“Oh, he’s going abroad, is he?” said my father.
“Yes, sir,” I replied, “I have made up mind to go and see if Uncle Reuben can find me anything to do.”
“I hope you don’t think that you are going to lead a life of idleness out there, sir?”
“Oh no, sir,” I replied, “I mean to work.”
“Then why don’t you work here?” said my father.
“Because I hate the trade so, sir.”
“Nice clean business too,” said my father; “makes clean money, and keeps people clean. I suppose you know it’s horribly hot out there?”
“Not so hot as in our boiling-house, sir,” I replied.
“Humph!” said my father; and then, without another word, he walked back into the house.
“I am glad,” cried Tom, rubbing his hands together softly. “What a time of it we shall have, Mas’r Harry!”