West's printers
arrived, and he, too, finding the door locked, sat down by the side of
the stranger, and entered into conversation with him.
"I saw," said the printer to me many years after, "that he was an
honest, good young man, and being a Vermonter myself, I determined to
help him if I could."
Thus, a second time in New York already, _the native quality of the
man_ gained him, at the critical moment, the advantage that decided his
destiny. His new friend did help him, and it was very much through his
urgent recommendation that the foreman of the printing office gave him
a chance. The foreman did not in the least believe that the
green-looking young fellow before him could set in type one page of the
polyglot Testament for which help was needed.
"Fix up a case for him," said he, "and we'll see if he _can_ do
anything."
Horace worked all day with silent intensity, and when he showed to the
foreman at night a printer's proof of his day's work, it was found to
be the best day's work that had yet been done on that most difficult
job. It was greater in quantity and much more correct. The battle was
won. He worked on the Testament for several months, making long hours
and earning only moderate wages, saving all his surplus money, and
sending the greater part of it to his father, who was still in debt for
his farm and not sure of being able to keep it.
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