“Tom, I will go and see Mr. Simpson myself. I will ask him to take you back.”
“No, mother,” said Tom, decidedly; “I am too proud to beg to be taken back.”
“It won’t be you who ask it. It will be I.”
“It would humble me all the same.”
“But, Tom, we find it hard enough to live when you are at work. If you are out of work we shall starve.”
“No, you won’t, mother. In one way or another I will manage to earn fifty cents a day, and I hope more. Now I am going to the shop to collect my money.”
Tom went out, leaving his mother in low spirits. She was not so hopeful as he of his ability to make up the sum which he had lost by his discharge from the shop.
In the shoe-shop Tom found plenty of sympathy. There was even a strong feeling of indignation excited against Mr. Simpson, for Tom Thatcher was a popular favorite. He collected his money—three day’s wages—and left the shop.
On the way he met John Simpson. The boy would have avoided him, but the manufacturer called him by name.
“Look here, you Tom Thatcher,” he said, “I have a word to say to you.”