This was a death-blow to Tom’s hopes. It was, in his estimation, a task that would have made a Hercules hesitate. Learn all that in two weeks! Did his father take him for a walking arithmetic and geography, that he expected him to accomplish so much in so short a space of time? It was simply impossible, and he was astonished at his father for proposing such a thing. Under almost any other circumstances, Tom would have said, “Then I can’t be a sailor,” and would have immediately turned his attention to something else. But he remembered how grand that ship looked as she sailed out of the harbor, and he could not bear the thought of forever giving up all hopes of becoming the captain of a vessel like that.
Tom regarded this as one of his unlucky days. His lesson was very hard. He had been promised a whipping if he did not get it. There was that tremendous obstacle that had so suddenly risen up before him, and altogether he felt most discontented and miserable. It was no wonder he could not learn the rule.
“O, I do wish I could be a sailor,” said he, at length; “then I wouldn’t have any teachers to bother me, and ask why I place units under units, and tens under tens, when I want to add figures, and why I carry the left-hand figure to the next column when the amount exceeds nine. What good will it do me to learn all this? I can manage a vessel without it. And then, if I was on board ship, there wouldn’t be any one to tell me that he’d dust my jacket for me if I didn’t get my lesson. Ah, that would be glorious! But I can’t be a sailor now; I can’t add figures, and tell the capitals of all the States—there’s too many of them. O, dear, what shall I do? I always was an unlucky boy, and something is always happening to bother me. Now, there’s Bob Jennings! He ought to be a happy fellow, having nothing to do but row about the harbor all day, ferrying and catching fish. He’s a lucky chap, and I wish I was in his place. Hullo, Bob, come up here!”
Tom’s thoughts were turned into this channel by discovering a boy, about his own age, rowing a scow up the bay. The fisher-boy had seen Tom rolling about on the grass, and, if the latter could have known the thoughts that passed through his mind, no doubt he would have been greatly astonished.
Bob Jennings was the son of a poor widow who lived in the village. His father, like the majority of men in Newport, had followed the sea for a livelihood, but, having been washed overboard from his vessel during a storm, Bob was left as the only support for his mother and two little brothers. From the time he was strong enough to handle an oar, he had been accustomed to work, and, unlike Tom, he was not ashamed of it. He was ready to undertake any thing that would enable him to turn an honest penny; and many a dime found its way into his mother’s slim purse, that Bob had earned by running errands after his day’s work was over. But, if he was obliged to work hard while his father was living, he was compelled to redouble his exertions now, for the pittance his mother earned by sewing and washing could not go far toward feeding and clothing four persons. Bob well understood this, and he worked hard and incessantly. Every morning, rain or shine, he was on hand at pier Number 2, which he regarded as his own particular “claim,” ready to ferry the workmen across the harbor to the ship-yards. After this was done, he pulled down the bay to his fishing grounds, from which he returned in time to be at his pier when the six o’clock bell rang in the evening.
Bob was ambitious, and he longed to follow in the footsteps of his father. Like all the boys in Newport, who seemed to inhale a passionate love of salt water with the air they breathed, he looked forward to the day when he should become the master of a fine vessel. But his mother could not live without his assistance. His earnings, however small, were needed to procure the common necessities of life; and, thus far, Bob had been unable to take the first step toward attaining his long-cherished object. A few weeks previous to the commencement of our story, he had entered into an agreement with his mother, to the effect, that as soon as he could lay by a sum sufficient to support her and his brothers for two months, he was to be allowed so go on a short voyage. This served as an incentive to extra exertion, and Bob worked early and late to accomplish the desired end. Every cent he earned, he placed in his mother’s hands; and so impatient was he to save the amount required, that he reserved not a penny for himself, but went about his work ragged, shoeless, and almost hatless. How often, as he rowed by the elegant mansion in which Tom Newcombe lived, had he given utterance to the wish that he could find some way in which he might earn as much money as the rich ship-owner allowed his son to spend foolishly every month. He was confident that it would amount to double the sum required to support his mother while he was gone on his first voyage, and would have placed it in his power to enter upon his chosen work at once. Nearly every day, as he pulled by in his leaky, flat-bottomed boat, he saw Tom rolling about under the trees; and, when he drew a contrast between their stations in life, it almost discouraged him.
Hearing Tom calling to him, Bob turned his boat toward the shore, and in a few moments reached the spot where the young student was seated. There was a great difference between the two boys. The rich man’s son was neatly clad, while Bob was barefooted, wore a brimless hat on his head, and his clothes were patched in a hundred places, and with different kinds of cloth, so that it was almost an impossibility to tell their original color. The fisher-boy thought his garments looked worse than ever by thus being brought in contrast with those of the well-dressed student, and he involuntarily seated himself on the ground, with his feet under him, as if to hide them from the gaze of his more fortunate companion. But the difference did not cease here. About the one, there were virtues that could not be hidden by ragged clothes; and in the other, there were glaring defects that made themselves apparent in spite of his well-blacked boots and broadcloth jacket; and, had a total stranger been standing by, with an errand he wished promptly executed, the successful accomplishment of which was of the utmost importance, he would, without hesitation, have selected Bob as the more reliable. There was an honest, resolute look about him, which showed that he was ready for any thing, and that he felt within him the power to overcome all obstacles; while Tom had a listless, die-away manner of moving and talking, that led one to believe that he had been utterly exhausted by hard labor.
“You’re a lucky chap, Bob Jennings,” said Tom, at length, throwing down his book rather spitefully, and seating himself on the grass opposite the fisher-boy. “A most lucky chap.”
Bob looked down at his clothes, but made no reply.
“You have no arithmetic lesson to learn, as I have,” continued Tom. “All you have to do is to row about in your boat all day, and be your own master. That must be fun!”