But the bantam had not come out there to be driven back. Dodging the cap which Tom threw at him, he spread his wings, thrust out his neck, and made at the intruder as if he meant to annihilate him on the spot. Washington was evidently astonished. He stood perfectly still, looking at his diminutive antagonist first with one eye, then with the other, and, just as Tom was expecting to see him assume the offensive, and drive the bantam from the field, the General uttered one long, deep cackle, and turned and took to his heels.
This was the last feather on the camel’s back. Every thing had gone wrong with Tom that day. He had been offered ten cents a dozen for eggs for which he had paid twenty cents, and had been assured that the butter for which he had given twenty-two cents was worth only thirteen, and he had, as he imagined, borne up bravely under it all. But to stand there and see his game rooster—one for which he had paid a dollar, and of which he had hoped such great things—to see him disgracefully leave the field when faced by an antagonist that he could almost swallow—that was too much; and Tom, filled with disappointment and vexation, seated himself on the ground and cried aloud.
CHAPTER XI.
TOM DECIDES TO BE A FARMER.
THE fisher-boy was astonished at this exhibition of weakness on the part of his employer, and it is difficult to say whether he most pitied or despised Tom. He had all the while been confident that Captain Newcombe would, sooner or later, discover that he had set his mark altogether too high, but he had not expected that his failure, to carry out his splendid scheme, would so overwhelm him.
“O, it’s no use, Bob,” whined the discomfited trader, as he rolled about on the grass; “it’s no use; I knew I couldn’t be a speculator. I am the most unlucky boy on earth. Something is always happening to bother me, and nobody in the whole world has so much trouble as I do. It’s enough to discourage any body. But I knew just how it would turn out. I say, Bob,” he added suddenly, looking up at the fisher-boy through his tears, “I’ve learned one lesson to-day, and that is, it’s no use for a fellow to try to do a thing when he knows he can’t succeed. I always said it, and now I know it’s so.”
The fisher-boy listened to this speech in perfect astonishment. He remembered how confidently Tom had talked of his success during the voyage, and how perseveringly he had labored to convince his doubting mate that there was no possible chance for failure; and he could not understand why the young trader had so suddenly changed his opinion. If he knew that his scheme would result in failure, why had he risked his money in it? But this was nothing unusual with Tom. One day he would be raised up to the highest pinnacle of joy and excitement, by some wild project that entered his head, and to which he held in spite of all that could be said against it; and, perhaps, in an hour from that time, he would be plunged in the lowest depth of despair, by the failure of his scheme. On these occasions, he always endeavored to console himself by saying: “Didn’t I tell you it wouldn’t work? I knew all the time just how it would turn out.” He never acknowledged, even to himself, that he was wrong; and, in the present instance, could he have discovered the slightest excuse for so doing, he would have laid all the blame upon the fisher-boy.
Bob did not feel called upon to make any reply to Tom’s speech, so he walked about the yard; and, for want of something better to do, began to whistle.