That conversation took root in Tom’s mind. He found himself thinking a good deal about Pete Warboys and his devotion to his hideous old grandmother; but it was hard work to believe that he had any of the good in him that the Vicar talked about.
“Wonder whether he really has,” Tom said to himself. “He might have.”
The idea began to grow, and it spread.
“What would they say if I tried to alter him, and got him to turn into a decent chap?”
He laughed at his own conceit directly after.
“He’d laugh at me too,” thought Tom; and then something else took his attention. But the idea was there, and was always cropping up. He found himself talking to David about the lad one day when he was down the garden, and David left off digging potatoes, took a big kidney off one of the prongs of the potato fork, upon which it was impaled, split it in two, and began thoughtfully to polish the tool with the piece he retained.
“Do I think as you might make a decent chap out of Pete Warboys, Master Tom, by being kind to him?”
“Yes.”
“Do I think as you could make a silk puss out of a sow’s ear, Master Tom; and then cut this here yellow bit o’ tater into sovereigns and put in it? No, sir, I don’t. Pete’s a bad ’un, and you can’t make a good ’un out of him.”
“Not if he was properly taught?”