MR. NEWCOMBE'S PRESENT.
It was about two o'clock when Tom reached his home, and, during the
next three hours, he lived in a state of mind that can scarcely be
described. He remained in his room, pacing angrily up and down the
floor, thinking over his numerous troubles, and conjuring up new
schemes for the future--all the while watching the hands of the little
time-piece that stood on the mantle as they moved slowly around toward
five o'clock, the hour at which he expected to be summoned into the
presence of his father. He was not sorry for any thing he had done--he
still had too much confidence in his grand schemes for that--neither
did he believe that there could be any thing wrong with the gentlemen
in Baltimore; on the contrary, he still imagined them to be the
most honorable of men--otherwise, they never could have built up so
extensive a business. They were not to blame for his disappointment,
for had they not told him that his letter had miscarried; that they
had made every inquiry for it, but could not find it? Some dishonest
post-office clerk was at the bottom of all his troubles! How Tom wished
he had him there, locked up in his room with him! Wouldn't he pay him
for all the misery he had caused him! He would beat him next time, for
he would send his ten dollars by express.
Mr. Newcombe was on time that evening, for, just as the clock struck
five, Tom heard his step in the hall. The unpleasant interview was
not far distant, and Tom began to prepare himself for it by plunging
his face into the wash-bowl, and trying to hide all traces of his
tears. Scarcely had he performed this operation, when he heard his
father calling him. Hastily drying his face upon the towel, he slowly
descended to the library, where he found the merchant walking up and
down the floor, with his hands behind his back.
"Close the door, Tom," said he, "and sit down; I want to talk to you."
Tom reluctantly obeyed, and Mr. Newcombe continued: "I have been down
to the ship-yard to look at your new yacht."
"O, now, she doesn't belong to me yet!" drawled Tom, whirling his cap
in his hand, and looking down at the floor.
"Why, I understand that she was built by your order," said the
merchant. "I think she is a splendid little vessel. I admire your
taste, but I should have been much better pleased if you had consulted
me in the matter."
Tom looked down at the carpet, and had nothing to say. He thought that,
if he had asked his father's advice, the yacht would not have been
built at all.
"Four hundred dollars is a good price to pay for a pleasure-boat,"
continued Mr. Newcombe. "I think the Mystery is quite large enough, and
fast enough, to answer your purpose."
"O no, she isn't, father," drawled Tom; "I am going to be a trader!"
"You are? How do you expect to carry on your business? With that sloop,
your expenses will be considerable, and you have no money that I know
of."
"But I am going to get some," said Tom. "I'll be rich in two weeks
more. I'll be worth five thousand dollars."
Mr. Newcombe opened his eyes when he heard this. He had learned the
particulars of the matter from Mr. Graves, as far as the latter knew
them, but he was satisfied that he had not heard all the story, and
that Tom had some secret the boat-builder knew nothing about. Knowing
Tom as well as he did, he had made up his mind to listen to something
ridiculous, but he was not prepared to hear that he expected soon to be
a rich man.
"Where are you going to get so much money?" he asked.
"O, now, I know!" drawled Tom.
"Well, then, tell me; I would like to know something about it also."
"O, isn't it enough for you to know that I am going to get it honestly,
and that I don't intend to cheat any body?" whined Tom.
"No; that will not satisfy me. I want to know all about it."
Mr. Newcombe spoke these words rather sternly, and Tom knew that it was
dangerous to hesitate longer. "I am going to get the money of some men
in Baltimore," said he, the tears starting to his eyes again: "they
have promised me five thousand dollars, if I will act as their agent."
"They are very liberal. What is their business?"
"Lottery business!" drawled Tom.
The merchant was really amazed now. He arose to his feet and walked up
and down the floor, repeating the words over and over again, as if he
could scarcely understand them. At length he stopped in front of Tom,
and inquired:
"How did you find out that these men wanted an agent? Now, I want you
to tell me all about it, from beginning to end."
Tom, as was always the case with him when called upon to explain any of
his schemes to his father, had tried to avoid coming to the point. He
did not want Mr. Newcombe to become acquainted with all his secrets,
but, knowing by the latter's looks that it was time for him to speak
if he wished to keep out of trouble, he began at the beginning and
told the whole story. He said he had become tired of the office, but,
being well aware of the fact that he could not get out of it until he
should be able to satisfy his father that he had some better business
in view, he had finally decided that the easiest occupation in which he
could engage was trading. He determined to go into it on a grand scale
this time, but, having no capital with which to carry out his plans,
he had commenced reading the advertisements in the newspapers, in the
hope of "getting an idea," and he had thus obtained the address of the
proprietors of the lottery. (Here Tom produced their advertisement.
He had carried it next to his heart for the last month.) He then went
on to repeat what he had written in his letter to them, as near as he
could remember it, and handed his father the one he had received in
reply. He related the particulars of the interview with Bob Jennings,
rehearsed the arguments he had used to induce him to advance the five
dollars to send for the "lucky package," and told his father that he
had then ordered the Storm King, because he believed that his fortune
was made, and that, in a very few days, he would be the wealthiest boy
of his age in the village. "And I would certainly have got the money,"
said he, in conclusion, "if some rascally post-office clerk hadn't
stolen my letter."
Mr. Newcombe grew more and more astonished as Tom proceeded with his
story, but he listened patiently to every word of it, and heard him
through without interruption. It did not seem possible to him that
a boy, fifteen years old, could seriously entertain such ridiculous
ideas. For a long time he sat gazing at the letter, which he still held
in his hand, then he read the advertisement, and finally he looked at
Tom.
"Mr. Graves told me that you wanted him to credit you for two or three
weeks," said he.
"O, now, yes, I did!" drawled Tom.
"But your lottery scheme has failed; so where would you get the four
hundred dollars?"
"O no, it hasn't failed yet, father!" replied Tom. "I am going to give
it a fair trial. Haven't you often told me to 'try again, and keep
trying, and I'll be certain to succeed?'"
"But just suppose that, with all your trying, the money does not come!"
said Mr. Newcombe, who did not think it best to attempt to answer this
question. "What will you do then?"
"I will go to work and make it by trading."
"Then you will have to do better than you did before. Have you
forgotten your game chickens?"
"O no, I haven't!" drawled Tom. "I ought to have known better than to
expect to make any money then, because I wasn't fixed for it; but, if I
owned that splendid little sloop, I would be all right. She was built
on purpose for a trading-boat, and if I couldn't make four hundred
dollars in two or three weeks with her, I would like to know what is
the reason!"
"Very well," said Mr. Newcombe, "suppose Mr. Graves was willing to
credit you for two or three weeks, and I was willing he should do so,
where is your capital to begin with? Where's the money to hire your
crew and to buy your first cargo?"
"O, I'll get that from those gentlemen in Baltimore," replied Tom. "But
you can't understand this business, father. Just let me alone for a
month or so, and I'll show you that I can make plenty of money."
Tom was quite right when he said that his father could not understand
the business; indeed, Mr. Newcombe was more than half inclined to
believe that Tom did not understand it himself. If his prize failed
to come to hand, he would earn the four hundred dollars to pay for
the yacht by trading; but he was still depending upon the lottery
to furnish the money to hire his crew and buy his first cargo. The
merchant had never listened to such reasoning before, and it was no
wonder he could not understand it.
"Tom," said he, at length, "are you really foolish enough to put faith
in any such nonsense as this? Do you honestly believe that these men
are what they represent themselves to be?"
"O yes, I do!" drawled Tom. "Their letter has a printed heading, just
like yours."
"Then you believe they are honorable business men?"
"Yes, I do!" repeated Tom. "I am not afraid to trust them. Do you
suppose that men who have agents in every civilized country on the
globe dare cheat any body? I am going to send them the very next
ten-dollar bill I get."
"Then I shall take care that you do not get one very soon," said the
merchant. "That will do; I have nothing further to say to you at
present."
"O, now, father," began Tom----
"We will not say any thing more about this just now," interrupted Mr.
Newcombe.
"Now I am aground again," said Tom to himself, as he put on his cap and
left the room. "If I don't get any more ten-dollar bills I must give
up all hopes of ever getting one of those prizes. Something is always
happening to bother me!"
He did not see his father again until supper-time, and then not a word
was said about the lottery. The merchant appeared to be as cheerful
as usual, but that did not quiet Tom's feelings, for he knew that the
matter was not yet settled. He would have been glad indeed to know
what would be done about it, but he could not muster up courage enough
to ask his father any questions. He passed that night in much the
same manner that he had passed the preceding one, tossing restlessly
about on his bed; and when he slept, he was troubled with dreams, in
which the Storm King, the proprietors of the lottery, and Bob Jennings
bore prominent parts. The next morning he went down to the office as
usual--being careful on the way to avoid the principal streets, so that
he might not meet any boys of his acquaintance--and there he found his
father and Mr. Graves engaged in conversation. The latter seemed to
have recovered his usual spirits, for he was laughing at some remark
made by the merchant, and he even shook hands with Tom and wished him a
hearty good morning. Perhaps the large roll of bank-bills he was just
putting into his pocket had something to do with his good, nature! Tom
noticed them at once; and he could hardly refrain from shouting with
delight, when the thought flashed through his mind that his father had
bought the yacht, and was intending to set him up in business as a
trader. He soon became convinced that such was the fact; for, as Mr.
Graves turned to go, the merchant inquired,
"Is she complete in every particular?"
"Yes, sir!" was the reply. "She is finished alow and aloft, and
supplied with every thing she needs, from an anchor down to a marlin
spike."
Mr. Graves then took leave of the merchant, and walked off, whistling
softly to himself, while Tom sank into a chair and awaited the issue
of events with an impatience he did not try to conceal. Mr. Newcombe
walked a few times across the office with his eyes fastened on the
floor, as if in deep meditation, and then seating himself at his desk,
he took out a sheet of note-paper and wrote a long letter. When it was
finished he put it into an envelope and handed it to Tom, with the
request that he would take it to the military academy.
"O, now, I'm not going to be a trader after all!" thought Tom, as he
began to search about the office for his cap. "I just know that I have
got to go back to that school! I won't stay there long! I am not going
to be shut up for five or six months without a single leave of absence,
now I tell you."
When he reached the street he glanced at the letter, and saw that it
was addressed to the principal of the academy. This was enough to
confirm him in his suspicions, and, while on the way to the school, he
thought over several plans for escape, that suggested themselves to his
mind. If he should be unfortunate enough to be shut up in the academy
again, he knew that it would be something of a task to get out of it;
for the students having turned against him, on account of the troubles
they had brought upon themselves by taking part in his runaway scheme,
he would have no one to assist him. But Tom had great confidence in
himself, and he was certain that he could arrange matters to his entire
satisfaction. He would fight against it as long as he could; but, if
his father was determined that he should go back to the academy, he
would, alone and unaided, occasion a greater uproar in the village than
had ever been heard there before.
Arriving at the gate, he rang the bell, handed the letter to the guard,
who answered the summons, and then slowly retraced his steps toward the
office. He had not gone far when he met his friend Johnny Harding.
"Good morning, captain!" said Johnny, taking off his cap, and making a
very low bow; "I hope you are well!"
"O, now, look here!" drawled Tom. "I want you to quit calling me
captain!"
"That's a fact!" said Johnny. "I ought to stop it, for you are not the
master of the Storm King now. I expect Bill Steele will be her next
captain.
"Bill Steele!" repeated Tom. "Not the colonel of the academy battalion?"
"That's the very fellow. She couldn't be in better hands, for I
understand that he is a capital sailor. He is a New Bedford boy, and,
of course, knows all about a boat."
"O, now, how is he going to get her?" asked Tom, who was very much
astonished at this information.
"Why, haven't you heard that your father has presented her to the
principal of the academy? Well, it's a fact. Mr. Graves told me all
about it, not five minutes ago."
"Then I can't be a trader!" whined Tom, hiding his face in his
handkerchief. "I won't stand it; that's just all about it! If I don't
sail that sloop, nobody shall. I'll sink her so deep in the bay that
she can never be raised again!" As Tom said this, he abruptly left
Johnny and walked rapidly down the street.
This was by far the severest blow he had yet experienced. To be obliged
to see that fine little yacht, which had been built in accordance
with his orders, which every one in the village so much admired, and
which he had so long regarded as his own property, to see her pass
into the hands of some one else, and the very one of all others he
most despised, was more than he could endure. Bill Steele seemed to be
his evil genius. He had obtained possession of the silver eagles, and
received the colonel's commission, for which Tom had worked so hard;
and now, he was to be the captain of the Storm King! If the principal
had purchased the yacht, Tom thought he would not have felt so badly
about it; but his own father had bought her, and, instead of giving
her to him, as he ought to have done, and setting him up in business
as a trader, he had presented her to the faculty of the military
school, when he knew, all the while, that his son disliked every one of
them. Another thing that made Tom very angry, was the thought that he
himself had been the bearer of the letter in which his father offered
the yacht for the principal's acceptance. If he had met Johnny five
minutes sooner, he never would have carried that letter to its address.
He would have torn it up, or thrown it into the harbor. Tom was sorely
distressed. It was no easy matter to keep back his tears, but having
been given many opportunities to practice self-control, during the
course of his varied and eventful life, and being at that very moment
on one of the principal streets, where people were constantly passing
him, he struggled manfully with his emotion, and even succeeded in
forcing a smile upon his face. By the time he reached the office he
had so far choked down his feelings, that a stranger would never have
imagined him to be a disappointed boy, or that he regarded himself as
the most abused person in existence.
During all that forenoon he performed his duties as usual, and when he
went home, to dinner with his father, the latter told him what he had
done with the Storm King. "Mr. Graves built her expecting that I would
pay for her," said he, "and, of course, I could not disappoint him."
"But why didn't you give her to me?" inquired Tom. "They have no use
for her at the academy."
"O yes, they have!" returned Mr. Newcombe. "I have often heard the
principal say that a vessel of some description, that could be handled
by the students, would be of great service to him. You know that some
of the scholars are studying navigation, and I thought they could make
better use of her than you could."
"But, father, did you mean what you said, when you told me that you
would take care that I didn't get any ten-dollar bills very soon?"
asked Tom, in a gloomy voice.
"Certainly I did. You have convinced me that you do not know how to use
money, so I have decided that the best thing I can do is to put your
wages in the bank. They will be safe there!"
This was all that was said on the subject at that time. Tom did not
remonstrate with his father, because he knew that it would be entirely
useless. For the same reason Mr. Newcombe did not take Tom to task for
what he had done or offer him any advice. All the talking he could have
done, would not have convinced Tom that he had acted foolishly or that,
as often as he built his hopes upon such schemes, he was doomed to be
disappointed.