Then he would resolve to sit still and not say a word till Arthur began; but he was always beat at that game, and had presently to begin talking in despair, fearing lest Arthur might think he was vexed at something if he didn't, and dog-tired of sitting tongue-tied.
It was hard work.

But Tom had taken it up, and meant to stick to it, and go through with it so as to satisfy himself; in which resolution he was much assisted by the chafing of East and his other old friends, who began to call him "dry-nurse," and otherwise to break their small wit on him.

But when they took other ground, as they did every now and then, Tom was sorely puzzled.
"Tell you what, Tommy," East would say; "you'll spoil young Hopeful with too much coddling.

Why can't you let him go about by himself and find his own level?
He'll never be worth a button if you go on keeping him under your skirts." "Well, but he ain't fit to fight his own way yet; I'm trying to get him to it every day, but he's very odd.

Poor little beggar! I can't make him out a bit.