small way, but he succeeded at it, and amassed what was then considered a
large fortune.

In 1823 he moved to Louisville, and interested himself in promoting the
steamboat traffic on the Ohio and Mississippi rivers. As the business
developed, Jonathan Weeks's fortune grew with it. His only son, who was
born in 1815, was sent to Harvard; he spent a very merry four years there,
and a good deal of money. He fell in love in the meantime, and married
immediately after his graduation. Not many months after his marriage he
was killed by the accidental discharge of a rifle, and, shortly after
this, his widow died in giving birth to a son.

The care of the child devolved entirely upon Jonathan, the grandfather. He
assumed it gladly, even eagerly, and his whole existence soon centred
about the boy, and James--for so they had named him--became more to him
than his son had ever been. It grew evident that he would have the Weeks
build, and, by the time he was fifteen, he was as lean, big-boned, awkward
a hobbledehoy as the old man could wish. His grandfather's wealth did not
spoil him in the least; he was the kind of a boy it would have been
difficult to spoil.

He had no fondness for books, but it is to be doubted if that was much of
a grief to his grandfather. He was good at mathematics,--he used to work
out problems for fun,--and an excellent memory for certain kinds of
details enabled him to master geography without difficulty. The great
passion of his boyhood was for the big, roaring, pounding steamboats that
went down to New Orleans. His ambition, like that of nearly every boy who
lived in sight of those packets, was to be a river pilot, and he was
nearing his majority before he outgrew it.