THE TOWN of Wilton, aside from the manufacture of shoes, had no other branch of industry employing a considerable number of men and boys. This accounts for the difficulty Tom experienced in finding employment.

However, he did have one offer. In passing Abel Babcock’s blacksmith’s shop, the smith, who had just finished shoeing a horse, called out to him:

“Come here a minute, Tom.”

Tom entered the smithy.

“I hear you are out of a job, Tom.”

“Yes, Mr. Babcock. I am looking for work.”

“It was mean of John Simpson to turn you off, and I wouldn’t mind telling him so.”

“It was unlucky for me.”

“How would you like to learn my business?” asked Abel Babcock.

“The business of a blacksmith?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think it would suit me,” said Tom, slowly.

“You’ve got to do something, Tom. You can’t afford to be particular.”

67

“I know that. Suppose I said yes, what would you be willing to pay me?”

“Well,” said the smith, slowly, “I couldn’t pay you much—that is the first year. You couldn’t do much just at first.”

“But how much?” persisted Tom.

“Well, maybe I could afford to pay a dollar a week the first year.”

Tom shook his head.

“That wouldn’t do,” he said. “I have to help support my mother and sister. Mr. Simpson paid me three dollars a week, and it was all we could do to get along on that. Why doesn’t your son, James, learn the business?”

“I wish he would,” said the blacksmith, “but he prefers to work in a shoe shop. If he’d learn my business, he could earn more after awhile. Then you don’t think you’d like to go in with me?”

“Even if I did like it, I couldn’t afford to do it. But I’m much obliged to you for the offer.”

“Oh, you’re welcome, as far as that goes,” and Abel Babcock returned to his work.

“That boy’s goin’ to make a smart man some of those days,” said he to himself. “It’ll take more’n John Simpson to keep him down. He’s comin’ out at the top of the heap some time.”

It might have afforded Tom some satisfaction if he had been aware of Abel Babcock’s high opinion of him, but it is doubtful whether he would have been complacent enough to agree with him. The fact was, Tom began68 to feel sober. He was willing enough to work, but there seemed to be no opening for him—that is, in Wilton. For the first time he began to think of other places.

He picked up in the village store a stray copy of the New York Herald, and he ran his eye eagerly over the advertising column headed “Help Wanted.” It was clear, so he thought, there were places open in New York. But New York was thirty miles away, and he could not leave his mother and sister. On the other hand, he could be of little service to them while he remained out of work.

We need not dwell upon this time of discouragement. After Tom had fully satisfied himself that there was no one in Wilton who required his services, his friend Harry, authorized by his father, proposed to him to spend three hours a day in copying his old sermons, as already mentioned.

“He will pay you fifty cents a day,” said Harry, “I believe that is the same you received in the shop.”

“Yes, but I am afraid I can’t write well enough.”

“You write a good, plain hand, and that is all that is required. Do you accept?”

“I shall be very glad to,” answered Tom, with a sigh of relief. “I’m tired of doing nothing.”

“Then report at father’s study to-morrow morning at nine o’clock.”

Tom promised to do so.

It must be ad............