“Then you are to grow up a shoemaker, Ben?”
“Not much,” exclaimed Ben decidedly. “Mr. Winter hasn’t got my consent.”
“What will you do?”
“Go to New York.”
“Won’t he try to stop you?”
“Perhaps so,” said Ben quietly, “but I shall go all the same.”
“Well, I can’t blame you, Ben. You weren’t cut out for a shoemaker.”
“Nor for a farmer either. I feel that I must take the responsibility into my own hands.”
“When are you going to start and what are your plans?”
“I shall start as soon as I can. I find that I can go to New York from Boston for a dollar, and I shall never have any better chance.”