“He’s not a good officer, either,” said Mr. Newcombe, looking at his son.
“No, sir; he’s not. He’s not fit to be second mate.”
“If he was a good officer,” continued the merchant, “he would have taken a rope’s end to you every hour in the day.”
Tom was thunderstruck! He could scarcely believe that he had heard aright. All through his trials, which he regarded as much greater than had ever before been endured by a boy of his age, he had been, to a certain extent, sustained and encouraged by the thought that his father would certainly sympathize with him; but could it be possible that he was upholding the mate? It certainly looked like it.
“O, now, father,” whined Tom, at length, “you don’t mean to say that I ought to have been whipped?”
“I mean to say that you ought to have been made to do your duty,” answered Mr. Newcombe. “I have heard how you behaved yourself, and my only wonder is, that you escaped as easily as you did.”
“But, father,” said Tom, “when you made your first voyage, you didn’t have to saw wood and black boots, did you?”
“Certainly I did,” replied Mr. Newcombe. “What else could a green boy do on board a ship? But what are you going to do now? Are you willing to go to school?”
“O, no,” drawled Tom, “I can’t.”
“Well, then, do you want to go into the office?”