s parting words, I turned my attention timidly to railroads; and for a month or so maintained a position of inglorious security, dealing for small amounts in the most inert stocks, and bearing (as best I could) the scorn of my hired clerk.  One day I ventured a little further by way of experiment; and, in the sure expectation they would continue to go down, sold several thousand dollars of Pan-Handle Preference (I think it was).  I had no sooner made this venture than some fools in New York began to bull the market; Pan-Handles rose like a balloon; and in the inside of half an hour I saw my position compromised.  Blood will tell, as my father said; and I stuck to it gallantly:  all afternoon I continued selling that infernal stock, all afternoon it continued skying.  I suppose I had come (a frail cockle-shell) athwart the hawse of Jay Gould; and, indeed, I think I remember that this vagary in the market proved subsequently to be the first move in a considerable deal.  That evening, at least, the name of H. Loudon Dodd held the first rank in our collegiate gazette, and I and Billson (once more thrown upon the world) were competing for the same clerkship.  The present object takes the present eye.  My disaster, for the moment, was the more conspicuous; and it was I that got the situation.  So, you see, even in Muskegon Commercial College there were lessons to be learned.

For my own part, I cared very little whether I lost or won at a game so random, so complex, and so dull; but it was sorry news to write to my poor father, and I employed all the resources of my eloquence.  I told him (what was the truth) that the successful boys had none of the education; so that, if he wished me to learn, he should rejoice at my misfortune.  I went on (not very consistently) to beg him to set me up again, when I would solemnly promise to do a safe business in reliable railroads.  Lastly (becoming somewhat carried away), I assured him I was totally unfit for business, and implored him to take me away from this abominable place, and let me go to Paris to study art.  He answered briefly, gently, and sadly, telling me the vacation was near at hand, when we could talk things over.

When the time came, he met me at the depot, and I was shocked to see him looking older.  He seemed to have no thought but to console me and restore (what he supposed I had lost) my courage.  I must not be down-hearted; many of the best men had made a failure in the beginning.  I told him I had no head for business, and his kind face darkened.  “You must not say that, Loudon,” he replied; “I will never believe my son to be a coward.”

“But I don’t like it,” I pleaded.  “It hasn’t got any interest for me, and art has.  I know I could do more in art,” and I reminded him that a successful painter gains large sums; that a picture of Meissonier’s would sell for many thousand dollars.

“And do you think, Loudon,” he replied, “that a man who can paint a thousand-dollar picture has not grit enough to keep his end up in the stock market?  No, sir; this Mason (of whom you speak) or our own American Bierstadt ­if you were to put them down in a wheat-pit to-morrow, they would show their mettle.  Come, Loudon, my dear; Heaven knows I have no thought but your own good, and I will offer you a bargain.  I start you again next term with ten thousand dollars; show yourself a man, and double it, and then (if you still wish to go to Paris, which I know you won’t) I’ll let you go.  But to let you run away as if you were whipped, is what I am too proud to do.”

My heart leaped at this proposal, and then sank again.  It seemed easier to paint a Meissonier on the spot than to win ten thousand dollars on that mimic stock exchange.  Nor could I help reflecting on the singularity of such a test for a man’s capacity to be a painter.  I ventured even to comment on this.

He sighed deeply.  “You forget, my dear,” said he, “I am a judge of the one, and not of the other.  You might have the genius of Bierstadt himself, and I would be none the wiser.”

“And then,” I continued, “it’s scarcely fair.  The other boys are helped by their people, who telegraph and give them pointers.  There’s Jim Costello, who never budges without a word from his father in New York.  And then, don’t you see, if anybody is to win, somebody must lose?”

“I’ll keep you posted,” cried my father, with unusual animation; “I did not know it was allowed.  I’ll wire you in the office cipher, and we’ll make it a kind of partnership business, Loudon: ­Dodd and Son, eh?” and he patted my shoulder and repeated, “Dodd and Son, Dodd and Son,” with the kindliest amusement.

If my father was to give me pointers, and the commercial college was to be a stepping-stone to Paris, I could look my future in the face.  The old boy, too, was so pleased at the idea of our association in this foolery, that he immediately plucked up spirit.  Thus it befell that those who had met at the depot like a pair of mutes, sat down to table with holiday faces.

And now I have to introduce a new character that never said a word nor wagged a finger, and yet shaped my whole subsequent career.  You have crossed the States, so that in all likelihood you have seen the head of it, parcel-gilt and curiously fluted, rising among trees from a wide plain; for this new character was no other than the State capitol of Muskegon, then first projected.  My father had embraced the idea with a mixture of patriotism and commercial greed, both perfectly genuine.  He was of all the committees, he had subscribed a great deal of money, and he was making arrangements to have a finger in most of the contracts.  Competitive plans had been sent in; at the time of my return from college my father was deep in their consideration; and as the idea entirely occupied his mind, the first evening did not pass away before he had called me into council.  Here was a subject at last into which I could throw myself with pleasurable zeal.  Architecture was new to me, indeed; but it was at least an art; and for all the arts I had a taste naturally classical, and that capacity to take delighted pains which some famous idiot has supposed to be synonymous with genius.  I threw myself headlong into my father’s work, acquainted myself with all the plans, their merits and defects, read besides in special books, made myself a master of the theory of strains, studied the current prices of materials, and (in one word) “devilled” the whole business so thoroughly, that when the plans came up for consideration, Big Head Dodd was supposed to have earned fresh laurels.  His arguments carried the day, his choice was approved by the committee, and I had the anonymous satisfaction to know that arguments and choice were wholly mine.  In the re-casting of the plan which followed, my part was even larger; for I designed and cast with my own hand a hot-air grating for the offices, which had the luck or merit to be accepted.  The energy and aptitude which I displayed throughout delighted and surprised my father, and I believe, although I say it, whose tongue should be tied, that they alone prevented Muskegon capitol from being the eyesore of my native State.

Altogether, I was in a cheery frame of mind when I returned to the commercial college; and my earlier operations were crowned with a full measure of success.  My father wrote and wired to me continually.  “You are to exercise your own judgment, Loudon,” he would say.  “All that I do is to give you the figures; but whatever operation you take up must be upon your own responsibility, and whatever you earn will be entirely due to your own dash and forethought.”  For all that, it was always clear what he intended me to do, and I was always careful to do it.  Inside of a month I was at the head of seventeen or eighteen thousand dollars, college paper.  And here I fell a victim to one of the vices of the system.  The paper (I have already explained) had a real value of one per cent.; and cost, and could be sold for, currency.  Unsuccessful speculators were thus always selling clothes, books, banjos, and sleeve-links, in order to pay their differences; the successful, on the other hand, were often tempted to realise, and enjoy some return upon their profits.  Now I wanted thirty dollars’ worth of artist truck, for I was always sketching in the woods; my allowance was for the time exhausted; I had begun to regard the exchange (with my father’s help) as a place where money was to be got for stooping; and in an evil hour I realised three thousand dollars of the college paper and bought my easel.

It was a Wednesday morning when the things arrived, and set me in the seventh heaven of satisfaction.  My father (for I can scarcely say myself) was trying at this time a “straddle” in wheat between Chicago and New York; the operation so called, is, as you know, one of the most tempting and least safe upon the chess-board of finance.  On the Thursday, luck began to turn against my father’s calculations; and by the Friday evening I was posted on the boards as a defaulter for the second time.  Here was a rude blow:  my father would have taken it ill enough in any case; for however much a man may resent the incapacity of an only son, he will feel his own more sensibly.  But it chanced that, in our bitter cup of failure, there was one ingredient that might truly be called poisonous.  He had been keeping the run of my position; he missed the three thousand dollars, paper; and in his view, I had stolen thirty dollars, currency.  It was an extreme view perhaps; but in some senses, it was just:  and my father, although (to my judgment) quite reckless of honesty in the essence of his operations, was the soul of honour as to their details.  I had one grieved letter from him, dignified and tender; and during the rest of that wretched term, working as a clerk, selling my clothes and sketches to make futile speculations, my dream of Paris quite vanished.  I was cheered by no word of kindness and helped by no hint of counsel from my father.

All the time he was no doubt thinking of little else but his son, and what to do with him.  I believe he had been really appalled by what he regarded as my laxity of principle, and began to think it might be well to preserve me from temptation; the architect of the capitol had, besides, spoken obligingly of my design; and while he was thus hanging between two minds, Fortune suddenly stepped in, and Muskegon State capitol reversed my destiny.

“Loudon,” said my father, as he met me at the depot, with a smiling countenance, “if you were to go to Paris, how long would it take you to become an experienced sculptor?”

“How do you mean, father,” I cried ­“experienced?”

“A man that could be entrusted with the highest styles,” he answered; “the nude, for instance; and the patriotic and emblematical styles.”

“It might take three years,” I replied.

“You think Paris necessary?” he asked.  “There are great advantages in our own country; and that man Prodgers appears to be a very clever sculptor, though I suppose he stands too high to go around giving lessons.”

“Paris is the only place,” I assured him.

“Well, I think myself it will sound better,” he admitted.  “A Young Man, a Native of this State, Son of a Leading Citizen, Studies Prosecuted under the Most Experienced Masters in Paris,” he added relishingly.

“But, my dear dad, what is it all about?” I interrupted.  “I never even dreamed of being a sculptor.”

“Well, here it is,” said he.  “I took up the statuary contract on our new capitol; I took it up at first as a deal; and then it occurred to me it would be better to keep it in the family.  It meets your idea; there’s considerable money in the thing; and it’s patriotic.  So, if you say the word, you shall go to Paris, and come back in three years to decorate the capitol of your native State.  It’s a big chance for you, Loudon; and I’ll tell you what ­every dollar you earn, I’ll put another alongside of it.  But the sooner you go, and the harder you work, the better; for if the first half-dozen statues aren’t in a line with public taste in Muskegon, there will be trouble.”