Crowded Out o' Crofield; or, The Boy who made his Way — John Shaqi
Crowded Out o' Crofield; or, The Boy who made his WayStoddard, William O.
General
Crowded Out o' Crofield; or, The Boy who made his Way
Stoddard, William O.
Conduct of life -- Juvenile fiction
"What on earth could you do in New York?" said his mother, staring at
him as if he had said something dreadful. She was not a small woman,
but she had an air of trying to be larger, and her face quickly began
to recover its ordinary smile of self-confident hope, so much like that
of Jack. She added, before anybody else could speak: "There are
thousands and thousands of folks there already. Well--I suppose you
could get along there, if they can."
"It's too full," said her husband. "It's fuller'n Crofield. He
couldn't do anything in a city. Besides, it isn't any use; he couldn't
get there, or anywhere near there, on six dollars."
"If he only could go somewhere, and do something, and be somebody,"
said Mary, staring hard at her plate.
She had echoed Jack's thought, perfectly. "That's you, Molly," he
said, "and I'm going to do it, too."
"You're going to work a-haying, all next week, I guess," said his
father, "if there's anybody wants ye. All the money you earn you can
give to your mother. You ain't going a-fishing again, right away.
Nobody ever caught the same fish twice."
Slowly, glumly, but promptly, Jack handed over his two greenbacks to
his mother, but he only remarked:
"If I work for anybody 'round here, they'll want me to take my pay in
hay. They won't pay cash."
"Hay's just as good," said his father; and then he changed the subject
and told his wife how the miller had again urged him to trade for the
strip of land along the creek, above and below the bridge. "It comes
right up to the line of my lot," he said, "and to Hawkins's fence. The
whole of it isn't worth as much as mine is, but I don't see what he
wants to trade for."
She agreed with him, and so did Aunt Melinda; but Jack and Mary
finished their suppers and went out to the front door. She stood still
for a moment, with her hands clasped behind her, looking across the
street, as if she were reading the sign on the shop. The discontented,
despondent expression on her face made her more and more like a very
young and pretty copy of her father.
"I don't care, Molly," said Jack. "If they take away every cent I get,
I'm going to the city, some time."
"I'd go, too, if I were a boy," she said. "I've got to stay at home
and wash dishes and sweep. You can go right out and make your fortune.
I've read of lots of boys that went away from home and worked their way
up. Some of 'em got to be Presidents."
"Some girls amount to something, too," said Jack. "You've been through
the Academy. I had to stop, when I was twelve, and go to work in a
store. Been in every store in Crofield. They didn't pay me a cent in
cash, but I learned the grocery business, and the dry-goods business,
and all about crockery. That was something. I could keep a store.
Some of the stores in New York 'd hold all the stores in Crofield."
"Some of 'em are owned and run by women, too," said Mary; "but there's
no use of my thinking of any such thing."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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