What school should he enter? was a question which the father long
debated. There were Harvard and Yale, both famous seats of learning, and
there were any number of academies all over the country. Captain Stevens
finally decided to allow the youth to make his own selection, giving him
money sufficient to take a little tour in the eastern States, before
settling down.
Captain Stevens had a well-to-do neighbor, who lived across Bear Creek,
by the name of Winners. Old Zeb Winners was one of those quaint
products of the West. He was an easy-going man, proverbially slow of
speech and movement, and certainly the last person on earth one would
expect to become rich; yet he was wealthy. With all his slothfulness he
was shrewd, and could drive a better bargain than many men twice as
active in mind and body. One morning after it had become noised abroad
that Fernando was going away to college, Mr. Winners rode up to the
house on his big sorrel mare, her colt following, and, dismounting, tied
the mare to the rail fence and entered the gate.
"Good mornin', cap'in, good mornin'," said the visitor.
"Come in, Mr. Winners. Glad to see you. Hope you are all well!"
"Oh, yes, middlin' like," answered the farmer entering the house without
the ceremony of removing his hat. A chair was offered, and he sat for a
moment with his hands spread out before the fireplace, his hat still on
his head.
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