“Father, will you please lend me a dollar until tomorrow? I want to pay Bob Jennings what I owe him, and if I wait until morning, he may be off to his fishing-grounds before I can see him.”
Tom hesitated as he said this, for he knew that he had not told his father the real object he had in view; so, after a moment’s reflection, he added: “I want to talk to Bob on business.”
Mr. Newcombe laid down his paper, produced his pocket-book, and handed the required amount to Tom, who at once started for the home of the fisher-boy. He found Bob engaged in bailing out his scow, preparatory to starting for his pier after the workmen.
“Here’s your dollar,” said Tom, as he approached. “I thought I wouldn’t wait until morning, for I am going into the country; I’m going to be a farmer.”
“A farmer!” repeated Bob, as he took the money and put it carefully away in his pocket. “Do you think you will like that business?”
“Like it! How can I help it? I’ll make plenty of money, too, one of these days. Now, Bob, sit down here,” continued Tom, as he seated himself on the gunwale of the scow. “There is a man somewhere out West, who sold in one year two thousand head of cattle, and two thousand five hundred sheep.”
“He was a farmer, wasn’t he?” exclaimed Bob.
“Yes, he was, and that’s just the kind of a farmer I am going to be one of these days.”
“But, Tom,” said the fisher-boy, “have you given up all idea of going to sea?”