TOM DECIDES TO BE A FARMER.
The fisher-boy was astonished at this exhibition of weakness on the
part of his employer, and it is difficult to say whether he most
pitied or despised Tom. He had all the while been confident that
Captain Newcombe would, sooner or later, discover that he had set his
mark altogether too high, but he had not expected that his failure,
to carry out his splendid scheme, would so overwhelm him.
“O, it’s no use, Bob,” whined the discomfited trader, as he rolled
about on the grass; “it’s no use; I knew I couldn’t be a speculator.
I am the most unlucky boy on earth. Something is always happening to
bother me, and nobody in the whole world has so much trouble as I do.
It’s enough to discourage any body. But I knew just how it would turn
out. I say, Bob,” he added suddenly, looking up at the fisher-boy
through his tears, “I’ve learned one lesson to-day, and that is,
it’s no use for a fellow to try to do a thing when he knows he can’t
succeed. I always said it, and now I know it’s so.”
The fisher-boy listened to this speech in perfect astonishment. He
remembered how confidently Tom had talked of his success during
the voyage, and how perseveringly he had labored to convince his
doubting mate that there was no possible chance for failure; and he
could not understand why the young trader had so suddenly changed his
opinion. If he knew that his scheme would result in failure, why had
he risked his money in it? But this was nothing unusual with Tom.
One day he would be raised up to the highest pinnacle of joy and
excitement, by some wild project that entered his head, and to which
he held in spite of all that could be said against it; and, perhaps,
in an hour from that time, he would be plunged in the lowest depth
of despair, by the failure of his scheme. On these occasions, he
always endeavored to console himself by saying: “Didn’t I tell you it
wouldn’t work? I knew all the time just how it would turn out.” He
never acknowledged, even to himself, that he was wrong; and, in the
present instance, could he have discovered the slightest excuse for
so doing, he would have laid all the blame upon the fisher-boy.
Bob did not feel called upon to make any reply to Tom’s speech, so he
walked about the yard; and, for want of something better to do, began
to whistle.
“I see you don’t sympathize with me,” said Tom. “Well, I ought not
to be surprised at it, for nobody ever cares a red cent whether I
succeed or fail. It’s just my luck. I don’t want you any longer. I
owe you a dollar, and I’ll settle with you in the morning.”
As this was a gentle hint that his presence there was no longer
desirable, Bob took leave of his employer, and started for home,
pulling his wagon after him.
As soon as he was out of sight, Tom arose to his feet, thrust his
hands into his pockets, and began to walk about the yard. He had
concluded that he had seen enough of a trader’s life, that he would
never again attempt to play the part of speculator, and the usual
question then arose: To what should he turn his attention next? He
was balancing between three things--Mr. Henry’s store, the military
school, and a farm. Tom had often wished that he could be a grocer,
especially if he was sure that he could get along through the world
as smoothly as Mr. Henry; for he was a man who did not work. He
always went about the store in shirt sleeves, evidently keeping an
eye open to all that was going on; but Tom had never seen him roll
a barrel or measure out a bushel of potatoes. Such work was always
performed by the clerks; while the grocer himself seemed to have
nothing to do but take in his money, and stand before the counter
with his hands in his pockets talking with his customers. If Tom
could have gone into the store with the same privileges, or even as
clerk, it is probable that he would have decided to do so; but there
was one serious obstacle in his way, and that was, the ridiculous
custom so common among business men, of requiring an inexperienced
person to begin at the lowest situation and work his way up. He would
be obliged to build fires, sweep out the store, and run errands. How
would he look, walking through the streets with a basket of eggs or
butter on his arm? That was something his pride did not allow him to
do.
Then there was the military school; and on this question Tom, as he
had done a hundred times before, debated long and earnestly. Would
the pleasure he would experience in wearing the academy uniform, make
amends for the trouble and inconvenience that would be occasioned
by difficult lessons and strict discipline? Would the glory he would
win in fighting Indians on the plains, after he had graduated from
West Point, repay him for the dangers to which he would be exposed?
It would be a fine thing for him if he could become the captain of
one of the academy companies, and sport his shoulder-straps about the
village, but here he discovered two obstacles that had often stood in
his way--arithmetic and geography.
In his frequent conversations with the students of his acquaintance,
in regard to the manner in which affairs were conducted at the
school, he had made anxious inquiries concerning the different
branches taught there, and had found, to his disappointment, that
those he so much despised received their full share of attention.
It made no difference to the teachers of the academy what business
a boy intended to follow, arithmetic and geography were regarded as
very necessary to his success; and two hours each day were devoted to
these studies, until the professors were satisfied that the students
had thoroughly mastered them. Tom thought he could not stand this,
so the idea of attending the military school was again reluctantly
abandoned. His only resource, then, was farming; and just then, Tom
thought it was the “very business he had always wanted to go into.”
There would be no books to trouble him, and no teacher to say,
“Thomas, you will remain after school, and recite that arithmetic
lesson.” He would escape all these very disagreeable things, and
would have nothing to do but drive horses, milk cows, and spread hay,
and that would be fun for him. As usual, Tom managed to work himself
up to the highest pitch of excitement, and he imagined all sorts of
pleasant things that would happen, if he could only become a farmer.
But he had little hopes of being able to carry out his idea; for, as
his father “didn’t want him to enjoy himself, if he could help it,”
it was not at all probable that he would give his consent. And here
Tom showed how inconsistent he was. He had told the fisher-boy that
he had that day learned a lesson which he never would forget, and
that was, that when he knew he could not succeed in any undertaking,
he would not waste time in trying. But now, although he repeatedly
said to himself that he “knew his father would not let him go on a
farm,” he resolved to try to obtain his permission. Having made this
resolution, and settled it in his own mind, that his future happiness
depended upon the success of his new scheme, he walked toward the
house and entered the library. His father had finished reading his
paper, and sat gazing intently at the carpet, as if he there hoped to
find a solution to some problem that he was revolving in his mind. As
Tom seated himself in a chair at his side, he looked up and inquired:
“Well, how do you like trading? Do you find as much sport in it as
you expected?”
“O, no, father; there isn’t any fun in it,” was the answer. “I don’t
like it at all. I’ve quit the business. Didn’t I tell you I couldn’t
be a trader?”
Mr. Newcombe had heard this expression so often that he took no
notice of it.
“Let me see the list of the goods you bought,” said he.
Tom accordingly produced his memorandum-book; and while searching for
the bill, Mr. Newcombe found the “Contract and Shipping Articles”
that the young trader, in anticipation of complete success in his
speculations, had drawn up that morning. After considerable trouble
he got at the sense of the document, although, on account of the
miserable writing, he could not decipher all the words; and when he
found how high Tom’s lively imagination had carried him, he did not
wonder that his failure had discouraged him. After reading over the
list of articles that Tom had purchased, and noting the prices he had
paid for each, he inquired:
“What in the world induced you to give so much for your cargo? You
certainly did not expect to make any thing?”
“O, now, yes I did,” drawled Tom. “I expected to make at least ten
dollars to-day. I didn’t want to cheat that farmer. If I had been
in his place, I wouldn’t have sold my things for less than what I
offered him. But I’m sorry I dealt so fairly with him, because he
swindled me badly.”
“In what way?” asked Mr. Newcombe.
“In those chickens,” answered Tom, almost ready to cry again. “He
said that rooster beat every thing on his place, like two hundred;
but he can’t whip any thing. Your little bantam drove him out of the
barn-yard. He’s the biggest coward I ever saw. I wish I hadn’t named
him General Washington.”
“Well,” said the merchant, after a pause, “you say you have concluded
not to do any more trading. What are you going to try your hand at
next?”
“I want to be a farmer,” said Tom. “That’s just the business I have
always wanted to go into.”
Tom had expected a strong and decided opposition to this project,
and he was prepared to meet it with a host of arguments. But, to his
surprise, his father merely nodded his head, and then sat gazing at
the carpet, without making any reply. Tom was delighted, and he hoped
that, for once, his father was willing that he should “enjoy himself.”
“May I go?” he asked, eagerly.
“That depends upon whether or not you can find any farmer who is
willing to take you,” answered the merchant.
“But do you say that I may go, if I can find a place?” asked Tom,
impatiently. “That’s what I want to know.”
“The matter rests entirely with you,” was the reply. “But how long do
you suppose it will be before you will wish yourself at home again?”
“O, not for a long time! Of course I shall visit you as often as I
can; but, if I once get into the country, I shall always be a farmer.”
“We’ll see,” said the merchant. “But, Tom, if you are trying to find
some business in which you will have no work to do, and where there
will be nothing to trouble you, you may as well give it up first as
last, because you’ll never find it. You will discover a great many
things in a farmer’s life that you will not like.”
“O, I know all about that,” said Tom, shaking his head in a very
knowing manner. “I know just what I’ll have to do. I’ll have to drive
horses, and milk cows, and do all that kind of hard work, but I don’t
care. I’ll see Mr. Hayes the very next time he comes to town.”
Mr. Hayes was the man whose fine horses had attracted Tom’s
attention during the previous winter, and whom he had asked if
he “didn’t want to hire a boy.” The farmer had done considerable
business with Mr. Newcombe; and Tom, having often conversed with him,
had finally learned to look upon him as one of the finest men in the
world. His face always wore a good-natured smile, and, when he met
Tom, he always gave his hand a gripe and a shake which he felt for
half an hour afterward. Besides, he always inquired very particularly
into Tom’s affairs, and never forgot to ask--
“When be you goin’ out home with me? You’re jest the chap I want;
an’, if you’ll go, I’ll make a first-class farmer of you in no time.
You look like a smart little feller, an’ I know my boys would be
mighty glad to see you.”
Of course this won Tom’s heart; and when he received his father’s
permission to carry his new idea into execution, he did not feel as
if he were leaving home to go among entire strangers, but as if he
were about to take up his abode with those with whom he had long been
acquainted.
“Very well, then,” said Mr. Newcombe; “it’s settled, I suppose, that
you are to be a farmer. You had better pack your valise, for I expect
Mr. Hayes down in the morning.”
Tom would have been much better pleased had his father informed him
that the farmer was already at the door and waiting for him, so
impatient was he to be off. He could not postpone the packing of his
valise until morning, so he posted off to his room, pulled one of the
drawers out of his bureau, and tumbled its contents upon the floor.
If Tom wanted to find a handkerchief or a collar, this was generally
the way he went about it. From among the numerous articles in the
drawer, he selected three fine shirts, a box of collars, half a dozen
handkerchiefs, a bottle of cologne, several towels, a piece of soap,
and a brush and comb. These he crowded into his valise, without the
least regard for order, and then went into a closet, that opened
off his bed-room, after a pair of boots. But Tom had already been
there once before that day, looking for his fish-basket, in which
he wished to carry his provisions for the trading voyage, and, as a
consequence, the closet presented a scene of the greatest confusion.
Pants and coats had been taken down from their pegs and thrown upon
the floor, so that it was almost an impossibility to distinguish one
garment from another, and, with these, were mixed up fish-poles,
ball-bats, books, and the wreck of his little fire-engine, which, in
his hurry, he had literally smashed to pieces.
“O, now, just look at this,” drawled Tom, as he commenced pulling
over the articles, and throwing them out into his bed-room. “How can
a fellow find a pair of boots in a muss like this, I’d like to know?
Here’s one of them--now where’s the other? I do wish folks would let
my things alone.”
The search was a long and tedious one; for, after every thing in the
closet had been thrown into the bed-room, the missing boot had not
been found. Finally, Tom pulled his bed into the middle of the floor;
and this movement revealed another scene of confusion. Articles of
every description were mixed up in all conceivable shapes, and among
them, Tom at last found his boot.
“It’s lucky that I pulled that bed out,” said he to himself; “for
here are lots of things that I thought I had lost. Here’s one of the
Mystery’s oars, that I accused Bob Jennings of stealing. I’ll put it
right here, behind the door, so that I’ll know just where to find it
the next time I want it. There’s my favorite ball-bat, that I thought
Gus Miller had carried off. Here’s my fish-line, with which I once
knocked off old ’Squire Thompson’s new stove-pipe hat. Wasn’t he mad,
though? And here--well I declare, if here isn’t my jack-knife! I
thought that was gone up, sure. I’ll put it into my pocket, for I may
need it to cut switches, to drive the horses with.”
Thus enumerating the different articles which he discovered, Tom
found the boot of which he was in search, and which he put into his
valise, after wrapping it up in one of his clean shirts. Then the
other boot was missing; he had put it somewhere, and could not find
it.
“Now, just look at that,” whined Tom, as he took his stand in the
middle of the room, and gazed despairingly at the numerous piles of
clothing that lay scattered about the floor. “Something’s always
happening to bother me. I always was the most unlucky boy in the
whole world.”
Tom began to throw the clothing back into the closet, violently
shaking each garment before he did so, and the missing boot was
finally found on the bed. His farming outfit was now complete, with
the exception of a pair of black broadcloth pants, and a jacket,
which were found, after considerable trouble, and crowded into the
valise, which was so full that it could not be closed. Besides, the
key was lost. But Tom did not intend to look for that, for he might
as well have searched for a needle in a hay-stack, as to endeavor to
find so small an article as a key in his room. However, he did not
need it. Placing the valise flat upon the floor, he kneeled upon it,
and, exerting all his strength, succeeded in bringing the handles so
close together that they could be tied with a string.
“There,” said he, with something like a sigh of relief; “that job is
done. And now, I’m all ready to be a farmer. I wish Mr. Hayes would
come to-night, for I don’t like to wait. When I get ready to do a
thing, I want to be at it.”
Tom carried his valise down stairs, and placed it in the hall, near
the door; and then, walking out on the lawn, gave himself up to the
delights of dreaming.
“This is the business for me,” he soliloquized. “I’ll be certain to
succeed; for if I didn’t know it, I wouldn’t attempt it. What is
there to prevent my being a farmer, I’d like to know? I’ll have no
arithmetic or geography lessons to learn; no writing to work at; no
figures to culculate; no trading to do; no second mate to bother me;
no boots to black, or beds to make up; and no wood to saw. Now, hold
on a minute,” he added, shaking his head, doubtfully; “I don’t know
about that. Farmers must have wood, and, perhaps, Mr. Hayes will want
me to keep his galley-stove in fuel. No, sir; I won’t do it. Before I
hire out to him, I’ll be particular to ask him if I shall be obliged
to saw wood; and if he says ‘yes,’ I won’t go. I’ll look around and
find some other farmer that wants a boy. But if he says I needn’t
saw wood, I’m all right. I ought to be able to learn all about this
business in a short time, and then I’ll ask father to buy me a farm
and stock it for me. Then, perhaps, I might be as lucky as that
man in Iowa I heard father talking about the other day. He has six
thousand acres of land, and, in one year, he sold two thousand head
of cattle and twenty-five hundred sheep. He doesn’t do a stitch of
work, but employs all his time in riding about his farm on horseback.
Now, two thousand head of cattle, at--say ten dollars apiece; that
would be--would be--I wish Bob Jennings was here to tell me what it
would amount to, so that I might know how much I would make if I had
a farm like that.”
As these thoughts passed through Tom’s mind, he suddenly paused in
his walk, and then catching up his cap, which he had thrown under one
of the trees, he ran into the house, exclaiming:
“Father, will you please lend me a dollar until tomorrow? I want to
pay Bob Jennings what I owe him, and if I wait until morning, he may
be off to his fishing-grounds before I can see him.”
Tom hesitated as he said this, for he knew that he had not told
his father the real object he had in view; so, after a moment’s
reflection, he added: “I want to talk to Bob on business.”
Mr. Newcombe laid down his paper, produced his pocket-book, and
handed the required amount to Tom, who at once started for the home
of the fisher-boy. He found Bob engaged in bailing out his scow,
preparatory to starting for his pier after the workmen.
“Here’s your dollar,” said Tom, as he approached. “I thought I
wouldn’t wait until morning, for I am going into the country; I’m
going to be a farmer.”
“A farmer!” repeated Bob, as he took the money and put it carefully
away in his pocket. “Do you think you will like that business?”
“Like it! How can I help it? I’ll make plenty of money, too, one of
these days. Now, Bob, sit down here,” continued Tom, as he seated
himself on the gunwale of the scow. “There is a man somewhere out
West, who sold in one year two thousand head of cattle, and two
thousand five hundred sheep.”
“He was a farmer, wasn’t he?” exclaimed Bob.
“Yes, he was, and that’s just the kind of a farmer I am going to be
one of these days.”
“But, Tom,” said the fisher-boy, “have you given up all idea of going
to sea?”
“Of course I have,” was the answer. “I never wanted to go to sea,
only just long enough to make one voyage; but I always did want to be
a farmer. I’d rather follow that business than be captain of the best
man-o’-war afloat. Now, two thousand head of cattle, at ten dollars
each; that would make--let me see.”
“Ten dollars,” repeated Bob. “You wouldn’t sell beef-cattle for
that small price, would you? That man may have shipped them to some
Southern market, and received forty or fifty dollars each for them.”
“That’s more than I thought cattle were worth,” said Tom. “Now, two
thousand head, at fifty dollars each; that makes just--just--”
“A hundred thousand dollars,” said the fisher-boy.
“That’s lots of money, isn’t it?” asked Tom. “Now, twenty-five
hundred sheep, at two dollars a head; I heard father say that was the
market price, but I wouldn’t sell for that, if I owned any. However,
we’ll say two dollars; that would make--let me think--”
“Five thousand dollars,” said Bob.
“And that all makes--makes--”
“One hundred and five thousand dollars.”
Tom whistled long and loud.
“Now, wouldn’t you rather be a farmer than a sailor?” said he. “You
couldn’t make as much money as that by going to sea, if you should
live to be a thousand years old.”
“How did your father get his start in the world?” asked Bob; “wasn’t
it by going to sea, and saving his money?”
“Yes, but that’s too slow work. Besides, we all have different
talents, you know. You were made to be a sailor; so was your father
before you; but I was cut out for a farmer; and I’m going to be one,
too. Goodnight, Bob; I must go.”
“I’ve found the very business at last,” said Tom to himself, as he
walked homeward. “A hundred and five thousand dollars a year, and
nothing to do but ride around on horseback and look at your property.
Isn’t that glorious! Wouldn’t I feel proud if I could see so many
cattle and sheep feeding in one of my fields, and could say: ‘They’re
all mine! They’re worth a hundred and five thousand dollars?’ Whew!
I’m bound to be a farmer.”