Tommy stopped a moment to consider his words, for he felt he was on delicate ground. In all his fourteen years of life, he had never been so desperate as at this moment.
But his mother came unexpectedly to his rescue.
“Well, an’ if you can’t read, Silas,” she said sharply, “is thet any reason th’ boy shouldn’t git a chance? Maybe he won’t hev t’ work in th’ mines ef he gits a little book-l’arnin’. Heaven knows, it’s a hard life.”
“Yes, it’s a hard life,” assented the miner, absently. “It’s a hard life. Nobody knows thet better ’n me.”
Tommy looked at his mother, his eyes bright with gratitude.
“I stopped at th’ school-house t’ git th’ teacher t’ read th’ bill t’ me,” he said, “an’ she told me thet anybody kin learn t’ read—thet ’tain’t hard at all. It’s a free school, an’ it won’t cost nothin’ but fer my books. I’ve got purty near three dollars in my bank. Thet ort t’ pay fer ’em.”
“But who’ll help me at th’ mine?” asked his father. “I’ve got t’ hev a helper, an’ I can’t pay one out of th’ starvation wages th’ company gives us. What’ll I do?”
“I tell you, pa,” said Tommy, eagerly. “I kin help you in th’ afternoons, an’ all th’ time in th’ summer when they ain’t no school. I’ll jest go in th’ mornin’s, an’ you kin keep on blastin’ till I git there t’ help y’ load. I know th’ boss won’t keer. Kin I go?”
His face was rosy with anticipation. His father looked at him doubtfully a moment.
“Of course you kin go,” broke in his mother, sharply. “You’ve said yourself, Silas, many a time,” she added to her husband, “thet th’ minin’ business’s gittin’ worse an’ worse, an’ thet a man can’t make a livin’ at it any more. Th’ boy ort t’ hev a chance.”