Tom's hot blood had been fired by the adventures of the past
months; his vanity had been flattered by the success which he had
met with; his self confidence (always rather too strong) had grown
and increased with great rapidity. He felt that without adventure
and peril of some sort life would be tame and flat. To live as
Master Cale lived, a quiet uneventful life of honest toil, seemed
repugnant to him. Even to do as Harry Gay did, and pass the time in
wandering between coffee houses and the play, or taking a wherry
and rowing hither and thither on the great river, or walking or
riding into the country--all this now seemed to him tame and
tiresome.
He turned and tossed upon his bed, wondering what had come to him,
and what life held in store for him. He thirsted for adventure, for
the excitements and perils which he had experienced of late. His
blood tingled at the memories he conjured up of those things he had
passed through--the strife of arms, the fierce joy of battle, the
breathless gallops from pursuing foes, and the hairbreadth perils
they had come through.
That was life! That was what he longed after! He cared little for
the gay resorts of town, save as an interlude. The life of the
streets soon palled upon him.
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