that they do not know him. The verdict about Philip would probably
have been that he was a very nice sort of a boy, but that he would never
"set the North River on fire." There was a headstrong, selfish, pushing
sort of boy, one of Philip's older schoolmates, who had become one of
the foremost merchants and operators in New York, and was already talked
of for mayor. This success was the sort that fulfilled the rural idea of
getting on in the world, whereas Philip's accomplishments, seen through
the veneer of conceit which they had occasioned him to take on, did not
commend themselves as anything worth while. Accomplishments rarely do
unless they are translated into visible position or into the currency
of the realm. How else can they be judged? Does not the great public
involuntarily respect the author rather for the sale of his books than
for the books themselves?

The period of Philip's novitiate--those most important years from his
acquaintance with Celia Howard to the attainment of his professional
degree--was most interesting to him, but the story of it would not
detain the reader of exciting fiction. He had elected to use his little
patrimony in making himself instead of in making money--if merely
following his inclination could be called an election. If he had
reasoned about it he would have known that the few thousands of dollars
left to him from his father's estate, if judiciously invested in
business, would have grown to a good sum when he came of age, and he
would by that time have come into business habits, so that all he would
need to do would be to go on and make more money. If he had reasoned
more deeply he would have seen that by this process he would become
a man of comparatively few resources for the enjoyment of life, and a
person of very little interest to himself or to anybody else. So perhaps
it was just as well that he followed his instincts and postponed the
making of money until he had made himself, though he was to have a good
many bitter days when the possession of money seemed to him about the
one thing desirable.

It was Celia, who had been his constant counselor and tormentor, about
the time when she was beginning to feel a little shy and long-legged,
in her short skirts, who had, in a romantic sympathy with his tastes,
opposed his going into a "store" as a clerk, which seemed to the boy at
one time an ideal situation for a young man.

"A store, indeed!" cried the young lady; "pomatum on