“I see you don’t sympathize with me,” said Tom. “Well, I ought not to be surprised at it, for nobody ever cares a red cent whether I succeed or fail. It’s just my luck. I don’t want you any longer. I owe you a dollar, and I’ll settle with you in the morning.”
As this was a gentle hint that his presence there was no longer desirable, Bob took leave of his employer, and started for home, pulling his wagon after him.
As soon as he was out of sight, Tom arose to his feet, thrust his hands into his pockets, and began to walk about the yard. He had concluded that he had seen enough of a trader’s life, that he would never again attempt to play the part of speculator, and the usual question then arose: To what should he turn his attention next? He was balancing between three things—Mr. Henry’s store, the military school, and a farm. Tom had often wished that he could be a grocer, especially if he was sure that he could get along through the world as smoothly as Mr. Henry; for he was a man who did not work. He always went about the store in shirt sleeves, evidently keeping an eye open to all that was going on; but Tom had never seen him roll a barrel or measure out a bushel of potatoes. Such work was always performed by the clerks; while the grocer himself seemed to have nothing to do but take in his money, and stand before the counter with his hands in his pockets talking with his customers. If Tom could have gone into the store with the same privileges, or even as clerk, it is probable that he would have decided to do so; but there was one serious obstacle in his way, and that was, the ridiculous custom so common among business men, of requiring an inexperienced person to begin at the lowest situation and work his way up. He would be obliged to build fires, sweep out the store, and run errands. How would he look, walking through the streets with a basket of eggs or butter on his arm? That was something his pride did not allow him to do.
Then there was the military school; and on this question Tom, as he had done a hundred times before, debated long and earnestly. Would the pleasure he would experience in wearing the academy uniform, make amends for the trouble and inconvenience that would be occasioned by difficult lessons and strict discipline? Would the glory he would win in fighting Indians on the plains, after he had graduated from West Point, repay him for the dangers to which he would be exposed? It would be a fine thing for him if he could become the captain of one of the academy companies, and sport his shoulder-straps about the village, but here he discovered two obstacles that had often stood in his way—arithmetic and geography.
In his frequent conversations with the students of his acquaintance, in regard to the manner in which affairs were conducted at the school, he had made anxious inquiries concerning the different branches taught there, and had found, to his disappointment, that those he so much despised received their full share of attention. It made no difference to the teachers of the academy what business a boy intended to follow, arithmetic and geography were regarded as very necessary to his success; and two hours each day were devoted to these studies, until the professors were satisfied that the students had thoroughly mastered them. Tom thought he could not stand this, so the idea of attending the military school was again reluctantly abandoned. His only resource, then, was farming; and just then, Tom thought it was the “very business he had always wanted to go into.” There would be no books to trouble him, and no teacher to say, “Thomas, you will remain after school, and recite that arithmetic lesson.” He would escape all these very disagreeable things, and would have nothing to do but drive horses, milk cows, and spread hay, and that would be fun for him. As usual, Tom managed to work himself up to the highest pitch of excitement, and he imagined all sorts of pleasant things that would happen, if he could only become a farmer. But he had little hopes of being able to carry out his idea; for, as his father “didn’t want him to enjoy himself, if he could help it,” it was not at all probable that he would give his consent. And here Tom showed how inconsistent he was. He had told the fisher-boy that he had that day learned a lesson which he never would forget, and that was, that when he knew he could not succeed in any undertaking, he would not waste time in trying. But now, although he repeatedly said to himself that he “knew his father would not let him go on a farm,” he resolved to try to obtain his permission. Having made this resolution, and settled it in his own mind, that his future happiness depended upon the success of his new scheme, he walked toward the house and entered the library. His father had finished reading his paper, and sat gazing intently at the carpet, as if he there hoped to find a solution to some problem that he was revolving in his mind. As Tom seated himself in a chair at his side, he looked up and inquired:
“Well, how do you like trading? Do you find as much sport in it as you expected?”
“O, no, father; there isn’t any fun in it,” was the answer. “I don’t like it at all. I’ve quit the business. Didn’t I tell you I couldn’t be a trader?”
Mr. Newcombe had heard this expression so often that he took no notice of it.
“Let me see the list of the goods you bought,” said he.
Tom accordingly produced his memorandum-book; and while searching for the bill, Mr. Newcombe found the “Contract and Shipping Articles” that the young trader, in anticipation of complete success in his speculations, had drawn up that morning. After considerable trouble he got at the sense of the document, although, on account of the miserable writing, he could not decipher all the words; and when he found how high Tom’s lively imagination had carried him, he did not wonder that his failure had discouraged him. After reading over the list of articles that Tom had purchased, and noting the prices he had paid for each, he inquired: