“Perhaps not.”
“If you can’t find anything to do, you and your mother will have to come on the town, won’t you?” asked Rupert, briskly.
“I don’t think so,” said Tom, gravely.
“I wonder father didn’t say anything at home about it,” continued Rupert. “Wouldn’t you just as lief tell me why he bounced you?”
“I must refer you to your father,” said Tom, coldly. “Good-morning.”
“That boy is very proud, considering he is a beggar, or the next thing to it,” said Rupert to himself. “I suppose he was impudent to pa. I know pa wouldn’t stand that, and he ought not to. I am glad Tom’s pride has had a fall.”
Tom didn’t go immediately home. There was another shop in the village, considerably smaller than Mr. Simpson’s, but still employing twenty hands. This was kept by a Mr. Casey, a man well-to-do, but not setting up for an aristocrat like his competitor in business. Tom thought it possible he might get employment here, and he dropped in on the way home.
“Good-morning, Tom,” said Casey, who was cutting out shoes.
“Are you not at work to-day?”