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.