Then he would resolve to
sit still and not say a word till Arthur began; but he was always beat
at that game, and had presently to begin talking in despair, fearing
lest Arthur might think he was vexed at something if he didn't, and
dog-tired of sitting tongue-tied.
It was hard work. But Tom had taken it up, and meant to stick to it, and
go through with it so as to satisfy himself; in which resolution he
was much assisted by the chafing of East and his other old friends, who
began to call him "dry-nurse," and otherwise to break their small wit
on him. But when they took other ground, as they did every now and then,
Tom was sorely puzzled.
"Tell you what, Tommy," East would say; "you'll spoil young Hopeful with
too much coddling. Why can't you let him go about by himself and find
his own level? He'll never be worth a button if you go on keeping him
under your skirts."
"Well, but he ain't fit to fight his own way yet; I'm trying to get him
to it every day, but he's very odd. Poor little beggar! I can't make him
out a bit. He ain't a bit like anything I've ever seen or heard of--he
seems all over nerves; anything you say seems to hurt him like a cut or
a blow."
"That sort of boy's no use here," said East; "he'll only spoil. Now I'll
tell you what to do, Tommy. Go and get a nice large band-box made, and
put him in with plenty of cotton-wool and a pap-bottle, labelled 'With
care--this side up,' and send him back to mamma.
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