The battle of life was before him.

He was on the field, sword in hand, ready to plunge into the contest.

It was victory or defeat.
"March on, brave youth! the field of strife With peril fraught before thee lies; March on! the battle plain of life Shall yield thee yet a glorious prize." It was of no use to shrink then, even if he had felt disposed to do so.
He was prepared to be rebuffed, to be insulted, to be turned away from the doors at which he should seek admission; but he was determined to conquer.
He had reached a house at which he proposed to offer "The Wayfarer" for sale.

His heart went pit pat, pit pat, and he paused before the door.
"Now or never!" exclaimed he, as he swung open the garden gate, and made his way up to the door.
He felt some misgivings.

It was so new and strange to him that he could hardly muster sufficient resolution to proceed farther.