Tom Temple's Career

Some people might object to turning even a part of their dwellings into a business office, but then it saved rent, and Mr. Middleton was one of the saving kind. He had always been saving from the first time he received a penny at the mature age of five, and triumphing over the delusive pleasures of an investment in candy, put it in a tin savings-bank to the present moment. He didn’t marry until the age of forty, not having dared to undertake the expense of maintaining two persons. At that time, however, he fortunately encountered a maiden lady of about his own age, whose habits were equally economical, who possessed the sum of four thousand dollars. After a calculation of some length he concluded that it would be for his pecuniary benefit to marry. He proposed, was accepted, and in due time Miss Corinthia Carver became Mrs. Nathan Middleton.

Their married life had lasted eight years, when they very unexpectedly became the custodian of my hero.

One day Mr. Middleton sat in his office, drawing up an application for insurance, when a stranger entered.

“Wants to insure his life, I hope,” thought Nathan, in the hope of a commission.

“Take a chair, sir. What can I do for you?” he asked urbanely. “Have you been thinking of insuring your life? I represent some of the best companies in the country.”

“That isn’t my business,” said the visitor decisively.

Nathan looked disappointed, and waited for the business to be announced.

“You had a school-mate named Stephen Temple, did you not, Mr. Middleton?”

“Yes; we used to go to school together. What has become of him?”

“He is dead.”

“I am sorry to hear it. Any family?”

“One son, a boy of sixteen. That is why I am here.”

“Really, I don’t understand you.”

“He has left his son to you,” said the stranger.

“What!” exclaimed Nathan, in dismay.

“Having no other friends, for he has been away from home nearly all his life, he thought you would be willing to give the boy a home.”

Instantly there rose in the economical mind of Mr. Middleton an appalling array of expenses, including board, washing, clothes, books and so on, which would be likely to be incurred on behalf of a well-grown boy, and he actually shuddered.

“Stephen Temple had no right to expect such a thing of me,” he said. “The fact that we went to school together doesn’t give him any claim upon me. If the boy hasn’t got any relations willing to support him he should be sent to the poor-house.”

The visitor laughed heartily, much to Nathan Middleton’s bewilderment.

“I don’t see what I have said that is so very amusing,” he said stiffly.

“You talk of a boy worth forty thousand dollars going to the poor-house!”

“What!” exclaimed Nathan, in open-eyed wonder.

“As his father directs that his guardian shall receive a thousand dollars a year for his care, most persons would not refuse so hastily.”

“My dear sir!” said Nathan persuasively, feeling as if he had suddenly discovered a gold mine, “is this really true?”

“I can show you a copy of the will, if you are in doubt.”

“I believe you implicitly, my dear sir; and so poor Stephen is dead!” and the insurance agent took out his handkerchief and placed it before his eyes to wipe away the imaginary tears. “We were very intimate when we were boys—like brothers, in fact. Excuse my tears, I shall soon recover the momentary shock of your sad announcement.”

“I hope so,” said the visitor dryly. “As you are not willing to take the boy, I will look elsewhere.”

“My dear sir,” hastily exclaimed Nathan, alarmed at the prospect of losing a thousand dollars a year, “you are quite mistaken. I have not refused.”

“You suggested his being cared for by some relative.”

“It was a misapprehension, I assure you. I will gladly receive my poor friend’s son into my happy home circle. I will be his second father. I have no sons of my own. I will lavish upon him the tenderness of a parent.”

The visitor laughed shortly.

“I am afraid you have very little idea of what Tom Temple is.”

“He is the son of my early friend.”

“That may be, but that don’t make him a model, or a very desirable boarder.”

“Is he a bad boy?”

“He is known among us as ‘The Bully of the Village.’ He is fond of teasing and domineering over other boys, and is full of mischief. He is sure to give you trouble.”

“I’d rather he was a good boy,” thought Nathan, “but a thousand dollars will make up for a good deal of trouble.”

“Does my description frighten you?” said the visitor.

“No,” said Nathan. “Out of regard for the lamented friend of my early days, I will receive this misguided boy, and try to correct his faults and make him steady and well-behaved.”

“You’ll find it a hard job, my friend.”