Andy Gordon — Horatio Alger Jr.

The Hamilton Academy, under the charge of Rev. Dr. Euclid, stands on an eminence about ten rods back from the street, in the town of the same name. It is a two-story building, surmounted by a cupola, or belfry, and, being neatly painted brown and well cared for, is, on the whole, an ornament to the village. It was a quarter of nine, when a boy of sixteen, rather showily dressed, ascended the academy hill and entered the front door, which was already open. He swung a small light cane in his hand -- rather an unusual article for a schoolboy to carry -- and it was clear, from his general appearance and bearing, that he had a high opinion of himself. “I am early,” he said to himself. “I shall have a chance to look over my Latin before Dr. Euclid comes.” It may be supposed from this speech that Herbert Ross was an earnest student, but this would be altogether a mistake. The fact is, he had been playing with some companions till a late hour the previous evening, and this had prevented his paying the necessary attention to his lessons in Virgil.