Rupert's Ambition — Reading Companion

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In Category - Fantasy Juvenile Worlds

Authors: Alger, Horatio, Jr., 1832-1899 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2017 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Juvenile fiction; Poverty -- Juvenile fiction; Success -- Juvenile fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 60,619

Reading time 264 min

Text sections 8

Before opening Rupert's Ambition — Reading Companion, the edition data offers a quick orientation: 60,619 words, 4 hr 24 min estimated reading time, and 8 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 10.7 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #54621

In Horatio Alger's 1899 novel, sixteen-year-old Rupert Rollins loses his dry-goods job, becomes a bell-boy, adopts an orphan, and receives a surprise gift from a Colorado cattleman. The excerpts reveal Alger's characteristic pattern of sudden reversals, precise financial negotiations, and a protagonist who combines ambition with unexpected caretaking.

Editorial Edition Score 4.7/5

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Description quality20 pts
Title & short description10 pts
Source metadata20 pts
Text length15 pts
Chapters / structure15 pts
EPUB file integrity20 pts

Total of 100 points, scaled to a 2.5-5.0 range. Editions with an empty description or a missing EPUB file are not scored.

Edition quality

File: pg54621

Read the Text

RUPERT LOSES HIS PLACE.

"Rupert, the superintendent wishes to see you."

Rupert Rollins, a tall boy of sixteen, was engaged in folding some pieces of cloth which had been shown during the day to customers. It was the principal salesroom of Tenney & Rhodes, who conducted a large wholesale dry goods house in the lower part of New York city.

"Very well, Harry," he said. "I will go at once. I wonder what he wants to see me about."

"I don't know. I hope it is to raise your wages."

"That isn't likely in these dull times, though a raise would be very welcome."

When Rupert had finished folding the pieces he was upon he left his place and knocked at the door of a small room occupied by the superintendent.

A man of about forty was seated at a desk writing.

"Mr. Frost," said Rupert, respectfully, "I hear you wish to speak with me."

Rupert was tired, for he had been on his feet all day, and was glad to sink into a chair near the door.

"How long have you been in our employ?" asked the superintendent, in the quick tones habitual to him.

"So I supposed. You are one of the last clerks taken on."

"I am sorry, I have bad news for you. Mr. Tenney feels, in view of the dullness in business, that it will be advisable to diminish his clerical force. As you are one of the last taken on, he has selected you and a few others for discharge."

Rupert turned pale. What a terrible misfortune this would be to him he well knew. The future seemed to him dark indeed.

"I hope, sir," he said, in an unsteady voice, "that the firm is not dissatisfied with me."

"Oh, no. No indeed! I have heard only good reports of you. We shall be glad to recommend you to any other firm."

"Thank you, sir. When do you wish me to go?"

"You can stay till the end of the week."

Rupert bowed and left the room. His head was in a whirl, and he felt that a calamity had indeed fallen upon him. His wages were but five dollars a week, but this sum, small as it was, was the main support of his mother and sister, the latter a chronic invalid, only two years younger than himself. What they were to do when this small income was taken away he could not conjecture. He felt that he must look out at once for a new place.

"Well, Rupert, what business did the superintendent have with you?" asked Harry Bacon, Rupert's most intimate friend in the store.

"Only to tell me that I was discharged," said Rupert, quietly.

"Why, that's a shame!" exclaimed Harry, impetuously. "What are you discharged for?"

"Only on account of dull times. The house will give me a recommendation."

"It seems too bad you are to go. Why didn't they discharge me, too?"

"You have been here longer, and it is only those last taken on who must go. I suppose it is all right, but it is hard."

"Keep up your courage, Rupert. It isn't as if you were discharged for cause. With a recommendation from Tenney & Rhodes you ought to find another place here."

"Yes, in ordinary times, but you know business is dull elsewhere as well as with us. It isn't a good time to change places."

"Well, you'll get something else. All branches of business may not be as dull as ours."

Harry Bacon had a sanguine disposition, and always looked on the bright side. His assurances encouraged Rupert a little, and he determined to do his best to find something to do, no matter what.

At five o'clock the store closed. Retail stores kept open later, but early hours are one of the advantages of a wholesale establishment.

Rupert bent his steps towards Elizabeth Street. In an upper apartment in one of the shabby houses fronting on this thoroughfare lived his mother and sister. It was only a three-story house, and there were but two flights of stairs to ascend.

Entering the principal room, Rupert saw his mother with her head bent in an attitude of despondency over the table. Through a door he could see his sister lying uneasily on a bed in a small inner room, her face showing that she was suffering pain.

Rupert stepped forward and with tender sympathy strove to raise his poor mother from her position of despondency.

"What is the matter, mother?" he asked. "Are you not well?"

"Yes, Rupert," she answered, raising her head, "but for the moment I felt discouraged. Grace has been suffering more than usual to-day. Sickness and poverty, too, are hard to bear."

Continue Reading →

Rupert Rollins, a sixteen-year-old clerk in a New York dry-goods house, is summoned by the superintendent in the first chapter. The scene establishes a pattern of economic vulnerability: Rupert has been employed only six months, and the superintendent speaks in “quick tones” that signal bad news. The novel quickly moves from this loss to a series of precarious situations—out of work, tight places, false reports—before Rupert lands a job as a bell-boy at a hotel. There he encounters a Colorado cattleman named Giles Packard, who becomes a benefactor. The excerpts show Alger’s method of building tension through small, concrete details: the folding of cloth, the three dollars a week for board, the fifty dollars a year for clothing. These numbers anchor the story in a world where every dollar matters.

Sudden Reversals and the Language of Employment

The opening chapter, “Rupert Loses His Place,” establishes a rhythm of abrupt change that runs through the excerpts. Rupert is told to see the superintendent; he finishes folding pieces of cloth before going. The superintendent asks how long he has worked—“nearly six months”—and Rupert is one of the last clerks taken on. The dialogue is clipped, with no explanation given in the excerpt. This pattern recurs: Rupert later loses his bell-boy position (chapter 28) and encounters a “false report” (chapter 4). The novel’s structure depends on these sudden shifts, each one forcing Rupert to adapt. The language of employment is precise: “situation,” “place,” “employ.” Rupert’s ambition is not abstract; it is the drive to keep a job and improve his circumstances.

The Economics of Care: Board, Clothing, and Adoption

When Rupert adopts the orphan Fred, the narrative immediately turns to financial arrangements. Mrs. Benton at first refuses payment, but Rupert insists, citing the father’s left money. They settle on three dollars a week for board, and Mrs. Benton estimates clothing at “not over fifty dollars a year.” Rupert tells Mr. Packard that the money left by Fred’s father will cover expenses until he earns more. These figures are not incidental; they are the novel’s way of measuring responsibility. Rupert’s decision to be Fred’s “sole guardian” is framed as a financial choice as much as an emotional one. The cattleman offers to share expenses, but Rupert declines, wanting Fred to “learn to love me.” The negotiation over board reveals how Alger uses money to define character and commitment.

Gifts, Trust, and the Colorado Connection

Giles Packard, the man from Colorado, functions as a catalyst for change. He first appears in chapter 17 (“Mr. Packard of Colorado”) and later gives Rupert a gift that the excerpts do not fully describe—only that it is a “large-si” (likely a check or banknote). Packard’s wealth is contrasted with Rupert’s careful budgeting. When Packard offers to help with Fred’s expenses, Rupert refuses, so Packard decides to “get even” by making a present. The gift is a plot device, but it also highlights a theme of trust: Packard trusts Rupert with money, just as Rupert trusts Mrs. Benton with Fred. The Colorado setting (Red Gulch, the St. James Hotel in Denver) introduces a Western element that shifts the story’s geography. The excerpts suggest that Packard’s gift may enable Rupert’s later adventures, including an Indian guide and a rogue to manage.

Readers should pay attention to the recurring motif of money—how much things cost, who pays, and what is refused. Alger’s world is one where every transaction carries moral weight. The excerpts offer only fragments of the plot, but they reveal a consistent method: a hero who loses a job, gains a responsibility, and receives help from a wealthy stranger. The novel’s title, Rupert’s Ambition, is best understood not as a grand dream but as a series of practical decisions about work, family, and trust.

There's something tender about Rupert, a boy scrambling through Alger’s reversals yet pausing to care for an orphan. That unexpected softness lingered with me, much like the quiet ache I felt finishing Larkspur. Both books hold that same odd warmth—ambition braided with a strange, unspoken loneliness. I kept thinking about it long after. Larkspur — A Closer Reading feels like a gentle echo of that feeling, somehow.