Uncle Tom was rather short and rather fat, and he was moreover one of the jolliest of men, being blessed with a disposition which prompted him always to see the bright side of things, no matter how dark and threatening they might look. Having at a very early age been pitched out into the world to "fend for himself," and having by square dealing and hard work done remarkably well, he had imbibed the idea that book-learning as a means of getting on in the world was somewhat overrated; an idea which, right or wrong—and I think myself that Uncle Tom carried it rather too far—was to have a decided effect in shaping my own career.
As it was against the rule, laid down by Uncle Tom himself, for any one to disturb me at my studies, I naturally looked up from my books to ascertain the cause of the intrusion, when, with a cigar in his mouth and his hands in his pockets, he came bulging in, half filling the little room.
That there was something unusual in the wind I felt sure, and my guardian's first act went far to confirm my suspicion, for, removing one hand from his pocket, he quietly reached forward and with his finger tilted my book shut.
"Put 'em away," said he. "You won't need them for a month or more."
As the fall term of school was then in full swing, this declaration was a good deal of a surprise to me, as any one will suppose, and doubtless I showed as much in my face.
"I have a scheme in my head, Frank," said he, with a knowing wag of that member, in reply to my look of inquiry.
"I know that," I replied, laughing; for there never was a moment when Uncle Tom had not a scheme in his head of one sort or another.
"You spider-legged young reptile!" cried he, with perfect good humor, but at the same time shaking a threatening finger at me. "Don't you dare to laugh at my schemes; especially this one. For this is a brand-new idea, and a very important one—to you. I'm leaving to-morrow night for Colorado."
"Are you?" I cried, a good deal surprised by this sudden announcement. "When did you decide upon that?"
"To-day. I got a letter this afternoon from my friend, Sam Warren, the assayer, written from Mosby—if you know where that is."