Book 3 - Chapter 5 - Page 2

Tom was the more hopeful about
applying to him. His uncle Glegg, he felt sure, would never encourage
any spirited project, but he had a vague imposing idea of the
resources at his uncle Deane's command. He had heard his father say,
long ago, how Deane had made himself so valuable to Guest & Co. that
they were glad enough to offer him a share in the business; that was
what Tom resolved _he_ would do. It was intolerable to think of being
poor and looked down upon all one's life. He would provide for his
mother and sister, and make every one say that he was a man of high
character. He leaped over the years in this way, and, in the haste of
strong purpose and strong desire, did not see how they would be made
up of slow days, hours, and minutes.

By the time he had crossed the stone bridge over the Floss and was
entering St. Ogg's, he was thinking that he would buy his father's
mill and land again when he was rich enough, and improve the house and
live there; he should prefer it to any smarter, newer place, and he
could keep as many horses and dogs as he liked.

Walking along the street with a firm, rapid step, at this point in his
reverie he was startled by some one who had crossed without his
notice, and who said to him in a rough, familiar voice:

"Why, Master Tom, how's your father this morning?" It was a publican
of St. Ogg's, one of his father's customers.

Tom disliked being spoken to just then; but he said civilly, "He's
still very ill, thank you."

"Ay, it's been a sore chance for you, young man, hasn't it,--this
lawsuit turning out against him?" said the publican, with a confused,
beery idea of being good-natured.

Tom reddened and passed on; he would have felt it like the handling of
a bruise, even if there had been the most polite and delicate
reference to his position.

"That's Tulliver's son," said the publican to a grocer standing on the
adjacent door-step.

"Ah!" said the grocer, "I thought I knew his features. He takes after
his mother's family; she was a Dodson. He's a fine, straight youth;
what's he been brought up to?"

"Oh! to turn up his nose at his father's customers, and be a fine
gentleman,--not much else, I think."

Tom, roused from his dream of the future to a thorough consciousness
of the present, made all the greater haste to reach the warehouse
offices of Guest & Co., where he expected to find his uncle Deane. But
this was Mr. Deane's morning at the band, a clerk told him, and with
some contempt for his ignorance; Mr. Deane was not to be found in
River Street on a Thursday morning.

At the bank Tom was admitted into the private room where his uncle
was, immediately after sending in his name. Mr. Deane was