Samantha among the Brethren — Volume 6 by Marietta Holley (sight word readers txt) 📕

When Phil left the presence of Mrs. Brent, he felt as if he had been suddenly transported to a new world. He was no longer Philip Brent, and the worst of it was that he did not know who he was. In his tumultuous state of feeling, however, one thing seemed clear—his prospects were wholly changed, and his plans for the future also. Mrs. Brent had told him that he was wholly dependent upon her. Well, he did not intend to remain so. His home had not been pleasant at the best. As a dependent upon the bounty of such a woman it would be worse. He resolved to leave home and strike out for himself, not from any such foolish idea of independence as sometimes leads boys to desert a good home for an uncertain skirmish with the world, but simply be cause he felt now that he had no real home.

To begin with he would need money, and on opening his pocket-book he ascertained that his available funds consisted of only a dollar and thirty-seven cents. That wasn't quite enough to begin the world with. But he had other resources. He owned a gun, which a friend of his would be ready to take off his hands. He had a boat, also, which he could probably sell.

On the village street he met Reuben Gordon, a young journeyman carpenter, who was earning good wages, and had money to spare.

“How are you, Phil,” said Reuben in a friendly way.

“You are just the one I want to meet,” said Phil earnestly. “Didn't you tell me once you would like to buy my gun?”

“Yes. Want to sell it?”

“No, I don't; but I want the money it will bring. So I'll sell it if you'll buy.”

“What d'ye want for it?” asked Reuben cautiously.

“Six dollars.”

“Too much. I'll give five.”

“You can have it,” said Phil after a pause. “How soon can you let me have the money?”

“Bring the gun round to-night, and I'll pay you for it.”

“All right. Do you know of any one who wants to buy a boat?”

“What? Going to sell that, too?”

“Yes.”

“Seems to me you're closin' up business?” said Reuben shrewdly.

“So I am. I'm going to leave Planktown.”

“You don't say? Well, I declare! Where are you goin'?”

“To New York, I guess.”

“Got any prospect there?”

“Yes.”

This was not, perhaps, strictly true—that is, Phil had no definite prospect, but he felt that there must be a chance in a large city like New York for any one who was willing to work, and so felt measurably justified in saying what he did.

“I hadn't thought of buyin' a boat,” said Reuben thoughtfully.

Phil pricked up his ears at the hint of a possible customer.

“You'd better buy mine,” he said quickly; “I'll sell it cheap.”

“How cheap?”

“Ten dollars.”

“That's too much.”

“It cost me fifteen.”

“But it's second-hand now, you know,” said Reuben.

“It's just as good as new. I'm taking off five dollars, though, you see.”

“I don't think I want it enough to pay ten dollars.”

“What will you give?”

Reuben finally agreed to pay seven dollars and seventy-five cents, after more or less bargaining, and to pay the money that evening upon delivery of the goods.

“I don't think I've got anything more to sell,” said Phil thoughtfully. “There's my skates, but they are not very good. I'll give them to Tommy Kavanagh. He can't afford to buy a pair.”

Tommy was the son of a poor widow, and was very much pleased with the