"Is Mr. Clinch at home?" asked Captain Davis of the woman who answered the summons.
"Yes, sir; he has just come in from his work. Won't you walk in?"
We entered the house, and were shown to a very plainly furnished parlor, where Mr. Clinch soon appeared. He was clothed in coarse garments, but he had a very intelligent countenance, and I liked the looks of him.
"O, Captain Davis," exclaimed the carpenter, grasping the hand of my companion, "I am glad to see you."
"It always does me good to take your honest hand, Clinch. This young man is Phil Farringford, and he comes from the upper Missouri. He is a smart boy, and wants to learn your trade."
Mr. Clinch took me by the hand, and gave me a cordial greeting.
"I don't take any apprentices, now," he added. "I find it don't pay. As soon as we get a boy so that he can drive a nail without pounding his fingers, he wants a man's wages, or runs away as soon as he is worth anything to me."
"If I make a trade, sir, I shall stick to it," I ventured to say.
"You look like an honest young man, but I can't take apprentices, as we used to in former years."
"Phil knows something about the business now," interposed the captain. "He is handy with tools, and is as tough as an oak knot. He knows what hard work is, and has just come out of the woods."