The Apprentice Who Chose Grime Over Gold

My father warned, 'No need of you learning a trade. Stick to your books, and who knows but what you may yet do without any trade at all.' To my father, a life at the bench was a poor affair, a 'working man's life' offering nothing but a crust of bread and a narrow box to wind up with. But I burned to learn a trade. I caught a glimpse of a foundry and it seemed like fairyland; the roar of the shop was sweeter to me than any music. My parents were English, but my education had been thoroughly American. Though my rich uncle had promised to make me his heir, I did not care to waste my youth waiting for dead men's shoes. I became an apprentice at a boiler shop under the supervision of Mr. Hall. My mother’s pride was deeply wounded at the thought of her son coming home with a black face and soiled clothes, but I persisted. I learned to keep my integrity free from the grime about me, which is a harder thing to do than your nice clean gentlemen may think. When I was eventually told I would inherit a large English property, I chose to stay at the shop, holding out my grimy hands as proof of my commitment. I did not get rich by magic, but by steady adherence to my business; now that I am old, I can very well afford to let someone else be my uncle's heir.