Poor Tom formed no visions of the distant future as he made his way homeward; he only felt that the present was very hard. It seemed a wrong towards him that his uncle Deane had no confidence in him - did not see at once that he should acquit himself well, which Tom himself was as certain of as of the daylight. Apparently he, Tom Tulliver, was likely to be held of small account in the world, and for the first time he felt a sinking of heart under the sense that he really was very ignorant and could do very little. Who was that enviable young man, that could tell the cubic contents of things in no time, and make suggestions about Swedish bark? Swedish bark! Tom had been used to be so entirely satisfied with himself in spite of his breaking down in a demonstration and construing nunc illas promite vires, as `now promise those men:' but now he suddenly felt at a disadvantage, because he knew less than some one else knew. There must be a world of things connected with that Swedish bark, which, if he only knew them, might have helped him to get on. It would have been much easier to make a figure with a spirited horse and a new saddle.
Two hours ago, as Tom was walking to St Ogg's, he saw the distant future before him, as he might have seen a tempting stretch of smooth sandy beach beyond a belt of flinty shingles: he was on the grassy bank then, and thought the shingles might soon be passed. But now his feet were on the sharp stones: the belt of shingles had widened, and the stretch of sand had dwindled into narrowness.
`What did my uncle Deane say, Tom?' said Maggie, putting her arm through Tom's as he was warming himself rather drearily by the kitchen fire. `Did he say he would give you a situation?'
`No, he didn't say that. He didn't quite promise me anything: he seemed to think I couldn't have a very good situation. I'm too young.'
`But didn't he speak kindly, Tom?'
`Kindly? Pooh! what's the use of talking about that? I wouldn't care about his speaking kindly if I could get a situation. But it's such a nuisance and bother - I've been at school all this while learning Latin and things - not a bit of good to me - and now my uncle says, I must set about learning book-keeping and calculation and those things. He seems to make out I'm good for nothing.'
Tom's mouth twitched with a bitter expression as he looked at the fire.
`O what a pity we haven't got Dominie Sampson,' said Maggie, who couldn't help mingling some gaiety with their sadness. `If he had taught me book-keeping by double entry and after the Italian method, as he did Lucy Bertram, I could teach you, Tom.'
`You teach! Yes, I daresay. That's always the tone you take,' said Tom.
`Dear Tom! I was only joking,' said Maggie, putting her cheek against his coat sleeve.
`But it's always the same, Maggie,' said Tom, with the little frown he put on when he was about to be justifiably severe. `You're always setting yourself up above me and every one else. And I've wanted to tell you about it several times. You ought not to have spoken as you did to my uncles and aunts - you should leave it to me to take care of my mother and you, and not put yourself forward. You think you know better than any one, but you're almost always wrong. I can judge much better than you can.'
Poor Tom! he had just come from being lectured and made to feel his inferiority: the reaction of his strong, self-asserting nature must take place somehow, and here was a case in which he could justly show himself dominant. Maggie's cheek flushed and her lip quivered with conflicting resentment and affection and a certain awe as well as admiration of Tom's firmer and more effective character. She did not answer immediately; very angry words rose to her lips, but they were driven back again, and she said at last,