Publisher's Synopsis
Two boys were walking in the campus of the Bridgeville Academy. They were apparently of about the same age-somewhere from fifteen to sixteen-but there was a considerable difference in their attire. Herbert Grant was neatly but coarsely dressed, and his shoes were of cowhide, but his face indicated a frank, sincere nature, and was expressive of intelligence. His companion was dressed in a suit of fine cloth, his linen was of the finest, his shoes were calfskin, and he had the indefinable air of a boy who had been reared in luxury. He had not the broad, open face of his friend-for the two boys were close friends-but his features were finely chiseled, indicating a share of pride, and a bold, self-reliant nature. He, too, was an attractive boy, and in spite of his pride possessed a warm, affectionate heart and sterling qualities, likely to endear him to those who could read and understand him. His name was Frank Courtney, and he is the hero of my story. "Have you written your Latin exercises, Frank?" asked Herbert. "Yes; I finished them an hour ago." "I was going to ask you to write them with me. It is pleasanter to study in company." "Provided you have the right sort of company," rejoined Frank. "Am I the right sort of company?" inquired Herbert, with a smile. "You hardly need to ask that, Herbert. Are we not always together? If I did not like your company, I should not seek it so persistently. I don't care to boast, but I have plenty of offers of companionship which I don't care to accept. There is Bob Stickney, for instance, who is always inviting me to his room; but you know what he is-a lazy fellow, who cares more to have a good time than to study. Then there is James Cameron, a conceited, empty-headed fellow, who is very disagreeable to me."
