"If he had only given me that yacht, as he ought to have done," Tom had said to himself twenty times that night, "things would have been very different. I could have paid him back his four hundred dollars in a week or two, and after that every cent I earned would have been clear profit. But now—just look at me! I won't stand no such treatment from any body, and that's all about it."
"What's the row now, cap'n?" asked the governor.
"O, I was thinking about that yacht," drawled Tom.
"And, talkin' about her, too," returned Sam; "I heard what you said. This is a hard world, Tommy, that's a fact. The lucky ones go up, an' the onlucky ones go down. Life's nothing but luck, nohow."
"Well, if that's the case," whined Tom, "what is the use of a fellow's exerting himself at all? If it is his lot to go ahead in the world, he will, and if it isn't, he won't, and all the working and planning he can do will not better his condition in the least."
"Exactly! Sartinly! That's just my way of thinkin' to a dot; an' every thing goes to prove that I am right. Now, me an' you were born to be poor—to go down hill; an' your father was born to be rich—to go up hill. Haven't you tried hard to be somebody?"
"O, now, yes I have!"
"I know it. I never in my life saw a feller that tried harder, an' what's the reason you didn't succeed? 'Cause you are onlucky. It aint your lot to go up hill. You might work an' scheme, an' try your level best, till you are as old as your grandfather, but it wouldn't do you no arthly good, whatsomever. Now, just look at your father! He's one of the lucky ones. Every thing he touches turns to money to onct. He needn't do no work if he don't want to. He can set back on his easy chair an' read his paper, an' the cash comes pourin' in so fast that he has to hire a man to take care of it. Now, I ask, Why is it? It's his lot; that's the reason, an' he aint no better'n I be, neither. Things aint fixed right, nohow, 'cordin' to my way of thinkin'."
Tom was not overburdened with common sense, but he was not foolish enough to believe in Sam Barton's doctrine. He knew that it is the industrious, prudent, and persevering who go up hill, and the lazy and worthless who go down. He knew that his father had made many a long voyage as a common sailor, and a good many more as captain, and worked hard for years with hand and brain before he could "set back in his easy chair" and read his newspaper during business hours. But he was quite ready to agree with the governor when he said that "things were not fixed right" in this world. Tom was quite sure they were fixed wrong. He had tried so hard, and had been so certain of success! If his plans had not all failed so miserably, he would have been a happy and prosperous trader, and the owner of the finest little sloop about the village, instead of a captain in the Crusoe band. He could not see that he had made any mistakes in refusing to listen to the advice so often given him. The blame rested entirely with his father.
Tom was a very unhappy boy, and the only consolation he could find was in the thought that, by this nights work, he was severely punishing his father. Mr. Newcombe would, of course, hear all the particulars of the robbery, and of the attempted destruction of the yacht, and then he would regret that he had not paid more attention to his son's wishes. But it would be too late. The ill-used one would be miles at sea before morning, and he would never again return to Newport as long as he lived. Tom told himself that he was resolved upon that; but, after all, he did go back, and perhaps we shall see how he looked when he got there.