“I think,” said Tommy, thoughtfully, “it must have been my—the nature of my trouble. You see, I was called upon very suddenly to take an inventory of myself.” He paused and bit his lips. There were things he must not hint at.
“Yes?”
“I found,” said Tommy, honestly, and, therefore, without any bitterness whatever, “that I had nothing. I would have to become something. I didn't know what, and I don't know now. I was what older people call a young ass, and younger people call a nice fellow. Don't think I'm conceit—”
“Go ahead!” interrupted Thompson, with a slight frown.
Tommy felt that the frown came from Thompson's annoyance at the implied accusation that he might not understand. This gave Tommy courage, and that made him desire to tell his story to Thompson, withholding only the details he could not be expected to tell.
“Look here, sir,” he said, earnestly, “whether you take me on or not, I'll tell you. I have no mother. My father cannot help me. I—I shall have to send money to him.”
“Who paid for your education?”
“He did, but he—can't now. I—I didn't expect it and—anyhow, there is nobody that I can ask for help, and I don't want to. I want to earn money. I may not be worth fifty cents a week to anybody at this moment, but you might make me worth something to you.”
“How?”
“I don't know what you will ask me to do, and so I can't tell whether I can make good here. But I'll make good somewhere, as sure as shooting.”