always stood near grandma’s old chair. “I ‘ve had so many plans in
my head lately, that sometimes it seems as if it would split,”
continued the poor fellow, rubbing his tired forehead, as if to
polish up his wits. “I ‘ve thought seriously of going to California,
Australia, or some out-of-the-way place, where men get rich in a
hurry.”
“Oh, no!” cried Polly, putting out her hand as it to keep him, and
then snatching it back again before he could turn round.
“It would be hard on mother and the girls, I suppose; besides, I
don’t quite like it myself; looks as if I shirked and ran away.”
“So it does,” said Polly, decidedly.
“Well, you see I don’t seem to find anything to do unless I turn
clerk, and I don’t think that would suit. The fact is, I could n’t stand
it here, where I ‘m known. It would be easier to scratch gravel on a
railroad, with a gang of Paddies, than to sell pins to my friends and
neighbors. False pride, I dare say, but it ‘s the truth, and there ‘s no
use in dodging.”
“Not a bit, and I quite agree with you.”
“That ‘s comfortable. Now I ‘m coming to the point where I
specially want your advice, Polly. Yesterday I heard you telling
Fan about your brother Ned; how well he got on; how he liked his
business, and wanted Will to come and take some place near him.
You thought I was reading, but I heard; and it struck me that
perhaps I could get a chance out West somewhere. What do you
think?”
“If you really mean work, I know you could,” answered Polly,
quickly, as all sorts of plans and projects went sweeping through
her mind. “I wish you could be with Ned; you ‘d get on together, I
‘m sure; and he ‘d be so glad to do anything he could. I ‘ll write and
ask, straight away, if you want me to.”
“Suppose you do; just for information, you know, then I shall have
something to go upon. I want to have a feasible plan all ready,
before I speak to father. There ‘s nothing so convincing to business
men as facts, you know.”
Polly could not help smiling at Tom’s new tone, it seemed so
strange to hear him talking about anything but horses and tailors,
dancing and girls. She liked it, however, as much as she did the
sober expression of his face, and the way he had lately of swinging
his arms about, as if he wanted to do something energetic with
them.
“That will be wise. Do you think your father will like this plan?”
“Pretty sure be will. Yesterday, when I told him I must go at
something right off, he said, ‘Anything honest, Tom, and don’t
forget that your father began the world as a shop-boy.’ You knew
that, did n’t you?”
“Yes, he told me the story once, and I always liked to hear it,
because it was pleasant to see how well he had succeeded.”
“I never did like the story, a little bit ashamed, I ‘m afraid; but
when we talked it over last night, it struck me in a new light, and I
understood why father took the failure so well, and seems so
contented with this poorish place. It is only beginning again, he
says; and having worked his way up once, he feels as if he could
again. I declare to you, Polly, that sort of confidence in himself,
and energy and courage in a man of his years, makes me love and
respect the dear old gentleman as I never did before.”
“I ‘m so glad to hear you say that, Tom! I ‘ve sometimes thought
you did n’t quite appreciate your father, any more than he knew
how much of a man you were.”
“Never was till to-day, you know,” said Tom, laughing, yet looking
as if he felt the dignity of his one and twenty years. “Odd, is n’t it,
how people live together ever so long, and don’t seem to find one
another out, till something comes to do it for them. Perhaps this