“Hm. Didn’t find anything, eh?”
“Not yet,” answered Tom cheerfully. “I got—I’ve got the other side of the street yet, though. An’—and I ain’t—haven’t been on the side streets at all. I guess I’ll find something.”
“Hope you do,” said the merchant. “But I guess you wouldn’t be much use to me. How much did you say you wanted?”
“Two—two and a half a week,” said the boy. He gulped as he said it and looked questioningly at the merchant. “I thought,” he continued as Mr. Cummings’s countenance told him nothing, “that if I could get enough to pay my lodging I’d make out, sir.”
“Got to eat, though, haven’t you?”
“I—I got a little saved up, sir. I worked for a man over to—over in Fairfield most of the summer.”
“What for? Isn’t your uncle hiring help any more? Hasn’t given up farming, has he?”
“No, sir, but—well, I made more working for Mr. Billings.”
“I’ll bet you did!” Mr. Cummings chuckled. “I know that uncle of yours, son, from A to Izzard, and there isn’t a meaner old skinflint in Muskingum County! He owes me nearly sixty-five dollars, and he’s been owing it for nearly six years, and I guess he’ll keep on owing it unless I sue him for it. Bought a pump of me and then claimed it didn’t work right and wouldn’t ever send it back or pay for it, the old rascal! Yes, I guess sure enough you did better working somewheres else, son!”
Tom had nothing to say to this. Perhaps, as a dutiful nephew, he should have stood up for Uncle Israel, but the hardware dealer’s estimate of Mr. Bowles was a very general one and Tom had long since become accustomed to hearing just such remarks passed. Finally, as the merchant seemed to have finished talking, Tom said: