The merchant did not appear to be at all surprised that his son had returned so soon, neither did he seem to be interested in the matter, for he turned and walked into his library, leaving Tom to himself. The latter ran up to his room, brushed the dust from his clothes, blacked his boots, and sat down to determine what he should do next. He did not have another interview with his father until evening, when the latter called him into the library, and propounded the usual inquiry:
“Well, what are you going to do now? Do you still think that you will ever be able to find any business that will run along smoothly without any labor or exertion on your part?”
“O, no, I don’t,” replied Tom. “I always expect to have plenty of trouble as long as I live. I am the most unlucky boy in the whole world. I must either work or go to school.”
“Exactly. Now which do you propose to do?”
“I don’t know. I want time to think it over.”
“Very well, then,” said the merchant; “I’ll give you two days. If, at the end of that time, you don’t come to some sensible conclusion, I shall take the matter into my own hands.”
“But, father, can’t you give me some good advice?” asked Tom.
“Certainly I can. I’ll give you the same advice I have given you a hundred times before. Go to school, study hard, stop saying ‘I can’t,’ and try to make a man of yourself. That’s my advice; and if you don’t wake up and do something in earnest very soon, I shall do more than advise you.”
“O, now, what’s the use of going to school?” drawled Tom. “I never yet saw any fun there.”
But Mr. Newcombe, as usual, did not seem inclined to argue the point, for he took some newspapers out of his pocket, thus intimating that it was not his intention to say more on the subject. Tom was provoked, as he always was when his father brought these interviews to a close so abruptly; and, after loitering about the room for a few moments, in hopes that the merchant would resume the conversation, he picked up his cap and walked sullenly out of the house.