expected that when he should be comfortably
settled in some remote corner of the world, far away from all the
troubles and vexations that had made his life in Newport so miserable,
he would realize his idea of supreme felicity; but one element in his
happiness was to be the satisfaction of knowing that he had carried out
his threat, and "squared yards" with every body; that he had destroyed
the Storm King; that he had rendered the naval commission, in which
Harry Green took so much pride and delight, perfectly useless to him,
and that he had taken ample revenge upon his father and upon the
principal of the military academy. With such thoughts as these to
console him, Tom imagined that he would be perfectly content to pass the
remainder of his days on some desert island, even in the company of such
uncongenial fellows as Sam Barton and his men; but now he knew that
could not be. His splendid scheme had failed. The yacht was still right
side up, as swift and as handsome as ever, and as sound as a dollar, in
spite of the charred and smoked wood-work in her galley. That was enough
to banish all Tom's hopes of happiness. He could not enjoy a moment's
peace of mind as long as the Storm King remained above water. He was a
disappointed boy--an unlucky, ill-used, and unappreciated boy,
too--whose life must henceforth be a desert and a blank. No more sport,
no more enjoyment for him, and all because of that one unkind act of his
father's.

This was the way the captain of the Crusoe band reasoned with himself as
he leaned over the rail, gazing through the darkness toward the spot
where he had last seen the yacht, and that was the way he would have
told his story to any stranger who he thought would sympathize with him;
but if such sensible fellows as Johnny Harding, Harry Green, and Bill
Steele had been consulted, they would have shown Tom up in a different
kind of light altogether. They would have cleared Mr. Newcombe, and
placed all the blame right where it belonged--upon Tom's own shoulders.
They would have described the home and surroundings of this "Boy of Bad
Habits"--this "ROLLING STONE"--who had gone from one thing to another in
search of that which none of us find in this world--freedom from care
and trouble--and would have proved that he ought to have been one of the
happiest boys in Newport. They would have told that his sole object in
life had been to avoid every thing that looked like work, and to
establish himself i