Tom had but one object in life. It occupied all his waking thoughts; he dreamed about it when he was asleep; and from it sprang all these ridiculous ideas he sometimes got into his head. He wanted to live at his ease. He desired to engage in some occupation that would run along smoothly, without any care or exertion on his part, and in which he would be free from the troubles and perplexities that fell to the lot of ordinary mortals. He had become greatly interested in Sam Barton's plan, and he believed that all that was needed to insure him unbounded happiness for the remainder of his days, was a habitation on some desert island, in the middle of the ocean, where, in company with half a dozen congenial spirits, he could while away the hours of a dreamy existence, with no stern father to demolish his air-castles, and no merciless village boys to make sport of his grand ideas. Then there would be nothing to trouble him, and he could pass the time serenely in hunting goats, squirrels, and quails—he did not intend to stop until he found an island that abounded in small game of every description—and when he became weary of the sport, he could lounge in the shade of his tent, and eat raisins and talk to his parrot. Although he was not just then on very good terms with Johnny Harding, Gus Miller, and Harry Green, he would have preferred their society to the companionship of the ignorant ferry-boys, who were continually showing the muscles on their arms, and who talked about nothing but the numerous fights in which they had been engaged.
This, however, was out of the question; and, rather than remain in the village, to be tormented by his acquaintances, he would go with the Crusoe band. But, in order to enjoy himself to the fullest extent, he must be chief of the organization. He had managed societies which numbered thirty and forty members, and managed them well, too, and he could not be satisfied with any divided authority. Sam Barton must give place to his betters—that was a settled fact. There was one point Tom could not decide just then, and that was how to go to work to induce the band to break the chief and appoint him in his stead. But in this he concluded that he would be governed by circumstances, hoping that when the proper time arrived, something would "turn up" in his favor. As soon as he became fairly established as chief of the band, Sam must be disposed of, for he was a dangerous fellow, and might make him a great deal of trouble. Perhaps the best thing that could be done with him would be to put him ashore on some island, as he intended to do with the fisher-boy.
Tom thought these matters over before he went to sleep that night, and they were the first that came into his mind when he awoke the next morning. As soon as he had eaten his breakfast, he went down to the office, and at the door he met two boys, who, he afterward learned, were the midshipmen belonging to the Storm King. Of course they were acquainted with the particulars of Tom's business transactions with Mr. Graves, and, like all the rest of the village boys, they had something to say about it.
"How are you, Newcombe?" exclaimed one. "We came here to inquire how much that vessel cost you. She is a beauty, and I am going to build one exactly like her when I get home."
"Your father is a capital fellow," said the other. "He knows just what boys want, don't he?"
"O, no, he don't!" drawled Tom. "He don't know what I want; if he did, he would have given me that yacht. Never mind! You fellows had better look out."
"We've understood that you have another idea. Why didn't you try to carry it out last night? You were around there in a yawl."
"O, now, who said I was around there?"
"Why, we heard your voice. We were in hopes you would board us, for we wanted to see who belonged to your new society. Who are they, Newcombe? Johnny Harding says he is not a member."