“No, I wouldn't; I'm sick of this stupid old town, though. There's nothing going on.”
“I say, Tom, as you don't want to work, do you think your father would give me a chance?”
“I don't know,” said Tom. “I'll speak to him if you want me to.”
“I wish you would.”
“There'll be one advantage about it. If he hires you, he won't be at me to work all the time. I'll do it. Come along, and I'll speak to him now.”
“Thank you, Tom.”
“Oh, you needn't thank me. It's for my own sake I'm doing it as much as yours,” said Tom, who was at least frank in his selfishness.
They went to the small house occupied, much against his will, by Amos Banks. He was in the field, with one of his men, when Tom and Herbert came up, and, jumping over the stone wall, approached him.
“Well, Tom,” said his father, “you have come just in time. I want you to ride the horse to plow.”
“I can't, father; I don't feel well to-day.”