“What in the world induced you to give so much for your cargo? You certainly did not expect to make any thing?”
“O, now, yes I did,” drawled Tom. “I expected to make at least ten dollars to-day. I didn’t want to cheat that farmer. If I had been in his place, I wouldn’t have sold my things for less than what I offered him. But I’m sorry I dealt so fairly with him, because he swindled me badly.”
“In what way?” asked Mr. Newcombe.
“In those chickens,” answered Tom, almost ready to cry again. “He said that rooster beat every thing on his place, like two hundred; but he can’t whip any thing. Your little bantam drove him out of the barn-yard. He’s the biggest coward I ever saw. I wish I hadn’t named him General Washington.”
“Well,” said the merchant, after a pause, “you say you have concluded not to do any more trading. What are you going to try your hand at next?”
“I want to be a farmer,” said Tom. “That’s just the business I have always wanted to go into.”
Tom had expected a strong and decided opposition to this project, and he was prepared to meet it with a host of arguments. But, to his surprise, his father merely nodded his head, and then sat gazing at the carpet, without making any reply. Tom was delighted, and he hoped that, for once, his father was willing that he should “enjoy himself.”
“May I go?” he asked, eagerly.
“That depends upon whether or not you can find any farmer who is willing to take you,” answered the merchant.
“But do you say that I may go, if I can find a place?” asked Tom, impatiently. “That’s what I want to know.”