"Yes," said Mr. Primrose, in a teasing tone, "he is not at all like the boy I sent from the office last week to buy a pamphlet called 'Westward Ho!' and who brought me instead a garden hoe."
There was a laugh at Tom's expense, but he persisted, coaxingly:
"Do let me go, papa. You know I wouldn't be careless about your business."
"I guess you may go, Tom. Now listen. Find Sheriff Carroll either at his house or at the court-house, and give him this letter. Take the twelve train home, and be sure you are on time. There is money for your fare."
So Mr. Primrose departed, while Tom, highly delighted at the prospect of such an unexpected little jaunt, went to get ready. He meant to act through the whole matter with such caution and judgment as to fully convince his father of the propriety of intrusting him with the weightiest concerns. And his first care was to leave for the station in such good time as to put all fear of his missing the train out of the question.
Alas, poor Tom!
"Now, where's my hat?"
This inquiry was a sound of dismay in the Primrose household. Tom's hat was always missing. There was no spot in the house, yard, barn, or garden where it might not be hopefully searched for.
"Where did you have it last?" some one asked. Some one was always sure to ask that.
"I don't know—yes, I remember putting it on Rover's head, and he ran away with it. No, I found it after that behind the coal-house. I had it when we were playing hide-and-seek last evening."