“I didn’t know that book-keepers had any thing to do with figures. I can’t do that kind of work, either!”
“I didn’t suppose you could,” said the merchant. “But of one thing you may rest assured; if you don’t go to school you must go to work at something. I can’t have idlers about me. To-morrow morning I want to hear your decision.”
As Mr. Newcombe ceased speaking, he picked up a newspaper and began to read, thus intimating that the interview was at an end. Tom lingered about the room for a few moments, but finding that his father took no more notice of him, he sauntered out of the house and threw himself under one of the trees in the yard, heartily disgusted with himself and every one else in the world.
The conversation he had with his father will serve to illustrate some of his ideas. He wanted to fill some position in life where he could be at his ease; but he was unwilling to make the least exertion to accomplish the desired end. He had often noticed the book-keepers in his father’s office; he imagined they must be happy fellows, and he had suddenly taken it into his head that he would like the same position. But when he learned that the book-keepers had something to do with figures, he had no desire to become better acquainted with their duties. He did not believe in what he had so often heard of, “beginning at the foot of the ladder.” He wanted to reach the top at a single leap; but, turn which way he would, he found that some preparation was necessary to enable him to fill any position in life. He was fairly at his wit’s end. He had his choice between going to school and going to work, and the question was, which of these two evils was the least? This point, however, was soon decided against the school; and then, for fully an hour, Tom rolled and tumbled about on the grass, trying to think of some business in which he could engage that would enable him to make money without labor; and, at last, an idea occurred to him that seemed to fill all the requirements of the occasion. Without stopping to think the matter over, for fear of discovering some defects in it that had not appeared at first sight, Tom sprang to his feet, and running into the house, burst into the room where his father sat, exclaiming:
“I’ve got it now! I’ll tell you what I’ll do.”
“Well,” said Mr. Newcombe, looking up from his paper.
“You know,” began Tom, drawing a chair close to his father’s side, “you know that I have forty-eight dollars due me, that I earned on the Savannah, and if you will give it to me, I’ll speculate with it.”
“Well,” said Mr. Newcombe, again, “what will you speculate in?”
Tom’s bright hopes fell instantly. He had not thought of that.
“I’ll tell you what you might do,” at length, said his father, who saw that Tom’s new idea could be made profitable to him in more ways than one, “you might contract with Bob Jennings to take all the fish he can catch, at a certain price; but before you enter into an agreement with him, go to some store—Mr. Henry’s, for instance—ask what he is paying for fish per pound, and then you will know how much to offer Bob. If Mr. Henry is paying four cents, you might agree to give Bob two and a half, or three cents a pound.”