MORNING SERIAL

IF he wished to find a career for himself other than the foundry, he would have to apply himself in earnest to the task. Things never came easily to one in this world. One had to fight, and fight hard, if the battle must be won. And it meant sacrificing many things.

“You have an ambition to become a writer, Ieuan?” Mr. Griffiths asked him one evening later in the week. He looked at him wisely. “Rather young to think of that, eh? It’s a hard task. But it can be accomplished. Will mean many years of practice, Ieuan, you realize that? And success will not fall into your lap. But as I said the other night, there’s plenty of time, my boy. You’ll have to gain much more experience of life before you become a writer. At the moment you are far too young to contemplate writing books.

“Why, even a journalist has to devote years to his trade. He has to be apprenticed to it, even as you have to be apprenticed to your trade as a moulder. But there,” the headmaster smiled kindly, “the only way to become what you want to be is to write. That’s simple, isn’t it? In theory, anyway. And you must practise. Start writing now. You’ll at least gain proficiency in expressing yourself on paper, and that, added to the experience which is yours to come, will help you attain your ambition. It’s a lofty ambition, Ieuan, but I admire your determination to see it through.”

Before he left, Ieuan was given a book. “Here, my boy, take this,” the headmaster said as he handed it to him. “I think it will help you a great deal.” He stroked his chin pensively. “You might find it a little difficult to grasp at first. Still, it will give you a basis on which to work. Read the section on the histories of phases of civilization, and the other on the histories of fine arts and literature.”

Ieuan weighed the book in his hands. It was Courses of Study, by J. M. Robertson.

“Thank you, Mr. Griffiths. I’ll take great care of it, and I’ll bring it back as soon as I’ve finished with it.”

“You needn’t concern yourself about returning it, my boy — not for a while,” Mr. Griffiths remarked. His eyes smiled, behind their glasses.

“Not for quite a long time, I should have said.