As the prospecting season was now approaching, he therefore let it be known that he desired to raise this money, and then quietly went on with his work again, feeling confident that some one would presently make his appearance, cash in hand, anxious to secure so good a loan. Up to that morning, Seth believed, the expected capitalist had not turned up.
As the boy finished his story, and—with a sigh at having reached his capacity—his meal as well, my father rose from his chair, exclaiming:
“What a good fellow that is! When it comes to practical charity, Tom Connor leads us all. In fact, he is in a class by himself:—There is no Tom but Tom, and”—smiling at the little messenger—“Seth Appleby is his prophet—on this occasion.”
At which Seth opened his eyes, wondering what on earth my father was talking about.
“Now, I’ll tell you what we’ll do,” the latter continued. “Seth says his mother wants another thousand pounds of potatoes; so you shall take them up this afternoon, Phil; have a good talk with her; find out the rights of this matter; and then, if there is anything we can do to help, we can do it understandingly.”
I was very glad to do this, and with Seth on the seat beside me and his pony tied behind the wagon, away I went.
As I had permission to stay in town over night if I liked, and as Mrs. Appleby urged me to do so, saying that I could share Seth’s room, I decided to accept her offer, and after supper we were seated in the store talking over Tom Connor’s affairs—which I found to be just about as Seth had described them—when who should burst in upon us but Tom himself. Evidently my presence was a surprise to him, for on seeing me he exclaimed:
“Hallo, Phil! You here! Got my message, did you?”
“Yes,” I replied, “we got it all right; and very much astonished we were.”
Forthwith I tackled him on the subject, and though at first Tom was disposed to be evasive in his answers, finding that I had all the facts, he at length admitted the truth of the story.