“Two thousand head of cattle at—we’ll say fifty dollars each, for that is about the price paid now in Southern markets—would amount to one hundred thousand dollars; and twenty-five hundred sheep, at two dollars a head, would bring just five thousand dollars, making, in all, one hundred and five thousand dollars.”
“Human natur’!” exclaimed the farmer, looking at Tom, in amazement. “You’re a lightnin’ chap on figures, that’s sartin. I couldn’t reckon up so much in my head if I should try a month. If my boys could do that, I’d feel ’nation proud of ’em. But, Tommy, it aint every farmer or stock raiser that can make so much money.”
“O, there’s nothing in the world to prevent it,” said Tom, knowingly. “Wait until I have been with you long enough to know something about this business, and I’ll show you how to manage a farm.”
“I never see a chap so anxious and willin’ to learn that didn’t make a great man!” said the farmer, who little dreamed that Tom was utterly lacking in some very necessary qualities. “You’re bound to get through the world all right. Now, if you’ll l’arn my boys to reckon figures in their heads as fast as you did a minute ago, I’ll do the right thing by you. Will you do it?”
This question made Tom a little uneasy. He never went into the company of strangers that he did not endeavor to impress them with the idea that he was a very smart boy. He had already made a most favorable beginning with the farmer, who regarded him as a “lightning calculator;” and, if he had stopped at that, without asking him to put his knowledge to a practical use, he would have been satisfied. But Mr. Hayes had hinted that he would like to have him instruct his boys, and Tom suddenly found himself in a predicament from which he could then discover no way of extricating himself without injuring his reputation.
“Well, Tommy,” said the farmer, at length, “we won’t say nothing more about it just now. I know you could l’arn my boys an amazin’ heap if you would only try, but I s’pose you feel a leetle funny ’bout bein’ called on to play school-master. Howsomever, we’ll wait till we get home, an’ you’re fairly settled in your new quarters. You mustn’t look on my boys as strangers, ’cause they aint. They have often heered me speak of you; so you can pitch in an’ be as friendly as you please. They’ll be glad to see you, an’ when you come to get acquainted with ’em, I know you’ll like ’em. You’ll find that things is divided at my house, just as they had oughter be. Sally Ann—that’s my old woman—she is boss of the kitchen, an’ I’m boss of the barn-yard. She’s got nothing to say ’bout the way I take care on my hosses an’ cows, an’ I don’t bother my head ’bout what goes on in the house, or grumble ’bout the way the butter an’ cheese is made. You see, when things is divided that way, there aint no quarrelin an’ fightin’. Every thing goes along smooth an’ easy—just like clock-work. Now, Tommy, you drive. You needn’t think we’re going to work you hard just now,” he continued, as Tom took the reins and whip from his hand, “’cause it aint to be thought on. You’re fresh from the village, where you never had no hard work to do; so we’ll give you something easy till you kinder get used to it.”
The more Tom talked with Mr. Hayes, the more delighted he became with his prospects. He thought that if he could only conjure up some plan by which he might be able to avoid teaching the farmer’s boys, he would have nothing to trouble him. Especially was he pleased to learn that he was not expected to do any hard work. Besides this, he was already enjoying the “sensation” which he hoped to make in the farmer’s family, and it was for this reason that he had packed his valise with his best clothes. According to his idea, his broadcloth jacket would go a long way toward establishing his claim to respect, and would have the effect of convincing the country boys that a village youth was something extraordinary.
After a three hours’ ride, during which the farmer gave his new hand a long lecture on the manner in which corn and potatoes ought to be planted and cultivated in order to produce large crops; every word of which, it is needless to say, was Greek to Tom. He pointed to a house in the distance, saying: “Now, we’re comin’ to our home. All this land you see here on this side of the road belongs to me. I’ve got two hundred acres of just as good ground as ever laid out of doors.”
As the farmer spoke he took the reins from Tom’s hand, cracked his whip, and, in a few moments, drove through a gate, which was opened by a barefooted, dirty little urchin, who gazed at Tom with every expression of wonder and curiosity. If he was a fair specimen of the farmer’s boys, Tom did not think that he should be very well pleased with them. Mr. Hayes kept on, and, instead of driving to the barn, turned up toward the house, and stopped his team in front of the door. Tom was astonished at the sight that was presented to his gaze. The door-way was crowded with boys of all ages and sizes, the oldest apparently about nineteen years of age, and the youngest about three. They were all hatless and shoeless; the larger ones had their sleeves rolled up above their elbows, revealing arms as brown as their faces, while the younger ones carried in their hands huge slices of bread and butter. Behind them, looking over their shoulders, stood their mother, evidently as much interested in the new-comer as her children. She was a tall, muscular woman, with sharp nose, long chin, and small, piercing eyes; and as Tom looked at her, he began to doubt the truth of the farmer’s statement—that her authority was bounded by the four walls of the kitchen. He thought it very probable that he should discover that her power was exercised over every one on the farm. Tom took all this in at a glance, for the moment the wagon stopped the farmer sprang out, exclaiming:
“Now, then, we’re to home. Sally Ann, this is our new hand—Tommy Newcombe. Get out of the way, boys; where are your manners, that you stand gapin’ at a feller that way? Let us come in.”