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diff --git a/5348-h/5348-h.htm b/5348-h/5348-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d5a9a0e --- /dev/null +++ b/5348-h/5348-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,11425 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ragged Dick, by Horatio Alger</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +.p2 {margin-top: 2em;} + +p.letter {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.right {text-align: right; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> + +</head> + +<body> + +<div style='text-align:center; font-size:1.2em; font-weight:bold'>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Ragged Dick, by Horatio Alger</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and +most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions +whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms +of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online +at <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. If you +are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the +country where you are located before using this eBook. +</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: Ragged Dick<br /> +Or, Street Life in New York with the Boot-Blacks</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Horatio Alger</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: July 4, 2002 [eBook #5348]<br /> +[Most recently updated: July 20, 2021]</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</div> +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'>Character set encoding: UTF-8</div> +<div style='display:block; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Produced by: Andrew Sly</div> +<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RAGGED DICK ***</div> + +<h1>Ragged Dick</h1> + +<h3>OR,</h3> + +<h3>STREET LIFE IN NEW YORK WITH THE BOOT-BLACKS.</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">by Horatio Alger Jr.</h2> + +<hr /> + +<h2>Contents</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#pref01">PREFACE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap01">CHAPTER I. RAGGED DICK IS INTRODUCED TO THE READER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap02">CHAPTER II. JOHNNY NOLAN</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap03">CHAPTER III. DICK MAKES A PROPOSITION</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap04">CHAPTER IV. DICK’S NEW SUIT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap05">CHAPTER V. CHATHAM STREET AND BROADWAY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap06">CHAPTER VI. UP BROADWAY TO MADISON SQUARE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap07">CHAPTER VII. THE POCKET-BOOK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap08">CHAPTER VIII. DICK’S EARLY HISTORY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap09">CHAPTER IX. A SCENE IN A THIRD AVENUE CAR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap10">CHAPTER X. INTRODUCES A VICTIM OF MISPLACED CONFIDENCE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap11">CHAPTER XI. DICK AS A DETECTIVE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap12">CHAPTER XII. DICK HIRES A ROOM ON MOTT STREET</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap13">CHAPTER XIII. MICKY MAGUIRE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap14">CHAPTER XIV. A BATTLE AND A VICTORY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap15">CHAPTER XV. DICK SECURES A TUTOR</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap16">CHAPTER XVI. THE FIRST LESSON</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap17">CHAPTER XVII. DICK’S FIRST APPEARANCE IN SOCIETY</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap18">CHAPTER XVIII. MICKY MAGUIRE’S SECOND DEFEAT</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap19">CHAPTER XIX. FOSDICK CHANGES HIS BUSINESS</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap20">CHAPTER XX. NINE MONTHS LATER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap21">CHAPTER XXI. DICK LOSES HIS BANK-BOOK</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap22">CHAPTER XXII. TRACKING THE THIEF</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap23">CHAPTER XXIII. TRAVIS IS ARRESTED</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap24">CHAPTER XXIV. DICK RECEIVES A LETTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap25">CHAPTER XXV. DICK WRITES HIS FIRST LETTER</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap26">CHAPTER XXVI. AN EXCITING ADVENTURE</a></td> +</tr> + +<tr> +<td> <a href="#chap27">CHAPTER XXVII. CONCLUSION</a></td> +</tr> + +</table> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<p class="center"> +To<br/> +Joseph W. Allen,<br/> +at whose suggestion this story<br/> +was undertaken,<br/> +it is<br/> +inscribed with friendly regard. +</p> + +<hr /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="pref01"></a>PREFACE</h2> + +<p> +“Ragged Dick” was contributed as a serial story to the pages of the +Schoolmate, a well-known juvenile magazine, during the year 1867. While in +course of publication, it was received with so many evidences of favor that it +has been rewritten and considerably enlarged, and is now presented to the +public as the first volume of a series intended to illustrate the life and +experiences of the friendless and vagrant children who are now numbered by +thousands in New York and other cities. +</p> + +<p> +Several characters in the story are sketched from life. The necessary +information has been gathered mainly from personal observation and +conversations with the boys themselves. The author is indebted also to the +excellent Superintendent of the Newsboys’ Lodging House, in Fulton +Street, for some facts of which he has been able to make use. Some anachronisms +may be noted. Wherever they occur, they have been admitted, as aiding in the +development of the story, and will probably be considered as of little +importance in an unpretending volume, which does not aspire to strict +historical accuracy. +</p> + +<p> +The author hopes that, while the volumes in this series may prove interesting +stories, they may also have the effect of enlisting the sympathies of his +readers in behalf of the unfortunate children whose life is described, and of +leading them to co-operate with the praiseworthy efforts now making by the +Children’s Aid Society and other organizations to ameliorate their +condition. +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +New York, April, 1868 +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap01"></a>CHAPTER I.<br/> +RAGGED DICK IS INTRODUCED TO THE READER</h2> + +<p> +“Wake up there, youngster,” said a rough voice. +</p> + +<p> +Ragged Dick opened his eyes slowly, and stared stupidly in the face of the +speaker, but did not offer to get up. +</p> + +<p> +“Wake up, you young vagabond!” said the man a little impatiently; +“I suppose you’d lay there all day, if I hadn’t called +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What time is it?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Seven o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +“Seven o’clock! I oughter’ve been up an hour ago. I know what +’twas made me so precious sleepy. I went to the Old Bowery last night, +and didn’t turn in till past twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +“You went to the Old Bowery? Where’d you get your money?” +asked the man, who was a porter in the employ of a firm doing business on +Spruce Street. “Made it by shines, in course. My guardian don’t +allow me no money for theatres, so I have to earn it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some boys get it easier than that,” said the porter significantly. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t catch me stealin’, if that’s what you +mean,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you ever steal, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, and I wouldn’t. Lots of boys does it, but I +wouldn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’m glad to hear you say that. I believe there’s some +good in you, Dick, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m a rough customer!” said Dick. “But I +wouldn’t steal. It’s mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you think so, Dick,” and the rough voice sounded +gentler than at first. “Have you got any money to buy your +breakfast?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, but I’ll soon get some.” +</p> + +<p> +While this conversation had been going on, Dick had got up. His bedchamber had +been a wooden box half full of straw, on which the young boot-black had reposed +his weary limbs, and slept as soundly as if it had been a bed of down. He +dumped down into the straw without taking the trouble of undressing. +</p> + +<p> +Getting up too was an equally short process. He jumped out of the box, shook +himself, picked out one or two straws that had found their way into rents in +his clothes, and, drawing a well-worn cap over his uncombed locks, he was all +ready for the business of the day. +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s appearance as he stood beside the box was rather peculiar. His +pants were torn in several places, and had apparently belonged in the first +instance to a boy two sizes larger than himself. He wore a vest, all the +buttons of which were gone except two, out of which peeped a shirt which looked +as if it had been worn a month. To complete his costume he wore a coat too long +for him, dating back, if one might judge from its general appearance, to a +remote antiquity. +</p> + +<p> +Washing the face and hands is usually considered proper in commencing the day, +but Dick was above such refinement. He had no particular dislike to dirt, and +did not think it necessary to remove several dark streaks on his face and +hands. But in spite of his dirt and rags there was something about Dick that +was attractive. It was easy to see that if he had been clean and well dressed +he would have been decidedly good-looking. Some of his companions were sly, and +their faces inspired distrust; but Dick had a frank, straight-forward manner +that made him a favorite. +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s business hours had commenced. He had no office to open. His little +blacking-box was ready for use, and he looked sharply in the faces of all who +passed, addressing each with, “Shine yer boots, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“How much?” asked a gentleman on his way to his office. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten cents,” said Dick, dropping his box, and sinking upon his +knees on the sidewalk, flourishing his brush with the air of one skilled in his +profession. +</p> + +<p> +“Ten cents! Isn’t that a little steep?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you know ’taint all clear profit,” said Dick, who had +already set to work. “There’s the <i>blacking</i> costs something, +and I have to get a new brush pretty often.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have a large rent too,” said the gentleman quizzically, +with a glance at a large hole in Dick’s coat. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Dick, always ready to joke; “I have to pay +such a big rent for my manshun up on Fifth Avenoo, that I can’t afford to +take less than ten cents a shine. I’ll give you a bully shine, +sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be quick about it, for I am in a hurry. So your house is on Fifth +Avenue, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t anywhere else,” said Dick, and Dick spoke the truth +there. +</p> + +<p> +“What tailor do you patronize?” asked the gentleman, surveying +Dick’s attire. +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like to go to the same one?” asked Dick, shrewdly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, no; it strikes me that he didn’t give you a very good +fit.” +</p> + +<p> +“This coat once belonged to General Washington,” said Dick, +comically. “He wore it all through the Revolution, and it got torn some, +’cause he fit so hard. When he died he told his widder to give it to some +smart young feller that hadn’t got none of his own; so she gave it to me. +But if you’d like it, sir, to remember General Washington by, I’ll +let you have it reasonable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to deprive you of it. And did your +pants come from General Washington too?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, they was a gift from Lewis Napoleon. Lewis had outgrown ’em +and sent ’em to me,—he’s bigger than me, and that’s why +they don’t fit.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems you have distinguished friends. Now, my lad, I suppose you +would like your money.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t have any objection,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe,” said the gentleman, examining his pocket-book, +“I haven’t got anything short of twenty-five cents. Have you got +any change?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a cent,” said Dick. “All my money’s invested in +the Erie Railroad.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s unfortunate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I get the money changed, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t wait; I’ve got to meet an appointment immediately. +I’ll hand you twenty-five cents, and you can leave the change at my +office any time during the day.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, sir. Where is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. 125 Fulton Street. Shall you remember?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. What name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Greyson,—office on second floor.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right, sir; I’ll bring it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder whether the little scamp will prove honest,” said Mr. +Greyson to himself, as he walked away. “If he does, I’ll give him +my custom regularly. If he don’t as is most likely, I shan’t mind +the loss of fifteen cents.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Greyson didn’t understand Dick. Our ragged hero wasn’t a model +boy in all respects. I am afraid he swore sometimes, and now and then he played +tricks upon unsophisticated boys from the country, or gave a wrong direction to +honest old gentlemen unused to the city. A clergyman in search of the Cooper +Institute he once directed to the Tombs Prison, and, following him unobserved, +was highly delighted when the unsuspicious stranger walked up the front steps +of the great stone building on Centre Street, and tried to obtain admission. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess he wouldn’t want to stay long if he did get in,” +thought Ragged Dick, hitching up his pants. “Leastways I shouldn’t. +They’re so precious glad to see you that they won’t let you go, but +board you gratooitous, and never send in no bills.” +</p> + +<p> +Another of Dick’s faults was his extravagance. Being always wide-awake +and ready for business, he earned enough to have supported him comfortably and +respectably. There were not a few young clerks who employed Dick from time to +time in his professional capacity, who scarcely earned as much as he, greatly +as their style and dress exceeded his. But Dick was careless of his earnings. +Where they went he could hardly have told himself. However much he managed to +earn during the day, all was generally spent before morning. He was fond of +going to the Old Bowery Theatre, and to Tony Pastor’s, and if he had any +money left afterwards, he would invite some of his friends in somewhere to have +an oyster-stew; so it seldom happened that he commenced the day with a penny. +</p> + +<p> +Then I am sorry to add that Dick had formed the habit of smoking. This cost him +considerable, for Dick was rather fastidious about his cigars, and +wouldn’t smoke the cheapest. Besides, having a liberal nature, he was +generally ready to treat his companions. But of course the expense was the +smallest objection. No boy of fourteen can smoke without being affected +injuriously. Men are frequently injured by smoking, and boys always. But large +numbers of the newsboys and boot-blacks form the habit. Exposed to the cold and +wet they find that it warms them up, and the self-indulgence grows upon them. +It is not uncommon to see a little boy, too young to be out of his +mother’s sight, smoking with all the apparent satisfaction of a veteran +smoker. +</p> + +<p> +There was another way in which Dick sometimes lost money. There was a noted +gambling-house on Baxter Street, which in the evening was sometimes crowded +with these juvenile gamesters, who staked their hard earnings, generally losing +of course, and refreshing themselves from time to time with a vile mixture of +liquor at two cents a glass. Sometimes Dick strayed in here, and played with +the rest. +</p> + +<p> +I have mentioned Dick’s faults and defects, because I want it understood, +to begin with, that I don’t consider him a model boy. But there were some +good points about him nevertheless. He was above doing anything mean or +dishonorable. He would not steal, or cheat, or impose upon younger boys, but +was frank and straight-forward, manly and self-reliant. His nature was a noble +one, and had saved him from all mean faults. I hope my young readers will like +him as I do, without being blind to his faults. Perhaps, although he was only a +boot-black, they may find something in him to imitate. +</p> + +<p> +And now, having fairly introduced Ragged Dick to my young readers, I must refer +them to the next chapter for his further adventures. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap02"></a>CHAPTER II.<br/> +JOHNNY NOLAN</h2> + +<p> +After Dick had finished polishing Mr. Greyson’s boots he was fortunate +enough to secure three other customers, two of them reporters in the Tribune +establishment, which occupies the corner of Spruce Street and Printing House +Square. +</p> + +<p> +When Dick had got through with his last customer the City Hall clock indicated +eight o’clock. He had been up an hour, and hard at work, and naturally +began to think of breakfast. He went up to the head of Spruce Street, and +turned into Nassau. Two blocks further, and he reached Ann Street. On this +street was a small, cheap restaurant, where for five cents Dick could get a cup +of coffee, and for ten cents more, a plate of beefsteak with a plate of bread +thrown in. These Dick ordered, and sat down at a table. +</p> + +<p> +It was a small apartment with a few plain tables unprovided with cloths, for +the class of customers who patronized it were not very particular. Our +hero’s breakfast was soon before him. Neither the coffee nor the steak +were as good as can be bought at Delmonico’s; but then it is very +doubtful whether, in the present state of his wardrobe, Dick would have been +received at that aristocratic restaurant, even if his means had admitted of +paying the high prices there charged. +</p> + +<p> +Dick had scarcely been served when he espied a boy about his own size standing +at the door, looking wistfully into the restaurant. This was Johnny Nolan, a +boy of fourteen, who was engaged in the same profession as Ragged Dick. His +wardrobe was in very much the same condition as Dick’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Had your breakfast, Johnny?” inquired Dick, cutting off a piece of +steak. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, then. Here’s room for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I aint got no money,” said Johnny, looking a little enviously at +his more fortunate friend. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you had any shines?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I had one, but I shan’t get any pay till to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you hungry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Try me, and see.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come in. I’ll stand treat this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Johnny Nolan was nowise slow to accept this invitation, and was soon seated +beside Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“What’ll you have, Johnny?” +</p> + +<p> +“Same as you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cup o’ coffee and beefsteak,” ordered Dick. +</p> + +<p> +These were promptly brought, and Johnny attacked them vigorously. +</p> + +<p> +Now, in the boot-blacking business, as well as in higher avocations, the same +rule prevails, that energy and industry are rewarded, and indolence suffers. +Dick was energetic and on the alert for business, but Johnny the reverse. The +consequence was that Dick earned probably three times as much as the other. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you like it?” asked Dick, surveying Johnny’s attacks +upon the steak with evident complacency. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s hunky.” +</p> + +<p> +I don’t believe “hunky” is to be found in either +Webster’s or Worcester’s big dictionary; but boys will readily +understand what it means. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you come here often?” asked Johnny. +</p> + +<p> +“Most every day. You’d better come too.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t afford it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, you’d ought to, then,” said Dick. “What do you +do I’d like to know?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t get near as much as you, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well you might if you tried. I keep my eyes open,—that’s the +way I get jobs. You’re lazy, that’s what’s the matter.” +</p> + +<p> +Johnny did not see fit to reply to this charge. Probably he felt the justice of +it, and preferred to proceed with the breakfast, which he enjoyed the more as +it cost him nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Breakfast over, Dick walked up to the desk, and settled the bill. Then, +followed by Johnny, he went out into the street. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going, Johnny?” +</p> + +<p> +“Up to Mr. Taylor’s, on Spruce Street, to see if he don’t +want a shine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you work for him reg’lar?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Him and his partner wants a shine most every day. Where are you +goin’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Down front of the Astor House. I guess I’ll find some customers +there.” +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Johnny started, and, dodging into an entry way, hid behind the +door, considerably to Dick’s surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter now?” asked our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Has he gone?” asked Johnny, his voice betraying anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +“Who gone, I’d like to know?” +</p> + +<p> +“That man in the brown coat.” +</p> + +<p> +“What of him. You aint scared of him, are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he got me a place once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ever so far off.” +</p> + +<p> +“What if he did?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ran away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t you like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I had to get up too early. It was on a farm, and I had to get up at +five to take care of the cows. I like New York best.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t they give you enough to eat?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, plenty.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you had a good bed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’d better have stayed. You don’t get either of them +here. Where’d you sleep last night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Up an alley in an old wagon.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had a better bed than that in the country, didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, it was as soft as—as cotton.” +</p> + +<p> +Johnny had once slept on a bale of cotton, the recollection supplying him with +a comparison. +</p> + +<p> +“Why didn’t you stay?” +</p> + +<p> +“I felt lonely,” said Johnny. +</p> + +<p> +Johnny could not exactly explain his feelings, but it is often the case that +the young vagabond of the streets, though his food is uncertain, and his bed +may be any old wagon or barrel that he is lucky enough to find unoccupied when +night sets in, gets so attached to his precarious but independent mode of life, +that he feels discontented in any other. He is accustomed to the noise and +bustle and ever-varied life of the streets, and in the quiet scenes of the +country misses the excitement in the midst of which he has always dwelt. +</p> + +<p> +Johnny had but one tie to bind him to the city. He had a father living, but he +might as well have been without one. Mr. Nolan was a confirmed drunkard, and +spent the greater part of his wages for liquor. His potations made him ugly, +and inflamed a temper never very sweet, working him up sometimes to such a +pitch of rage that Johnny’s life was in danger. Some months before, he +had thrown a flat-iron at his son’s head with such terrific force that +unless Johnny had dodged he would not have lived long enough to obtain a place +in our story. He fled the house, and from that time had not dared to re-enter +it. Somebody had given him a brush and box of blacking, and he had set up in +business on his own account. But he had not energy enough to succeed, as has +already been stated, and I am afraid the poor boy had met with many hardships, +and suffered more than once from cold and hunger. Dick had befriended him more +than once, and often given him a breakfast or dinner, as the case might be. +</p> + +<p> +“How’d you get away?” asked Dick, with some curiosity. +“Did you walk?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I rode on the cars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’d you get your money? I hope you didn’t steal +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t have none.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you do, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I got up about three o’clock, and walked to Albany.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s that?” asked Dick, whose ideas on the subject of +geography were rather vague. +</p> + +<p> +“Up the river.” +</p> + +<p> +“How far?” +</p> + +<p> +“About a thousand miles,” said Johnny, whose conceptions of +distance were equally vague. +</p> + +<p> +“Go ahead. What did you do then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hid on top of a freight car, and came all the way without their seeing +me.* That man in the brown coat was the man that got me the place, and +I’m afraid he’d want to send me back.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* A fact. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Dick, reflectively, “I dunno as I’d like +to live in the country. I couldn’t go to Tony Pastor’s or the Old +Bowery. There wouldn’t be no place to spend my evenings. But I say, +it’s tough in winter, Johnny, ’specially when your overcoat’s +at the tailor’s, an’ likely to stay there.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so, Dick. But I must be goin’, or Mr. Taylor’ll +get somebody else to shine his boots.” +</p> + +<p> +Johnny walked back to Nassau Street, while Dick kept on his way to Broadway. +</p> + +<p> +“That boy,” soliloquized Dick, as Johnny took his departure, +“aint got no ambition. I’ll bet he won’t get five shines +to-day. I’m glad I aint like him. I couldn’t go to the theatre, nor +buy no cigars, nor get half as much as I wanted to eat.—Shine yer boots, +sir?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick always had an eye to business, and this remark was addressed to a young +man, dressed in a stylish manner, who was swinging a jaunty cane. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had my boots blacked once already this morning, but this +confounded mud has spoiled the shine.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll make ’em all right, sir, in a minute.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go ahead, then.” +</p> + +<p> +The boots were soon polished in Dick’s best style, which proved very +satisfactory, our hero being a proficient in the art. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got any change,” said the young man, fumbling in +his pocket, “but here’s a bill you may run somewhere and get +changed. I’ll pay you five cents extra for your trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +He handed Dick a two-dollar bill, which our hero took into a store close by. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you please change that, sir?” said Dick, walking up to the +counter. +</p> + +<p> +The salesman to whom he proffered it took the bill, and, slightly glancing at +it, exclaimed angrily, “Be off, you young vagabond, or I’ll have +you arrested.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the row?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve offered me a counterfeit bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know it,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t tell me. Be off, or I’ll have you arrested.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap03"></a>CHAPTER III.<br/> +DICK MAKES A PROPOSITION</h2> + +<p> +Though Dick was somewhat startled at discovering that the bill he had offered +was counterfeit, he stood his ground bravely. +</p> + +<p> +“Clear out of this shop, you young vagabond,” repeated the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“Then give me back my bill.” +</p> + +<p> +“That you may pass it again? No, sir, I shall do no such thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t belong to me,” said Dick. “A gentleman that +owes me for a shine gave it to me to change.” +</p> + +<p> +“A likely story,” said the clerk; but he seemed a little uneasy. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go and call him,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +He went out, and found his late customer standing on the Astor House steps. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, youngster, have you brought back my change? You were a precious +long time about it. I began to think you had cleared out with the money.” +</p> + +<p> +“That aint my style,” said Dick, proudly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then where’s the change?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s the bill then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got that either.” +</p> + +<p> +“You young rascal!” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on a minute, mister,” said Dick, “and I’ll tell +you all about it. The man what took the bill said it wasn’t good, and +kept it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The bill was perfectly good. So he kept it, did he? I’ll go with +you to the store, and see whether he won’t give it back to me.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick led the way, and the gentleman followed him into the store. At the +reappearance of Dick in such company, the clerk flushed a little, and looked +nervous. He fancied that he could browbeat a ragged boot-black, but with a +gentleman he saw that it would be a different matter. He did not seem to notice +the newcomers, but began to replace some goods on the shelves. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said the young man, “point out the clerk that has my +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s him,” said Dick, pointing out the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman walked up to the counter. +</p> + +<p> +“I will trouble you,” he said a little haughtily, “for a bill +which that boy offered you, and which you still hold in your possession.” +</p> + +<p> +“It was a bad bill,” said the clerk, his cheek flushing, and his +manner nervous. +</p> + +<p> +“It was no such thing. I require you to produce it, and let the matter be +decided.” +</p> + +<p> +The clerk fumbled in his vest-pocket, and drew out a bad-looking bill. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a bad bill, but it is not the one I gave the boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is the one he gave me.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man looked doubtful. +</p> + +<p> +“Boy,” he said to Dick, “is this the bill you gave to be +changed?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it isn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“You lie, you young rascal!” exclaimed the clerk, who began to find +himself in a tight place, and could not see the way out. +</p> + +<p> +This scene naturally attracted the attention of all in the store, and the +proprietor walked up from the lower end, where he had been busy. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s all this, Mr. Hatch?” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +“That boy,” said the clerk, “came in and asked change for a +bad bill. I kept the bill, and told him to clear out. Now he wants it again to +pass on somebody else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Show the bill.” +</p> + +<p> +The merchant looked at it. “Yes, that’s a bad bill,” he said. +“There is no doubt about that.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it is not the one the boy offered,” said Dick’s patron. +“It is one of the same denomination, but on a different bank.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you remember what bank it was on?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was on the Merchants’ Bank of Boston.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps the boy kept it and offered the other.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may search me if you want to,” said Dick, indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t look as if he was likely to have any extra bills. I +suspect that your clerk pocketed the good bill, and has substituted the +counterfeit note. It is a nice little scheme of his for making money.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t seen any bill on the Merchants’ Bank,” said +the clerk, doggedly. +</p> + +<p> +“You had better feel in your pockets.” +</p> + +<p> +“This matter must be investigated,” said the merchant, firmly. +“If you have the bill, produce it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got it,” said the clerk; but he looked guilty +notwithstanding. +</p> + +<p> +“I demand that he be searched,” said Dick’s patron. +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you I haven’t got it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I send for a police officer, Mr. Hatch, or will you allow yourself +to be searched quietly?” said the merchant. +</p> + +<p> +Alarmed at the threat implied in these words, the clerk put his hand into his +vest-pocket, and drew out a two-dollar bill on the Merchants’ Bank. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this your note?” asked the shopkeeper, showing it to the young +man. +</p> + +<p> +“It is.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must have made a mistake,” faltered the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not give you a chance to make such another mistake in my +employ,” said the merchant sternly. “You may go up to the desk and +ask for what wages are due you. I shall have no further occasion for your +services.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, youngster,” said Dick’s patron, as they went out of the +store, after he had finally got the bill changed. “I must pay you +something extra for your trouble. Here’s fifty cents.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir,” said Dick. “You’re very kind. +Don’t you want some more bills changed?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not to-day,” said he with a smile. “It’s too +expensive.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m in luck,” thought our hero complacently. “I guess +I’ll go to Barnum’s to-night, and see the bearded lady, the +eight-foot giant, the two-foot dwarf, and the other curiosities, too numerous +to mention.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick shouldered his box and walked up as far as the Astor House. He took his +station on the sidewalk, and began to look about him. +</p> + +<p> +Just behind him were two persons,—one, a gentleman of fifty; the other, a +boy of thirteen or fourteen. They were speaking together, and Dick had no +difficulty in hearing what was said. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry, Frank, that I can’t go about, and show you some of the +sights of New York, but I shall be full of business to-day. It is your first +visit to the city, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a good deal worth seeing here. But I’m afraid +you’ll have to wait to next time. You can go out and walk by yourself, +but don’t venture too far, or you will get lost.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank looked disappointed. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish Tom Miles knew I was here,” he said. “He would go +around with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where does he live?” +</p> + +<p> +“Somewhere up town, I believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, unfortunately, he is not available. If you would rather go with me +than stay here, you can, but as I shall be most of the time in +merchants’-counting-rooms, I am afraid it would not be very +interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Frank, after a little hesitation, “that I +will go off by myself. I won’t go very far, and if I lose my way, I will +inquire for the Astor House.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, anybody will direct you here. Very well, Frank, I am sorry I +can’t do better for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, never mind, uncle, I shall be amused in walking around, and looking +at the shop-windows. There will be a great deal to see.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Dick had listened to all this conversation. Being an enterprising young +man, he thought he saw a chance for a speculation, and determined to avail +himself of it. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly he stepped up to the two just as Frank’s uncle was about +leaving, and said, “I know all about the city, sir; I’ll show him +around, if you want me to.” +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman looked a little curiously at the ragged figure before him. +</p> + +<p> +“So you are a city boy, are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Dick, “I’ve lived here ever since I +was a baby.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you know all about the public buildings, I suppose?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the Central Park?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. I know my way all round.” +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman looked thoughtful. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to say, Frank,” he remarked after a while. +“It is rather a novel proposal. He isn’t exactly the sort of guide +I would have picked out for you. Still he looks honest. He has an open face, +and I think can be depended upon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish he wasn’t so ragged and dirty,” said Frank, who felt +a little shy about being seen with such a companion. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid you haven’t washed your face this morning,” +said Mr. Whitney, for that was the gentleman’s name. +</p> + +<p> +“They didn’t have no wash-bowls at the hotel where I +stopped,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“What hotel did you stop at?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Box Hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Box Hotel?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir, I slept in a box on Spruce Street.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank surveyed Dick curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you like it?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I slept bully.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose it had rained.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’d have wet my best clothes,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Are these all the clothes you have?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Whitney spoke a few words to Frank, who seemed pleased with the suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +“Follow me, my lad,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +Dick in some surprise obeyed orders, following Mr. Whitney and Frank into the +hotel, past the office, to the foot of the staircase. Here a servant of the +hotel stopped Dick, but Mr. Whitney explained that he had something for him to +do, and he was allowed to proceed. +</p> + +<p> +They entered a long entry, and finally paused before a door. This being opened +a pleasant chamber was disclosed. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in, my lad,” said Mr. Whitney. +</p> + +<p> +Dick and Frank entered. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap04"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br/> +DICK’S NEW SUIT</h2> + +<p> +“Now,” said Mr. Whitney to Dick, “my nephew here is on his +way to a boarding-school. He has a suit of clothes in his trunk about half +worn. He is willing to give them to you. I think they will look better than +those you have on.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was so astonished that he hardly knew what to say. Presents were something +that he knew very little about, never having received any to his knowledge. +That so large a gift should be made to him by a stranger seemed very wonderful. +</p> + +<p> +The clothes were brought out, and turned out to be a neat gray suit. +</p> + +<p> +“Before you put them on, my lad, you must wash yourself. Clean clothes +and a dirty skin don’t go very well together. Frank, you may attend to +him. I am obliged to go at once. Have you got as much money as you +require?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, uncle.” +</p> + +<p> +“One more word, my lad,” said Mr. Whitney, addressing Dick; +“I may be rash in trusting a boy of whom I know nothing, but I like your +looks, and I think you will prove a proper guide for my nephew.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I will, sir,” said Dick, earnestly. “Honor +bright!” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. A pleasant time to you.” +</p> + +<p> +The process of cleansing commenced. To tell the truth Dick needed it, and the +sensation of cleanliness he found both new and pleasant. Frank added to his +gift a shirt, stockings, and an old pair of shoes. “I am sorry I +haven’t any cap,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got one,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t so new as it might be,” said Frank, surveying an +old felt hat, which had once been black, but was now dingy, with a large hole +in the top and a portion of the rim torn off. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “my grandfather used to wear it when he was +a boy, and I’ve kep’ it ever since out of respect for his memory. +But I’ll get a new one now. I can buy one cheap on Chatham Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that near here?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only five minutes’ walk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we can get one on the way.” +</p> + +<p> +When Dick was dressed in his new attire, with his face and hands clean, and his +hair brushed, it was difficult to imagine that he was the same boy. +</p> + +<p> +He now looked quite handsome, and might readily have been taken for a young +gentleman, except that his hands were red and grimy. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at yourself,” said Frank, leading him before the mirror. +</p> + +<p> +“By gracious!” said Dick, starting back in astonishment, +“that isn’t me, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you know yourself?” asked Frank, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“It reminds me of Cinderella,” said Dick, “when she was +changed into a fairy princess. I see it one night at Barnum’s. +What’ll Johnny Nolan say when he sees me? He won’t dare to speak to +such a young swell as I be now. Aint it rich?” and Dick burst into a loud +laugh. His fancy was tickled by the anticipation of his friend’s +surprise. Then the thought of the valuable gifts he had received occurred to +him, and he looked gratefully at Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a brick,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“A what?” +</p> + +<p> +“A brick! You’re a jolly good fellow to give me such a +present.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re quite welcome, Dick,” said Frank, kindly. +“I’m better off than you are, and I can spare the clothes just as +well as not. You must have a new hat though. But that we can get when we go +out. The old clothes you can make into a bundle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute till I get my handkercher,” and Dick pulled from the +pocket of the pants a dirty rag, which might have been white once, though it +did not look like it, and had apparently once formed a part of a sheet or +shirt. +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t carry that,” said Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“But I’ve got a cold,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I don’t mean you to go without a handkerchief. I’ll give +you one.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank opened his trunk and pulled out two, which he gave to Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if I aint dreamin’,” said Dick, once more surveying +himself doubtfully in the glass. “I’m afraid I’m +dreamin’, and shall wake up in a barrel, as I did night afore +last.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I pinch you so you can wake here?” asked Frank, playfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, seriously, “I wish you would.” +</p> + +<p> +He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, and Frank pinched him pretty hard, so +that Dick winced. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I guess I’m awake,” said Dick; “you’ve got +a pair of nippers, you have. But what shall I do with my brush and +blacking?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“You can leave them here till we come back,” said Frank. +“They will be safe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on a minute,” said Dick, surveying Frank’s boots with a +professional eye, “you aint got a good shine on them boots. I’ll +make ’em shine so you can see your face in ’em.” +</p> + +<p> +And he was as good as his word. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Frank; “now you had better brush your own +shoes.” +</p> + +<p> +This had not occurred to Dick, for in general the professional boot-black +considers his blacking too valuable to expend on his own shoes or boots, if he +is fortunate enough to possess a pair. +</p> + +<p> +The two boys now went downstairs together. They met the same servant who had +spoken to Dick a few minutes before, but there was no recognition. +</p> + +<p> +“He don’t know me,” said Dick. “He thinks I’m a +young swell like you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s a swell?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, a feller that wears nobby clothes like you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you, too, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, “who’d ever have thought as I should +have turned into a swell?” +</p> + +<p> +They had now got out on Broadway, and were slowly walking along the west side +by the Park, when who should Dick see in front of him, but Johnny Nolan? +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Dick was seized with a fancy for witnessing Johnny’s amazement +at his change in appearance. He stole up behind him, and struck him on the +back. +</p> + +<p> +“Hallo, Johnny, how many shines have you had?” +</p> + +<p> +Johnny turned round expecting to see Dick, whose voice he recognized, but his +astonished eyes rested on a nicely dressed boy (the hat alone excepted) who +looked indeed like Dick, but so transformed in dress that it was difficult to +be sure of his identity. +</p> + +<p> +“What luck, Johnny?” repeated Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Johnny surveyed him from head to foot in great bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +“Who be you?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s a good one,” laughed Dick; “so you +don’t know Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’d you get all them clothes?” asked Johnny. “Have +you been stealin’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Say that again, and I’ll lick you. No, I’ve lent my clothes +to a young feller as was goin’ to a party, and didn’t have none fit +to wear, and so I put on my second-best for a change.” +</p> + +<p> +Without deigning any further explanation, Dick went off, followed by the +astonished gaze of Johnny Nolan, who could not quite make up his mind whether +the neat-looking boy he had been talking with was really Ragged Dick or not. +</p> + +<p> +In order to reach Chatham Street it was necessary to cross Broadway. This was +easier proposed than done. There is always such a throng of omnibuses, drays, +carriages, and vehicles of all kinds in the neighborhood of the Astor House, +that the crossing is formidable to one who is not used to it. Dick made nothing +of it, dodging in and out among the horses and wagons with perfect +self-possession. Reaching the opposite sidewalk, he looked back, and found that +Frank had retreated in dismay, and that the width of the street was between +them. +</p> + +<p> +“Come across!” called out Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see any chance,” said Frank, looking anxiously at +the prospect before him. “I’m afraid of being run over.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you are, you can sue ’em for damages,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Finally Frank got safely over after several narrow escapes, as he considered +them. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it always so crowded?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“A good deal worse sometimes,” said Dick. “I knowed a young +man once who waited six hours for a chance to cross, and at last got run over +by an omnibus, leaving a widder and a large family of orphan children. His +widder, a beautiful young woman, was obliged to start a peanut and apple stand. +There she is now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick pointed to a hideous old woman, of large proportions, wearing a bonnet of +immense size, who presided over an apple-stand close by. +</p> + +<p> +Frank laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“If that is the case,” he said, “I think I will patronize +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Leave it to me,” said Dick, winking. +</p> + +<p> +He advanced gravely to the apple-stand, and said, “Old lady, have you +paid your taxes?” +</p> + +<p> +The astonished woman opened her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m a gov’ment officer,” said Dick, “sent by the +mayor to collect your taxes. I’ll take it in apples just to oblige. That +big red one will about pay what you’re owin’ to the +gov’ment.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know nothing about no taxes,” said the old woman, in +bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Dick, “I’ll let you off this time. Give us +two of your best apples, and my friend here, the President of the Common +Council, will pay you.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank smiling, paid three cents apiece for the apples, and they sauntered on, +Dick remarking, “If these apples aint good, old lady, we’ll return +’em, and get our money back.” This would have been rather difficult +in his case, as the apple was already half consumed. +</p> + +<p> +Chatham Street, where they wished to go, being on the East side, the two boys +crossed the Park. This is an enclosure of about ten acres, which years ago was +covered with a green sward, but is now a great thoroughfare for pedestrians and +contains several important public buildings. Dick pointed out the City Hall, +the Hall of Records, and the Rotunda. The former is a white building of large +size, and surmounted by a cupola. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where the mayor’s office is,” said Dick. +“Him and me are very good friends. I once blacked his boots by +partic’lar appointment. That’s the way I pay my city taxes.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap05"></a>CHAPTER V.<br/> +CHATHAM STREET AND BROADWAY</h2> + +<p> +They were soon in Chatham Street, walking between rows of ready-made clothing +shops, many of which had half their stock in trade exposed on the sidewalk. The +proprietors of these establishments stood at the doors, watching attentively +the passersby, extending urgent invitations to any who even glanced at the +goods to enter. +</p> + +<p> +“Walk in, young gentlemen,” said a stout man, at the entrance of +one shop. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I thank you,” replied Dick, “as the fly said to the +spider.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’re selling off at less than cost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you be. That’s where you makes your money,” said +Dick. “There aint nobody of any enterprise that pretends to make any +profit on his goods.” +</p> + +<p> +The Chatham Street trader looked after our hero as if he didn’t quite +comprehend him; but Dick, without waiting for a reply, passed on with his +companion. +</p> + +<p> +In some of the shops auctions seemed to be going on. +</p> + +<p> +“I am only offered two dollars, gentlemen, for this elegant pair of +doeskin pants, made of the very best of cloth. It’s a frightful +sacrifice. Who’ll give an eighth? Thank you, sir. Only seventeen +shillings! Why the cloth cost more by the yard!” +</p> + +<p> +This speaker was standing on a little platform haranguing to three men, holding +in his hand meanwhile a pair of pants very loose in the legs, and presenting a +cheap Bowery look. +</p> + +<p> +Frank and Dick paused before the shop door, and finally saw them knocked down +to rather a verdant-looking individual at three dollars. +</p> + +<p> +“Clothes seem to be pretty cheap here,” said Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but Baxter Street is the cheapest place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Johnny Nolan got a whole rig-out there last week, for a +dollar,—coat, cap, vest, pants, and shoes. They was very good measure, +too, like my best clothes that I took off to oblige you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall know where to come for clothes next time,” said Frank, +laughing. “I had no idea the city was so much cheaper than the country. I +suppose the Baxter Street tailors are fashionable?” +</p> + +<p> +“In course they are. Me and Horace Greeley always go there for clothes. +When Horace gets a new suit, I always have one made just like it; but I +can’t go the white hat. It aint becomin’ to my style of +beauty.” +</p> + +<p> +A little farther on a man was standing out on the sidewalk, distributing small +printed handbills. One was handed to Frank, which he read as follows,— +</p> + +<p> +“GRAND CLOSING-OUT SALE!—A variety of Beautiful and Costly Articles +for Sale, at a Dollar apiece. Unparalleled Inducements! Walk in, +Gentlemen!” +</p> + +<p> +“Whereabouts is this sale?” asked Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“In here, young gentlemen,” said a black-whiskered individual, who +appeared suddenly on the scene. “Walk in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we go in, Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a swindlin’ shop,” said Dick, in a low voice. +“I’ve been there. That man’s a regular cheat. He’s seen +me before, but he don’t know me coz of my clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Step in and see the articles,” said the man, persuasively. +“You needn’t buy, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are all the articles worth more’n a dollar?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the other, “and some worth a great deal +more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such as what?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s a silver pitcher worth twenty dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you sell it for a dollar. That’s very kind of you,” said +Dick, innocently. +</p> + +<p> +“Walk in, and you’ll understand it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I guess not,” said Dick. “My servants is so dishonest +that I wouldn’t like to trust ’em with a silver pitcher. Come +along, Frank. I hope you’ll succeed in your charitable enterprise of +supplyin’ the public with silver pitchers at nineteen dollars less than +they are worth.” +</p> + +<p> +“How does he manage, Dick?” asked Frank, as they went on. +</p> + +<p> +“All his articles are numbered, and he makes you pay a dollar, and then +shakes some dice, and whatever the figgers come to, is the number of the +article you draw. Most of ’em aint worth sixpence.” +</p> + +<p> +A hat and cap store being close at hand, Dick and Frank went in. For +seventy-five cents, which Frank insisted on paying, Dick succeeded in getting +quite a neat-looking cap, which corresponded much better with his appearance +than the one he had on. The last, not being considered worth keeping, Dick +dropped on the sidewalk, from which, on looking back, he saw it picked up by a +brother boot-black who appeared to consider it better than his own. +</p> + +<p> +They retraced their steps and went up Chambers Street to Broadway. At the +corner of Broadway and Chambers Street is a large white marble warehouse, which +attracted Frank’s attention. +</p> + +<p> +“What building is that?” he asked, with interest. +</p> + +<p> +“That belongs to my friend A. T. Stewart,” said Dick. +“It’s the biggest store on Broadway.* If I ever retire from +boot-blackin’, and go into mercantile pursuits, I may buy him out, or +build another store that’ll take the shine off this one.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Mr. Stewart’s Tenth Street store was not open at the time Dick spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Were you ever in the store?” asked Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “but I’m intimate with one of +Stewart’s partners. He is a cash boy, and does nothing but take money all +day.” +</p> + +<p> +“A very agreeable employment,” said Frank, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, “I’d like to be in it.” +</p> + +<p> +The boys crossed to the West side of Broadway, and walked slowly up the street. +To Frank it was a very interesting spectacle. Accustomed to the quiet of the +country, there was something fascinating in the crowds of people thronging the +sidewalks, and the great variety of vehicles constantly passing and repassing +in the street. Then again the shop-windows with their multifarious contents +interested and amused him, and he was constantly checking Dick to look in at +some well-stocked window. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how so many shopkeepers can find people enough to buy +of them,” he said. “We haven’t got but two stores in our +village, and Broadway seems to be full of them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick; “and its pretty much the same in the +avenoos, ’specially the Third, Sixth, and Eighth avenoos. The Bowery, +too, is a great place for shoppin’. There everybody sells cheaper’n +anybody else, and nobody pretends to make no profit on their goods.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s Barnum’s Museum?” asked Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s down nearly opposite the Astor House,” said Dick. +“Didn’t you see a great building with lots of flags?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s Barnum’s.* That’s where the Happy Family +live, and the lions, and bears, and curiosities generally. It’s a tip-top +place. Haven’t you ever been there? It’s most as good as the Old +Bowery, only the plays isn’t quite so excitin’.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Since destroyed by fire, and rebuilt farther up Broadway, and again burned +down in February. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go if I get time,” said Frank. “There is a boy at +home who came to New York a month ago, and went to Barnum’s, and has been +talking about it ever since, so I suppose it must be worth seeing.” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve got a great play at the Old Bowery now,” pursued +Dick. “’Tis called the ‘Demon of the Danube.’ The Demon +falls in love with a young woman, and drags her by the hair up to the top of a +steep rock where his castle stands.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a queer way of showing his love,” said Frank, +laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“She didn’t want to go with him, you know, but was in love with +another chap. When he heard about his girl bein’ carried off, he felt +awful, and swore an oath not to rest till he had got her free. Well, at last he +got into the castle by some underground passage, and he and the Demon had a +fight. Oh, it was bully seein’ ’em roll round on the stage, +cuttin’ and slashin’ at each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“And which got the best of it?” +</p> + +<p> +“At first the Demon seemed to be ahead, but at last the young Baron got +him down, and struck a dagger into his heart, sayin’, ‘Die, false +and perjured villain! The dogs shall feast upon thy carcass!’ and then +the Demon give an awful howl and died. Then the Baron seized his body, and +threw it over the precipice.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me the actor who plays the Demon ought to get extra pay, if +he has to be treated that way.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” said Dick; “but I guess he’s used to +it. It seems to agree with his constitution.” +</p> + +<p> +“What building is that?” asked Frank, pointing to a structure +several rods back from the street, with a large yard in front. It was an +unusual sight for Broadway, all the other buildings in that neighborhood being +even with the street. +</p> + +<p> +“That is the New York Hospital,” said Dick. “They’re a +rich institution, and take care of sick people on very reasonable terms.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever go in there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick; “there was a friend of mine, Johnny Mullen, +he was a newsboy, got run over by a omnibus as he was crossin’ Broadway +down near Park Place. He was carried to the Hospital, and me and some of his +friends paid his board while he was there. It was only three dollars a week, +which was very cheap, considerin’ all the care they took of him. I got +leave to come and see him while he was here. Everything looked so nice and +comfortable, that I thought a little of coaxin’ a omnibus driver to run +over me, so I might go there too.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did your friend have to have his leg cut off?” asked Frank, +interested. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “though there was a young student there that +was very anxious to have it cut off; but it wasn’t done, and Johnny is +around the streets as well as ever.” +</p> + +<p> +While this conversation was going on they reached No. 365, at the corner of +Franklin Street.* +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Now the office of the Merchants’ Union Express Company. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Taylor’s Saloon,” said Dick. “When I come +into a fortun’ I shall take my meals there reg’lar.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have heard of it very often,” said Frank. “It is said to +be very elegant. Suppose we go in and take an ice-cream. It will give us a +chance to see it to better advantage.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Dick; “I think that’s the most +agreeable way of seein’ the place myself.” +</p> + +<p> +The boys entered, and found themselves in a spacious and elegant saloon, +resplendent with gilding, and adorned on all sides by costly mirrors. They sat +down to a small table with a marble top, and Frank gave the order. +</p> + +<p> +“It reminds me of Aladdin’s palace,” said Frank, looking +about him. +</p> + +<p> +“Does it?” said Dick; “he must have had plenty of +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“He had an old lamp, which he had only to rub, when the Slave of the Lamp +would appear, and do whatever he wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“That must have been a valooable lamp. I’d be willin’ to give +all my Erie shares for it.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a tall, gaunt individual at the next table, who apparently heard this +last remark of Dick’s. Turning towards our hero, he said, “May I +inquire, young man, whether you are largely interested in this Erie +Railroad?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got no property except what’s invested in +Erie,” said Dick, with a comical side-glance at Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed! I suppose the investment was made by your guardian.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “I manage my property myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I presume your dividends have not been large?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, no,” said Dick; “you’re about right there. They +haven’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“As I supposed. It’s poor stock. Now, my young friend, I can +recommend a much better investment, which will yield you a large annual income. +I am agent of the Excelsior Copper Mining Company, which possesses one of the +most productive mines in the world. It’s sure to yield fifty per cent. on +the investment. Now, all you have to do is to sell out your Erie shares, and +invest in our stock, and I’ll insure you a fortune in three years. How +many shares did you say you had?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t say, that I remember,” said Dick. “Your offer +is very kind and obligin’, and as soon as I get time I’ll see about +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you will,” said the stranger. “Permit me to give you +my card. ‘Samuel Snap, No. — Wall Street.’ I shall be most +happy to receive a call from you, and exhibit the maps of our mine. I should be +glad to have you mention the matter also to your friends. I am confident you +could do no greater service than to induce them to embark in our +enterprise.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Here the stranger left the table, and walked up to the desk to settle his bill. +</p> + +<p> +“You see what it is to be a man of fortun’, Frank,” said +Dick, “and wear good clothes. I wonder what that chap’ll say when +he sees me blackin’ boots to-morrow in the street?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you earn your money more honorably than he does, after +all,” said Frank. “Some of these mining companies are nothing but +swindles, got up to cheat people out of their money.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s welcome to all he gets out of me,” said Dick. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap06"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br/> +UP BROADWAY TO MADISON SQUARE</h2> + +<p> +As the boys pursued their way up Broadway, Dick pointed out the prominent +hotels and places of amusement. Frank was particularly struck with the imposing +fronts of the St. Nicholas and Metropolitan Hotels, the former of white marble, +the latter of a subdued brown hue, but not less elegant in its internal +appointments. He was not surprised to be informed that each of these splendid +structures cost with the furnishing not far from a million dollars. +</p> + +<p> +At Eighth Street Dick turned to the right, and pointed out the Clinton Hall +Building now occupied by the Mercantile Library, comprising at that time over +fifty thousand volumes.* +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Now not far from one hundred thousand. +</p> + +<p> +A little farther on they came to a large building standing by itself just at +the opening of Third and Fourth Avenues, and with one side on each. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that building?” asked Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the Cooper Institute,” said Dick; “built by Mr. +Cooper, a particular friend of mine. Me and Peter Cooper used to go to school +together.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is there inside?” asked Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a hall for public meetin’s and lectures in the +basement, and a readin’ room and a picture gallery up above,” said +Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Directly opposite Cooper Institute, Frank saw a very large building of brick, +covering about an acre of ground. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that a hotel?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “that’s the Bible House. It’s +the place where they make Bibles. I was in there once,—saw a big pile of +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever read the Bible?” asked Frank, who had some idea of +the neglected state of Dick’s education. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “I’ve heard it’s a good book, +but I never read one. I aint much on readin’. It makes my head +ache.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you can’t read very fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can read the little words pretty well, but the big ones is what stick +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I lived in the city, you might come every evening to me, and I would +teach you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you take so much trouble about me?” asked Dick, earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly; I should like to see you getting on. There isn’t much +chance of that if you don’t know how to read and write.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a good feller,” said Dick, gratefully. “I wish +you did live in New York. I’d like to know somethin’. Whereabouts +do you live?” +</p> + +<p> +“About fifty miles off, in a town on the left bank of the Hudson. I wish +you’d come up and see me sometime. I would like to have you come and stop +two or three days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Honor bright?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean it?” asked Dick, incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I do. Why shouldn’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +“What would your folks say if they knowed you asked a boot-black to visit +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are none the worse for being a boot-black, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“I aint used to genteel society,” said Dick. “I +shouldn’t know how to behave.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I could show you. You won’t be a boot-black all your life, +you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “I’m goin’ to knock off when I +get to be ninety.” +</p> + +<p> +“Before that, I hope,” said Frank, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“I really wish I could get somethin’ else to do,” said Dick, +soberly. “I’d like to be a office boy, and learn business, and grow +up ’spectable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you try, and see if you can’t get a place, +Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’d take Ragged Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“But you aint ragged now, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “I look a little better than I did in my +Washington coat and Louis Napoleon pants. But if I got in a office, they +wouldn’t give me more’n three dollars a week, and I couldn’t +live ’spectable on that.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I suppose not,” said Frank, thoughtfully. “But you would +get more at the end of the first year.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick; “but by that time I’d be +nothin’ but skin and bones.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank laughed. “That reminds me,” he said, “of the story of +an Irishman, who, out of economy, thought he would teach his horse to feed on +shavings. So he provided the horse with a pair of green spectacles which made +the shavings look eatable. But unfortunately, just as the horse got learned, he +up and died.” +</p> + +<p> +“The hoss must have been a fine specimen of architectur’ by the +time he got through,” remarked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Whereabouts are we now?” asked Frank, as they emerged from Fourth +Avenue into Union Square. +</p> + +<p> +“That is Union Park,” said Dick, pointing to a beautiful enclosure, +in the centre of which was a pond, with a fountain playing. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the statue of General Washington?” asked Frank, pointing +to a bronze equestrian statue, on a granite pedestal. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick; “he’s growed some since he was +President. If he’d been as tall as that when he fit in the Revolution, +he’d have walloped the Britishers some, I reckon.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank looked up at the statue, which is fourteen and a half feet high, and +acknowledged the justice of Dick’s remark. +</p> + +<p> +“How about the coat, Dick?” he asked. “Would it fit +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it might be rather loose,” said Dick, “I aint much +more’n ten feet high with my boots off.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I should think not,” said Frank, smiling. “You’re +a queer boy, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve been brought up queer. Some boys is born with a silver +spoon in their mouth. Victoria’s boys is born with a gold spoon, set with +di’monds; but gold and silver was scarce when I was born, and mine was +pewter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps the gold and silver will come by and by, Dick. Did you ever hear +of Dick Whittington?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never did. Was he a Ragged Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder if he was. At any rate he was very poor when he +was a boy, but he didn’t stay so. Before he died, he became Lord Mayor of +London.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he?” asked Dick, looking interested. “How did he do +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you see, a rich merchant took pity on him, and gave him a home in +his own house, where he used to stay with the servants, being employed in +little errands. One day the merchant noticed Dick picking up pins and needles +that had been dropped, and asked him why he did it. Dick told him he was going +to sell them when he got enough. The merchant was pleased with his saving +disposition, and when soon after, he was going to send a vessel to foreign +parts, he told Dick he might send anything he pleased in it, and it should be +sold to his advantage. Now Dick had nothing in the world but a kitten which had +been given him a short time before.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much taxes did he have to pay on it?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Not very high, probably. But having only the kitten, he concluded to +send it along. After sailing a good many months, during which the kitten grew +up to be a strong cat, the ship touched at an island never before known, which +happened to be infested with rats and mice to such an extent that they worried +everybody’s life out, and even ransacked the king’s palace. To make +a long story short, the captain, seeing how matters stood, brought Dick’s +cat ashore, and she soon made the rats and mice scatter. The king was highly +delighted when he saw what havoc she made among the rats and mice, and resolved +to have her at any price. So he offered a great quantity of gold for her, +which, of course, the captain was glad to accept. It was faithfully carried +back to Dick, and laid the foundation of his fortune. He prospered as he grew +up, and in time became a very rich merchant, respected by all, and before he +died was elected Lord Mayor of London.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a pretty good story,” said Dick; “but I +don’t believe all the cats in New York will ever make me mayor.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, probably not, but you may rise in some other way. A good many +distinguished men have once been poor boys. There’s hope for you, Dick, +if you’ll try.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody ever talked to me so before,” said Dick. “They just +called me Ragged Dick, and told me I’d grow up to be a vagabone (boys who +are better educated need not be surprised at Dick’s blunders) and come to +the gallows.” +</p> + +<p> +“Telling you so won’t make it turn out so, Dick. If you’ll +try to be somebody, and grow up into a respectable member of society, you will. +You may not become rich,—it isn’t everybody that becomes rich, you +know—but you can obtain a good position, and be respected.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try,” said Dick, earnestly. “I needn’t have +been Ragged Dick so long if I hadn’t spent my money in goin’ to the +theatre, and treatin’ boys to oyster-stews, and bettin’ money on +cards, and such like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you lost money that way?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lots of it. One time I saved up five dollars to buy me a new rig-out, +cos my best suit was all in rags, when Limpy Jim wanted me to play a game with +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Limpy Jim?” said Frank, interrogatively. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, he’s lame; that’s what makes us call him Limpy +Jim.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you lost?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I lost every penny, and had to sleep out, cos I hadn’t a cent +to pay for lodgin’. ’Twas a awful cold night, and I got most +froze.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t Jim let you have any of the money he had won to pay for a +lodging?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I axed him for five cents, but he wouldn’t let me have +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you get lodging for five cents?” asked Frank, in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, “but not at the Fifth Avenue Hotel. +That’s it right out there.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap07"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br/> +THE POCKET-BOOK</h2> + +<p> +They had reached the junction of Broadway and of Fifth Avenue. Before them was +a beautiful park of ten acres. On the left-hand side was a large marble +building, presenting a fine appearance with its extensive white front. This was +the building at which Dick pointed. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the Fifth Avenue Hotel?” asked Frank. “I’ve +heard of it often. My Uncle William always stops there when he comes to New +York.” +</p> + +<p> +“I once slept on the outside of it,” said Dick. “They was +very reasonable in their charges, and told me I might come again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps sometime you’ll be able to sleep inside,” said +Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess that’ll be when Queen Victoria goes to the Five Points to +live.” +</p> + +<p> +“It looks like a palace,” said Frank. “The queen +needn’t be ashamed to live in such a beautiful building as that.” +</p> + +<p> +Though Frank did not know it, one of the queen’s palaces is far from +being as fine a looking building as the Fifth Avenue Hotel. St. James’ +Palace is a very ugly-looking brick structure, and appears much more like a +factory than like the home of royalty. There are few hotels in the world as +fine-looking as this democratic institution. +</p> + +<p> +At that moment a gentleman passed them on the sidewalk, who looked back at +Dick, as if his face seemed familiar. +</p> + +<p> +“I know that man,” said Dick, after he had passed. +“He’s one of my customers.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is his name?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“He looked back as if he thought he knew you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He would have knowed me at once if it hadn’t been for my new +clothes,” said Dick. “I don’t look much like Ragged Dick +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose your face looked familiar.” +</p> + +<p> +“All but the dirt,” said Dick, laughing. “I don’t +always have the chance of washing my face and hands in the Astor House.” +</p> + +<p> +“You told me,” said Frank, “that there was a place where you +could get lodging for five cents. Where’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the News-boys’ Lodgin’ House, on Fulton +Street,” said Dick, “up over the ‘Sun’ office. +It’s a good place. I don’t know what us boys would do without it. +They give you supper for six cents, and a bed for five cents more.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose some boys don’t even have the five cents to +pay,—do they?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll trust the boys,” said Dick. “But I don’t +like to get trusted. I’d be ashamed to get trusted for five cents, or ten +either. One night I was comin’ down Chatham Street, with fifty cents in +my pocket. I was goin’ to get a good oyster-stew, and then go to the +lodgin’ house; but somehow it slipped through a hole in my +trowses-pocket, and I hadn’t a cent left. If it had been summer I +shouldn’t have cared, but it’s rather tough stayin’ out +winter nights.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank, who had always possessed a good home of his own, found it hard to +realize that the boy who was walking at his side had actually walked the +streets in the cold without a home, or money to procure the common comfort of a +bed. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you do?” he asked, his voice full of sympathy. +</p> + +<p> +“I went to the ‘Times’ office. I knowed one of the pressmen, +and he let me set down in a corner, where I was warm, and I soon got fast +asleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you get a room somewhere, and so always have a home to +go to?” +</p> + +<p> +“I dunno,” said Dick. “I never thought of it. P’rhaps I +may hire a furnished house on Madison Square.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s where Flora McFlimsey lived.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know her,” said Dick, who had never read the popular +poem of which she is the heroine. +</p> + +<p> +While this conversation was going on, they had turned into Twenty-fifth Street, +and had by this time reached Third Avenue. +</p> + +<p> +Just before entering it, their attention was drawn to the rather singular +conduct of an individual in front of them. Stopping suddenly, he appeared to +pick up something from the sidewalk, and then looked about him in rather a +confused way. +</p> + +<p> +“I know his game,” whispered Dick. “Come along and +you’ll see what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +He hurried Frank forward until they overtook the man, who had come to a +stand-still. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you found anything?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the man, “I’ve found this.” +</p> + +<p> +He exhibited a wallet which seemed stuffed with bills, to judge from its +plethoric appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“Whew!” exclaimed Dick; “you’re in luck.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose somebody has lost it,” said the man, “and will +offer a handsome reward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which you’ll get.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unfortunately I am obliged to take the next train to Boston. +That’s where I live. I haven’t time to hunt up the owner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I suppose you’ll take the pocket-book with you,” said +Dick, with assumed simplicity. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to leave it with some honest fellow who would see it +returned to the owner,” said the man, glancing at the boys. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m honest,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve no doubt of it,” said the other. “Well, young +man, I’ll make you an offer. You take the pocket-book—” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. Hand it over, then.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute. There must be a large sum inside. I shouldn’t +wonder if there might be a thousand dollars. The owner will probably give you a +hundred dollars reward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you stay and get it?” asked Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“I would, only there is sickness in my family, and I must get home as +soon as possible. Just give me twenty dollars, and I’ll hand you the +pocket-book, and let you make whatever you can out of it. Come, that’s a +good offer. What do you say?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was well dressed, so that the other did not regard it as at all improbable +that he might possess that sum. He was prepared, however, to let him have it +for less, if necessary. +</p> + +<p> +“Twenty dollars is a good deal of money,” said Dick, appearing to +hesitate. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll get it back, and a good deal more,” said the +stranger, persuasively. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know but I shall. What would you do, Frank?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know but I would,” said Frank, “if +you’ve got the money.” He was not a little surprised to think that +Dick had so much by him. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know but I will,” said Dick, after some +irresolution. “I guess I won’t lose much.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t lose anything,” said the stranger briskly. +“Only be quick, for I must be on my way to the cars. I am afraid I shall +miss them now.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick pulled out a bill from his pocket, and handed it to the stranger, +receiving the pocket-book in return. At that moment a policeman turned the +corner, and the stranger, hurriedly thrusting the bill into his pocket, without +looking at it, made off with rapid steps. +</p> + +<p> +“What is there in the pocket-book, Dick?” asked Frank in some +excitement. “I hope there’s enough to pay you for the money you +gave him.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll risk that,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“But you gave him twenty dollars. That’s a good deal of +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I had given him as much as that, I should deserve to be cheated out +of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you did,—didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“He thought so.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was it, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“It was nothing but a dry-goods circular got up to imitate a +bank-bill.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank looked sober. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought not to have cheated him, Dick,” he said, reproachfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t he want to cheat me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you s’pose there is in that pocket-book?” asked +Dick, holding it up. +</p> + +<p> +Frank surveyed its ample proportions, and answered sincerely enough, +“Money, and a good deal of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“There aint stamps enough in it to buy a oyster-stew,” said Dick. +“If you don’t believe it, just look while I open it.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying he opened the pocket-book, and showed Frank that it was stuffed out +with pieces of blank paper, carefully folded up in the shape of bills. Frank, +who was unused to city life, and had never heard anything of the +“drop-game” looked amazed at this unexpected development. +</p> + +<p> +“I knowed how it was all the time,” said Dick. “I guess I got +the best of him there. This wallet’s worth somethin’. I shall use +it to keep my stiffkit’s of Erie stock in, and all my other papers what +aint of no use to anybody but the owner.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the kind of papers it’s got in it now,” said +Frank, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so!” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“By hokey!” he exclaimed suddenly, “if there aint the old +chap comin’ back ag’in. He looks as if he’d heard bad news +from his sick family.” +</p> + +<p> +By this time the pocket-book dropper had come up. +</p> + +<p> +Approaching the boys, he said in an undertone to Dick, “Give me back that +pocket-book, you young rascal!” +</p> + +<p> +“Beg your pardon, mister,” said Dick, “but was you +addressin’ me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I was.” +</p> + +<p> +“’Cause you called me by the wrong name. I’ve knowed some +rascals, but I aint the honor to belong to the family.” +</p> + +<p> +He looked significantly at the other as he spoke, which didn’t improve +the man’s temper. Accustomed to swindle others, he did not fancy being +practised upon in return. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me back that pocket-book,” he repeated in a threatening +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t do it,” said Dick, coolly. “I’m +go’n’ to restore it to the owner. The contents is so valooable that +most likely the loss has made him sick, and he’ll be likely to come down +liberal to the honest finder.” +</p> + +<p> +“You gave me a bogus bill,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s what I use myself,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve swindled me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it was the other way.” +</p> + +<p> +“None of your nonsense,” said the man angrily. “If you +don’t give up that pocket-book, I’ll call a policeman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would,” said Dick. “They’ll know most +likely whether it’s Stewart or Astor that’s lost the pocket-book, +and I can get ’em to return it.” +</p> + +<p> +The “dropper,” whose object it was to recover the pocket-book, in +order to try the same game on a more satisfactory customer, was irritated by +Dick’s refusal, and above all by the coolness he displayed. He resolved +to make one more attempt. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to pass the night in the Tombs?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you for your very obligin’ proposal,” said Dick; +“but it aint convenient to-day. Any other time, when you’d like to +have me come and stop with you, I’m agreeable; but my two youngest +children is down with the measles, and I expect I’ll have to set up all +night to take care of ’em. Is the Tombs, in gineral, a pleasant place of +residence?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick asked this question with an air of so much earnestness that Frank could +scarcely forbear laughing, though it is hardly necessary to say that the +dropper was by no means so inclined. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll know sometime,” he said, scowling. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll make you a fair offer,” said Dick. “If I get +more’n fifty dollars as a reward for my honesty, I’ll divide with +you. But I say, aint it most time to go back to your sick family in +Boston?” +</p> + +<p> +Finding that nothing was to be made out of Dick, the man strode away with a +muttered curse. +</p> + +<p> +“You were too smart for him, Dick,” said Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, “I aint knocked round the city streets all +my life for nothin’.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap08"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +DICK’S EARLY HISTORY</h2> + +<p> +“Have you always lived in New York, Dick?” asked Frank, after a +pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Ever since I can remember.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you’d tell me a little about yourself. Have you got any +father or mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“I aint got no mother. She died when I wasn’t but three years old. +My father went to sea; but he went off before mother died, and nothin’ +was ever heard of him. I expect he got wrecked, or died at sea.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what became of you when your mother died?” +</p> + +<p> +“The folks she boarded with took care of me, but they was poor, and they +couldn’t do much. When I was seven the woman died, and her husband went +out West, and then I had to scratch for myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“At seven years old!” exclaimed Frank, in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, “I was a little feller to take care of +myself, but,” he continued with pardonable pride, “I did it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What could you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes one thing, and sometimes another,” said Dick. “I +changed my business accordin’ as I had to. Sometimes I was a newsboy, and +diffused intelligence among the masses, as I heard somebody say once in a big +speech he made in the Park. Them was the times when Horace Greeley and James +Gordon Bennett made money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Through your enterprise?” suggested Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick; “but I give it up after a while.” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, they didn’t always put news enough in their papers, and +people wouldn’t buy ’em as fast as I wanted ’em to. So one +mornin’ I was stuck on a lot of Heralds, and I thought I’d make a +sensation. So I called out ‘GREAT NEWS! QUEEN VICTORIA +ASSASSINATED!’ All my Heralds went off like hot cakes, and I went off, +too, but one of the gentlemen what got sold remembered me, and said he’d +have me took up, and that’s what made me change my business.” +</p> + +<p> +“That wasn’t right, Dick,” said Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” said Dick; “but lots of boys does it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That don’t make it any better.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick, “I was sort of ashamed at the time, +’specially about one poor old gentleman,—a Englishman he was. He +couldn’t help cryin’ to think the queen was dead, and his hands +shook when he handed me the money for the paper.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did you do next?” +</p> + +<p> +“I went into the match business,” said Dick; “but it was +small sales and small profits. Most of the people I called on had just laid in +a stock, and didn’t want to buy. So one cold night, when I hadn’t +money enough to pay for a lodgin’, I burned the last of my matches to +keep me from freezin’. But it cost too much to get warm that way, and I +couldn’t keep it up.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve seen hard times, Dick,” said Frank, compassionately. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, “I’ve knowed what it was to be hungry +and cold, with nothin’ to eat or to warm me; but there’s one thing +I never could do,” he added, proudly. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never stole,” said Dick. “It’s mean and I +wouldn’t do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were you ever tempted to?” +</p> + +<p> +“Lots of times. Once I had been goin’ round all day, and +hadn’t sold any matches, except three cents’ worth early in the +mornin’. With that I bought an apple, thinkin’ I should get some +more bimeby. When evenin’ come I was awful hungry. I went into a +baker’s just to look at the bread. It made me feel kind o’ good +just to look at the bread and cakes, and I thought maybe they would give me +some. I asked ’em wouldn’t they give me a loaf, and take their pay +in matches. But they said they’d got enough matches to last three months; +so there wasn’t any chance for a trade. While I was standin’ at the +stove warmin’ me, the baker went into a back room, and I felt so hungry I +thought I would take just one loaf, and go off with it. There was such a big +pile I don’t think he’d have known it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you didn’t do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I didn’t and I was glad of it, for when the man came in +ag’in, he said he wanted some one to carry some cake to a lady in St. +Mark’s Place. His boy was sick, and he hadn’t no one to send; so he +told me he’d give me ten cents if I would go. My business wasn’t +very pressin’ just then, so I went, and when I come back, I took my pay +in bread and cakes. Didn’t they taste good, though?” +</p> + +<p> +“So you didn’t stay long in the match business, Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I couldn’t sell enough to make it pay. Then there was some +folks that wanted me to sell cheaper to them; so I couldn’t make any +profit. There was one old lady—she was rich, too, for she lived in a big +brick house—beat me down so, that I didn’t make no profit at all; +but she wouldn’t buy without, and I hadn’t sold none that day; so I +let her have them. I don’t see why rich folks should be so hard upon a +poor boy that wants to make a livin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a good deal of meanness in the world, I’m afraid, +Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“If everybody was like you and your uncle,” said Dick, “there +would be some chance for poor people. If I was rich I’d try to help +’em along.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you will be rich sometime, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid all my wallets will be like this,” said Dick, +indicating the one he had received from the dropper, “and will be full of +papers what aint of no use to anybody except the owner.” +</p> + +<p> +“That depends very much on yourself, Dick,” said Frank. +“Stewart wasn’t always rich, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wasn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“When he first came to New York as a young man he was a teacher, and +teachers are not generally very rich. At last he went into business, starting +in a small way, and worked his way up by degrees. But there was one thing he +determined in the beginning: that he would be strictly honorable in all his +dealings, and never overreach any one for the sake of making money. If there +was a chance for him, Dick, there is a chance for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He knowed enough to be a teacher, and I’m awful ignorant,” +said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“But you needn’t stay so.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I help it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you learn at school?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t go to school ’cause I’ve got my livin’ +to earn. It wouldn’t do me much good if I learned to read and write, and +just as I’d got learned I starved to death.” +</p> + +<p> +“But are there no night-schools?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you go? I suppose you don’t work in the +evenings.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never cared much about it,” said Dick, “and that’s +the truth. But since I’ve got to talkin’ with you, I think more +about it. I guess I’ll begin to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would, Dick. You’ll make a smart man if you only get a +little education.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think so?” asked Dick, doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“I know so. A boy who has earned his own living since he was seven years +old must have something in him. I feel very much interested in you, Dick. +You’ve had a hard time of it so far in life, but I think better times are +in store. I want you to do well, and I feel sure you can if you only +try.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a good fellow,” said Dick, gratefully. +“I’m afraid I’m a pretty rough customer, but I aint as bad as +some. I mean to turn over a new leaf, and try to grow up +’spectable.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’ve been a great many boys begin as low down as you, Dick, +that have grown up respectable and honored. But they had to work pretty hard +for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m willin’ to work hard,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“And you must not only work hard, but work in the right way.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the right way?” +</p> + +<p> +“You began in the right way when you determined never to steal, or do +anything mean or dishonorable, however strongly tempted to do so. That will +make people have confidence in you when they come to know you. But, in order to +succeed well, you must manage to get as good an education as you can. Until you +do, you cannot get a position in an office or counting-room, even to run +errands.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” said Dick, soberly. “I never thought how +awful ignorant I was till now.” +</p> + +<p> +“That can be remedied with perseverance,” said Frank. “A year +will do a great deal for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go to work and see what I can do,” said Dick, +energetically. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap09"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br/> +A SCENE IN A THIRD AVENUE CAR</h2> + +<p> +The boys had turned into Third Avenue, a long street, which, commencing just +below the Cooper Institute, runs out to Harlem. A man came out of a side +street, uttering at intervals a monotonous cry which sounded like “glass +puddin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Glass pudding!” repeated Frank, looking in surprised wonder at +Dick. “What does he mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you’d like some,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard of it before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose you ask him what he charges for his puddin’.” +</p> + +<p> +Frank looked more narrowly at the man, and soon concluded that he was a +glazier. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I understand,” he said. “He means ‘glass put +in.’” +</p> + +<p> +Frank’s mistake was not a singular one. The monotonous cry of these men +certainly sounds more like “glass puddin’,” than the words +they intend to utter. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Dick, “where shall we go?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to see Central Park,” said Frank. “Is it far +off?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is about a mile and a half from here,” said Dick. “This +is Twenty-ninth Street, and the Park begins at Fifty-ninth Street.” +</p> + +<p> +It may be explained, for the benefit of readers who have never visited New +York, that about a mile from the City Hall the cross-streets begin to be +numbered in regular order. There is a continuous line of houses as far as One +Hundred and Thirtieth Street, where may be found the terminus of the Harlem +line of horse-cars. When the entire island is laid out and settled, probably +the numbers will reach two hundred or more. Central Park, which lies between +Fifty-ninth Street on the south, and One Hundred and Tenth Street on the north, +is true to its name, occupying about the centre of the island. The distance +between two parallel streets is called a block, and twenty blocks make a mile. +It will therefore be seen that Dick was exactly right, when he said they were a +mile and a half from Central Park. +</p> + +<p> +“That is too far to walk,” said Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“’Twon’t cost but six cents to ride,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean in the horse-cars?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right then. We’ll jump aboard the next car.” +</p> + +<p> +The Third Avenue and Harlem line of horse-cars is better patronized than any +other in New York, though not much can be said for the cars, which are usually +dirty and overcrowded. Still, when it is considered that only seven cents are +charged for the entire distance to Harlem, about seven miles from the City +Hall, the fare can hardly be complained of. But of course most of the profit is +made from the way-passengers who only ride a short distance. +</p> + +<p> +A car was at that moment approaching, but it seemed pretty crowded. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall we take that, or wait for another?” asked Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“The next’ll most likely be as bad,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +The boys accordingly signalled to the conductor to stop, and got on the front +platform. They were obliged to stand up till the car reached Fortieth Street, +when so many of the passengers had got off that they obtained seats. +</p> + +<p> +Frank sat down beside a middle-aged woman, or lady, as she probably called +herself, whose sharp visage and thin lips did not seem to promise a very +pleasant disposition. When the two gentlemen who sat beside her arose, she +spread her skirts in the endeavor to fill two seats. Disregarding this, the +boys sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“There aint room for two,” she said, looking sourly at Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“There were two here before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there ought not to have been. Some people like to crowd in where +they’re not wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“And some like to take up a double allowance of room,” thought +Frank; but he did not say so. He saw that the woman had a bad temper, and +thought it wisest to say nothing. +</p> + +<p> +Frank had never ridden up the city as far as this, and it was with much +interest that he looked out of the car windows at the stores on either side. +Third Avenue is a broad street, but in the character of its houses and stores +it is quite inferior to Broadway, though better than some of the avenues +further east. Fifth Avenue, as most of my readers already know, is the finest +street in the city, being lined with splendid private residences, occupied by +the wealthier classes. Many of the cross streets also boast houses which may be +considered palaces, so elegant are they externally and internally. Frank caught +glimpses of some of these as he was carried towards the Park. +</p> + +<p> +After the first conversation, already mentioned, with the lady at his side, he +supposed he should have nothing further to do with her. But in this he was +mistaken. While he was busy looking out of the car window, she plunged her hand +into her pocket in search of her purse, which she was unable to find. Instantly +she jumped to the conclusion that it had been stolen, and her suspicions +fastened upon Frank, with whom she was already provoked for “crowding +her,” as she termed it. +</p> + +<p> +“Conductor!” she exclaimed in a sharp voice. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s wanted, ma’am?” returned that functionary. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to come here right off.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“My purse has been stolen. There was four dollars and eighty cents in it. +I know, because I counted it when I paid my fare.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who stole it?” +</p> + +<p> +“That boy,” she said pointing to Frank, who listened to the charge +in the most intense astonishment. “He crowded in here on purpose to rob +me, and I want you to search him right off.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a lie!” exclaimed Dick, indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you’re in league with him, I dare say,” said the woman +spitefully. “You’re as bad as he is, I’ll be bound.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a nice female, you be!” said Dick, ironically. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you dare to call me a female, sir,” said the lady, +furiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, you aint a man in disguise, be you?” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“You are very much mistaken, madam,” said Frank, quietly. +“The conductor may search me, if you desire it.” +</p> + +<p> +A charge of theft, made in a crowded car, of course made quite a sensation. +Cautious passengers instinctively put their hands on their pockets, to make +sure that they, too, had not been robbed. As for Frank, his face flushed, and +he felt very indignant that he should even be suspected of so mean a crime. He +had been carefully brought up, and been taught to regard stealing as low and +wicked. +</p> + +<p> +Dick, on the contrary, thought it a capital joke that such a charge should have +been made against his companion. Though he had brought himself up, and known +plenty of boys and men, too, who would steal, he had never done so himself. He +thought it mean. But he could not be expected to regard it as Frank did. He had +been too familiar with it in others to look upon it with horror. +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the passengers rather sided with the boys. Appearances go a great +ways, and Frank did not look like a thief. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you must be mistaken, madam,” said a gentleman sitting +opposite. “The lad does not look as if he would steal.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t tell by looks,” said the lady, sourly. +“They’re deceitful; villains are generally well dressed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Be they?” said Dick. “You’d ought to see me with my +Washington coat on. You’d think I was the biggest villain ever you +saw.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve no doubt you are,” said the lady, scowling in the +direction of our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, ma’am,” said Dick. “’Tisn’t +often I get such fine compliments.” +</p> + +<p> +“None of your impudence,” said the lady, wrathfully. “I +believe you’re the worst of the two.” +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile the car had been stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“How long are we going to stop here?” demanded a passenger, +impatiently. “I’m in a hurry, if none of the rest of you +are.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want my pocket-book,” said the lady, defiantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, ma’am, I haven’t got it, and I don’t see as +it’s doing you any good detaining us all here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Conductor, will you call a policeman to search that young scamp?” +continued the aggrieved lady. “You don’t expect I’m going to +lose my money, and do nothing about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll turn my pockets inside out if you want me to,” said +Frank, proudly. “There’s no need of a policeman. The conductor, or +any one else, may search me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, youngster,” said the conductor, “if the lady agrees, +I’ll search you.” +</p> + +<p> +The lady signified her assent. +</p> + +<p> +Frank accordingly turned his pockets inside out, but nothing was revealed +except his own porte-monnaie and a penknife. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, ma’am, are you satisfied?” asked the conductor. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I aint,” said she, decidedly. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t think he’s got it still?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, but he’s passed it over to his confederate, that boy there +that’s so full of impudence.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s me,” said Dick, comically. +</p> + +<p> +“He confesses it,” said the lady; “I want him +searched.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Dick, “I’m ready for the operation, +only, as I’ve got valooable property about me, be careful not to drop any +of my Erie Bonds.” +</p> + +<p> +The conductor’s hand forthwith dove into Dick’s pocket, and drew +out a rusty jack-knife, a battered cent, about fifty cents in change, and the +capacious pocket-book which he had received from the swindler who was anxious +to get back to his sick family in Boston. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that yours, ma’am?” asked the conductor, holding up the +wallet which excited some amazement, by its size, among the other passengers. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me you carry a large pocket-book for a young man of your +age,” said the conductor. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I carry my cash and valooable papers in,” said +Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that isn’t yours, ma’am,” said the +conductor, turning to the lady. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said she, scornfully. “I wouldn’t carry round +such a great wallet as that. Most likely he’s stolen it from somebody +else.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a prime detective you’d be!” said Dick. +“P’rhaps you know who I took it from.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know but my money’s in it,” said the lady, +sharply. “Conductor, will you open that wallet, and see what there is in +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t disturb the valooable papers,” said Dick, in a tone of +pretended anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +The contents of the wallet excited some amusement among the passengers. +</p> + +<p> +“There don’t seem to be much money here,” said the conductor, +taking out a roll of tissue paper cut out in the shape of bills, and rolled up. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick. “Didn’t I tell you them were papers of +no valoo to anybody but the owner? If the lady’d like to borrow, I +won’t charge no interest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is my money, then?” said the lady, in some discomfiture. +“I shouldn’t wonder if one of the young scamps had thrown it out of +the window.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better search your pocket once more,” said the +gentleman opposite. “I don’t believe either of the boys is in +fault. They don’t look to me as if they would steal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, sir,” said Frank. +</p> + +<p> +The lady followed out the suggestion, and, plunging her hand once more into her +pocket, drew out a small porte-monnaie. She hardly knew whether to be glad or +sorry at this discovery. It placed her in rather an awkward position after the +fuss she had made, and the detention to which she had subjected the passengers, +now, as it proved, for nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the pocket-book you thought stolen?” asked the conductor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said she, rather confusedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ve been keeping me waiting all this time for +nothing,” he said, sharply. “I wish you’d take care to be +sure next time before you make such a disturbance for nothing. I’ve lost +five minutes, and shall not be on time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help it,” was the cross reply; “I didn’t +know it was in my pocket.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me you owe an apology to the boys you accused of a theft +which they have not committed,” said the gentleman opposite. +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t apologize to anybody,” said the lady, whose temper +was not of the best; “least of all to such whipper-snappers as they +are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, ma’am,” said Dick, comically; “your +handsome apology is accepted. It aint of no consequence, only I didn’t +like to expose the contents of my valooable pocket-book, for fear it might +excite the envy of some of my poor neighbors.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a character,” said the gentleman who had already +spoken, with a smile. +</p> + +<p> +“A bad character!” muttered the lady. +</p> + +<p> +But it was quite evident that the sympathies of those present were against the +lady, and on the side of the boys who had been falsely accused, while +Dick’s drollery had created considerable amusement. +</p> + +<p> +The cars had now reached Fifty-ninth Street, the southern boundary of the Park, +and here our hero and his companion got off. +</p> + +<p> +“You’d better look out for pickpockets, my lad,” said the +conductor, pleasantly. “That big wallet of yours might prove a great +temptation.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” said Dick. “That’s the +misfortin’ of being rich. Astor and me don’t sleep much for fear of +burglars breakin’ in and robbin’ us of our valooable treasures. +Sometimes I think I’ll give all my money to an Orphan Asylum, and take it +out in board. I guess I’d make money by the operation.” +</p> + +<p> +While Dick was speaking, the car rolled away, and the boys turned up +Fifty-ninth Street, for two long blocks yet separated them from the Park. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap10"></a>CHAPTER X.<br/> +INTRODUCES A VICTIM OF MISPLACED CONFIDENCE</h2> + +<p> +“What a queer chap you are, Dick!” said Frank, laughing. “You +always seem to be in good spirits.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I aint always. Sometimes I have the blues.” +</p> + +<p> +“When?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, once last winter it was awful cold, and there was big holes in my +shoes, and my gloves and all my warm clothes was at the tailor’s. I felt +as if life was sort of tough, and I’d like it if some rich man would +adopt me, and give me plenty to eat and drink and wear, without my havin’ +to look so sharp after it. Then agin’ when I’ve seen boys with good +homes, and fathers, and mothers, I’ve thought I’d like to have +somebody to care for me.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s tone changed as he said this, from his usual levity, and there was +a touch of sadness in it. Frank, blessed with a good home and indulgent +parents, could not help pitying the friendless boy who had found life such +up-hill work. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say you have no one to care for you, Dick,” he said, +lightly laying his hand on Dick’s shoulder. “I will care for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you will let me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would,” said Dick, earnestly. “I’d like to +feel that I have one friend who cares for me.” +</p> + +<p> +Central Park was now before them, but it was far from presenting the appearance +which it now exhibits. It had not been long since work had been commenced upon +it, and it was still very rough and unfinished. A rough tract of land, two +miles and a half from north to south, and a half a mile broad, very rocky in +parts, was the material from which the Park Commissioners have made the present +beautiful enclosure. There were no houses of good appearance near it, buildings +being limited mainly to rude temporary huts used by the workmen who were +employed in improving it. The time will undoubtedly come when the Park will be +surrounded by elegant residences, and compare favorably in this respect with +the most attractive parts of any city in the world. But at the time when Frank +and Dick visited it, not much could be said in favor either of the Park or its +neighborhood. +</p> + +<p> +“If this is Central Park,” said Frank, who naturally felt +disappointed, “I don’t think much of it. My father’s got a +large pasture that is much nicer.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll look better some time,” said Dick. “There aint +much to see now but rocks. We will take a walk over it if you want to.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Frank, “I’ve seen as much of it as I want +to. Besides, I feel tired.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we’ll go back. We can take the Sixth Avenue cars. They will +bring us out at Vesey Street just beside the Astor House.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Frank. “That will be the best course. I +hope,” he added, laughing, “our agreeable lady friend won’t +be there. I don’t care about being accused of <i>stealing</i> +again.” +</p> + +<p> +“She was a tough one,” said Dick. “Wouldn’t she make a +nice wife for a man that likes to live in hot water, and didn’t mind +bein’ scalded two or three times a day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think she’d just suit him. Is that the right car, +Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, jump in, and I’ll follow.” +</p> + +<p> +The Sixth Avenue is lined with stores, many of them of very good appearance, +and would make a very respectable principal street for a good-sized city. But +it is only one of several long business streets which run up the island, and +illustrate the extent and importance of the city to which they belong. +</p> + +<p> +No incidents worth mentioning took place during their ride down town. In about +three-quarters of an hour the boys got out of the car beside the Astor House. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you goin’ in now, Frank?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“That depends upon whether you have anything else to show me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t you like to go to Wall Street?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the street where there are so many bankers and +brokers,—isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I s’pose you aint afraid of bulls and bears,—are +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Bulls and bears?” repeated Frank, puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are they?” +</p> + +<p> +“The bulls is what tries to make the stocks go up, and the bears is what +try to growl ’em down.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I see. Yes, I’d like to go.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly they walked down on the west side of Broadway as far as Trinity +Church, and then, crossing, entered a street not very wide or very long, but of +very great importance. The reader would be astonished if he could know the +amount of money involved in the transactions which take place in a single day +in this street. It would be found that although Broadway is much greater in +length, and lined with stores, it stands second to Wall Street in this respect. +</p> + +<p> +“What is that large marble building?” asked Frank, pointing to a +massive structure on the corner of Wall and Nassau Streets. It was in the form +of a parallelogram, two hundred feet long by ninety wide, and about eighty feet +in height, the ascent to the entrance being by eighteen granite steps. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the Custom House,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“It looks like pictures I’ve seen of the Parthenon at +Athens,” said Frank, meditatively. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s Athens?” asked Dick. “It aint in York +State,—is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not the Athens I mean, at any rate. It is in Greece, and was a famous +city two thousand years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s longer than I can remember,” said Dick. “I +can’t remember distinctly more’n about a thousand years.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a chap you are, Dick! Do you know if we can go in?” +</p> + +<p> +The boys ascertained, after a little inquiry, that they would be allowed to do +so. They accordingly entered the Custom House and made their way up to the +roof, from which they had a fine view of the harbor, the wharves crowded with +shipping, and the neighboring shores of Long Island and New Jersey. Towards the +north they looked down for many miles upon continuous lines of streets, and +thousands of roofs, with here and there a church-spire rising above its +neighbors. Dick had never before been up there, and he, as well as Frank, was +interested in the grand view spread before them. +</p> + +<p> +At length they descended, and were going down the granite steps on the outside +of the building, when they were addressed by a young man, whose appearance is +worth describing. +</p> + +<p> +He was tall, and rather loosely put together, with small eyes and rather a +prominent nose. His clothing had evidently not been furnished by a city tailor. +He wore a blue coat with brass buttons, and pantaloons of rather scanty +dimensions, which were several inches too short to cover his lower limbs. He +held in his hand a piece of paper, and his countenance wore a look of mingled +bewilderment and anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +“Be they a-payin’ out money inside there?” he asked, +indicating the interior by a motion of his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess so,” said Dick. “Are you a-goin’ in for +some?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wal, yes. I’ve got an order here for sixty dollars,—made a +kind of speculation this morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“How was it?” asked Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“Wal, you see I brought down some money to put in the bank, fifty dollars +it was, and I hadn’t justly made up my mind what bank to put it into, +when a chap came up in a terrible hurry, and said it was very unfortunate, but +the bank wasn’t open, and he must have some money right off. He was +obliged to go out of the city by the next train. I asked him how much he +wanted. He said fifty dollars. I told him I’d got that, and he offered me +a check on the bank for sixty, and I let him have it. I thought that was a +pretty easy way to earn ten dollars, so I counted out the money and he went +off. He told me I’d hear a bell ring when they began to pay out money. +But I’ve waited most two hours, and I haint heard it yet. I’d ought +to be goin’, for I told dad I’d be home to-night. Do you think I +can get the money now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you show me the check?” asked Frank, who had listened +attentively to the countryman’s story, and suspected that he had been +made the victim of a swindler. It was made out upon the “Washington +Bank,” in the sum of sixty dollars, and was signed “Ephraim +Smith.” +</p> + +<p> +“Washington Bank!” repeated Frank. “Dick, is there such a +bank in the city?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not as I knows on,” said Dick. “Leastways I don’t own +any shares in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aint this the Washington Bank?” asked the countryman, pointing to +the building on the steps of which the three were now standing. +</p> + +<p> +“No, it’s the Custom House.” +</p> + +<p> +“And won’t they give me any money for this?” asked the young +man, the perspiration standing on his brow. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid the man who gave it to you was a swindler,” said +Frank, gently. +</p> + +<p> +“And won’t I ever see my fifty dollars again?” asked the +youth in agony. +</p> + +<p> +“I am afraid not.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’ll dad say?” ejaculated the miserable youth. “It +makes me feel sick to think of it. I wish I had the feller here. I’d +shake him out of his boots.” +</p> + +<p> +“What did he look like? I’ll call a policeman and you shall +describe him. Perhaps in that way you can get track of your money.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick called a policeman, who listened to the description, and recognized the +operator as an experienced swindler. He assured the countryman that there was +very little chance of his ever seeing his money again. The boys left the +miserable youth loudly bewailing his bad luck, and proceeded on their way down +the street. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a baby,” said Dick, contemptuously. “He’d +ought to know how to take care of himself and his money. A feller has to look +sharp in this city, or he’ll lose his eye-teeth before he knows +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you never got swindled out of fifty dollars, Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t carry no such small bills. I wish I did,” he +added. +</p> + +<p> +“So do I, Dick. What’s that building there at the end of the +street?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the Wall-Street Ferry to Brooklyn.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long does it take to go across?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not more’n five minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we just ride over and back.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” said Dick. “It’s rather expensive; but if +you don’t mind, I don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, how much does it cost?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two cents apiece.” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I can stand that. Let us go.” +</p> + +<p> +They passed the gate, paying the fare to a man who stood at the entrance, and +were soon on the ferry-boat, bound for Brooklyn. +</p> + +<p> +They had scarcely entered the boat, when Dick, grasping Frank by the arm, +pointed to a man just outside of the gentlemen’s cabin. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see that man, Frank?” he inquired. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, what of him?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s the man that cheated the country chap out of his fifty +dollars.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap11"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br/> +DICK AS A DETECTIVE</h2> + +<p> +Dick’s ready identification of the rogue who had cheated the countryman, +surprised Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“What makes you think it is he?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Because I’ve seen him before, and I know he’s up to them +kind of tricks. When I heard how he looked, I was sure I knowed him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Our recognizing him won’t be of much use,” said Frank. +“It won’t give back the countryman his money.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Dick, thoughtfully. “May be I can +get it.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” asked Frank, incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute, and you’ll see.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick left his companion, and went up to the man whom he suspected. +</p> + +<p> +“Ephraim Smith,” said Dick, in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +The man turned suddenly, and looked at Dick uneasily. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you say?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe your name is Ephraim Smith,” continued Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re mistaken,” said the man, and was about to move off. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop a minute,” said Dick. “Don’t you keep your money +in the Washington Bank?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know any such bank. I’m in a hurry, young man, and I +can’t stop to answer any foolish questions.” +</p> + +<p> +The boat had by this time reached the Brooklyn pier, and Mr. Ephraim Smith +seemed in a hurry to land. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” said Dick, significantly; “you’d better +not go on shore unless you want to jump into the arms of a policeman.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked the man, startled. +</p> + +<p> +“That little affair of yours is known to the police,” said Dick; +“about how you got fifty dollars out of a greenhorn on a false check, and +it mayn’t be safe for you to go ashore.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said the +swindler with affected boldness, though Dick could see that he was ill at ease. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes you do,” said Dick. “There isn’t but one thing to +do. Just give me back that money, and I’ll see that you’re not +touched. If you don’t, I’ll give you up to the first +p’liceman we meet.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick looked so determined, and spoke so confidently, that the other, overcome +by his fears, no longer hesitated, but passed a roll of bills to Dick and +hastily left the boat. +</p> + +<p> +All this Frank witnessed with great amazement, not understanding what influence +Dick could have obtained over the swindler sufficient to compel restitution. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you do it?” he asked eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“I told him I’d exert my influence with the president to have him +tried by <i>habeas corpus</i>,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“And of course that frightened him. But tell me, without joking, how you +managed.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick gave a truthful account of what occurred, and then said, “Now +we’ll go back and carry the money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we don’t find the poor countryman?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the p’lice will take care of it.” +</p> + +<p> +They remained on board the boat, and in five minutes were again in New York. +Going up Wall Street, they met the countryman a little distance from the Custom +House. His face was marked with the traces of deep anguish; but in his case +even grief could not subdue the cravings of appetite. He had purchased some +cakes of one of the old women who spread out for the benefit of passers-by an +array of apples and seed-cakes, and was munching them with melancholy +satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Hilloa!” said Dick. “Have you found your money?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” ejaculated the young man, with a convulsive gasp. “I +shan’t ever see it again. The mean skunk’s cheated me out of it. +Consarn his picter! It took me most six months to save it up. I was +workin’ for Deacon Pinkham in our place. Oh, I wish I’d never come +to New York! The deacon, he told me he’d keep it for me; but I wanted to +put it in the bank, and now it’s all gone, boo hoo!” +</p> + +<p> +And the miserable youth, having despatched his cakes, was so overcome by the +thought of his loss that he burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said Dick, “dry up, and see what I’ve got +here.” +</p> + +<p> +The youth no sooner saw the roll of bills, and comprehended that it was indeed +his lost treasure, than from the depths of anguish he was exalted to the most +ecstatic joy. He seized Dick’s hand, and shook it with so much energy +that our hero began to feel rather alarmed for its safety. +</p> + +<p> +“’Pears to me you take my arm for a pump-handle,” said he. +“Couldn’t you show your gratitood some other way? It’s just +possible I may want to use my arm ag’in some time.” +</p> + +<p> +The young man desisted, but invited Dick most cordially to come up and stop a +week with him at his country home, assuring him that he wouldn’t charge +him anything for board. +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” said Dick. “If you don’t mind I’ll +bring my wife along, too. She’s delicate, and the country air might do +her good.” +</p> + +<p> +Jonathan stared at him in amazement, uncertain whether to credit the fact of +his marriage. Dick walked on with Frank, leaving him in an apparent state of +stupefaction, and it is possible that he has not yet settled the affair to his +satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” said Frank, “I think I’ll go back to the Astor +House. Uncle has probably got through his business and returned.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +The two boys walked up to Broadway, just where the tall steeple of Trinity +faces the street of bankers and brokers, and walked leisurely to the hotel. +When they arrived at the Astor House, Dick said, “Good-by, Frank.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not yet,” said Frank; “I want you to come in with me.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick followed his young patron up the steps. Frank went to the reading-room, +where, as he had thought probable, he found his uncle already arrived, and +reading a copy of “The Evening Post,” which he had just purchased +outside. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, boys,” he said, looking up, “have you had a pleasant +jaunt?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Frank. “Dick’s a capital guide.” +</p> + +<p> +“So this is Dick,” said Mr. Whitney, surveying him with a smile. +“Upon my word, I should hardly have known him. I must congratulate him on +his improved appearance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Frank’s been very kind to me,” said Dick, who, rough +street-boy as he was, had a heart easily touched by kindness, of which he had +never experienced much. “He’s a tip-top fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe he is a good boy,” said Mr. Whitney. “I hope, my +lad, you will prosper and rise in the world. You know in this free country +poverty in early life is no bar to a man’s advancement. I haven’t +risen very high myself,” he added, with a smile, “but have met with +moderate success in life; yet there was a time when I was as poor as +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were you, sir,” asked Dick, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, my boy, I have known the time I have been obliged to go without my +dinner because I didn’t have enough money to pay for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you get up in the world,” asked Dick, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“I entered a printing-office as an apprentice, and worked for some years. +Then my eyes gave out and I was obliged to give that up. Not knowing what else +to do, I went into the country, and worked on a farm. After a while I was lucky +enough to invent a machine, which has brought me in a great deal of money. But +there was one thing I got while I was in the printing-office which I value more +than money.” +</p> + +<p> +“What was that, sir?” +</p> + +<p> +“A taste for reading and study. During my leisure hours I improved myself +by study, and acquired a large part of the knowledge which I now possess. +Indeed, it was one of my books that first put me on the track of the invention, +which I afterwards made. So you see, my lad, that my studious habits paid me in +money, as well as in another way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m awful ignorant,” said Dick, soberly. +</p> + +<p> +“But you are young, and, I judge, a smart boy. If you try to learn, you +can, and if you ever expect to do anything in the world, you must know +something of books.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” said Dick, resolutely. “I aint always goin’ +to black boots for a livin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“All labor is respectable, my lad, and you have no cause to be ashamed of +any honest business; yet when you can get something to do that promises better +for your future prospects, I advise you to do so. Till then earn your living in +the way you are accustomed to, avoid extravagance, and save up a little money +if you can.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you for your advice,” said our hero. “There aint many +that takes an interest in Ragged Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“So that’s your name,” said Mr. Whitney. “If I judge +you rightly, it won’t be long before you change it. Save your money, my +lad, buy books, and determine to be somebody, and you may yet fill an honorable +position.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try,” said Dick. “Good-night, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a minute, Dick,” said Frank. “Your blacking-box and old +clothes are upstairs. You may want them.” +</p> + +<p> +“In course,” said Dick. “I couldn’t get along without +my best clothes, and my stock in trade.” +</p> + +<p> +“You may go up to the room with him, Frank,” said Mr. Whitney. +“The clerk will give you the key. I want to see you, Dick, before you +go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going to sleep to-night, Dick?” asked Frank, as they +went upstairs together. +</p> + +<p> +“P’r’aps at the Fifth Avenue Hotel—on the +outside,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you any place to sleep, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“I slept in a box, last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“In a box?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, on Spruce Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor fellow!” said Frank, compassionately. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, ’twas a bully bed—full of straw! I slept like a +top.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you earn enough to pay for a room, Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick; “only I spend my money foolish, goin’ +to the Old Bowery, and Tony Pastor’s, and sometimes gamblin’ in +Baxter Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t gamble any more,—will you, Dick?” said +Frank, laying his hand persuasively on his companion’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I won’t,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll promise?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, and I’ll keep it. You’re a good feller. I wish you was +goin’ to be in New York.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to a boarding-school in Connecticut. The name of the town is +Barnton. Will you write to me, Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“My writing would look like hens’ tracks,” said our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind. I want you to write. When you write you can tell me how to +direct, and I will send you a letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would,” said Dick. “I wish I was more like +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you will make a much better boy, Dick. Now we’ll go in to +my uncle. He wishes to see you before you go.” +</p> + +<p> +They went into the reading-room. Dick had wrapped up his blacking-brush in a +newspaper with which Frank had supplied him, feeling that a guest of the Astor +House should hardly be seen coming out of the hotel displaying such a +professional sign. +</p> + +<p> +“Uncle, Dick’s ready to go,” said Frank. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-by, my lad,” said Mr. Whitney. “I hope to hear good +accounts of you sometime. Don’t forget what I have told you. Remember +that your future position depends mainly upon yourself, and that it will be +high or low as you choose to make it.” +</p> + +<p> +He held out his hand, in which was a five-dollar bill. Dick shrunk back. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like to take it,” he said. “I haven’t +earned it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps not,” said Mr. Whitney; “but I give it to you +because I remember my own friendless youth. I hope it may be of service to you. +Sometime when you are a prosperous man, you can repay it in the form of aid to +some poor boy, who is struggling upward as you are now.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will, sir,” said Dick, manfully. +</p> + +<p> +He no longer refused the money, but took it gratefully, and, bidding Frank and +his uncle good-by, went out into the street. A feeling of loneliness came over +him as he left the presence of Frank, for whom he had formed a strong +attachment in the few hours he had known him. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap12"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br/> +DICK HIRES A ROOM ON MOTT STREET</h2> + +<p> +Going out into the fresh air Dick felt the pangs of hunger. He accordingly went +to a restaurant and got a substantial supper. Perhaps it was the new clothes he +wore, which made him feel a little more aristocratic. At all events, instead of +patronizing the cheap restaurant where he usually procured his meals, he went +into the refectory attached to Lovejoy’s Hotel, where the prices were +higher and the company more select. In his ordinary dress, Dick would have been +excluded, but now he had the appearance of a very respectable, gentlemanly boy, +whose presence would not discredit any establishment. His orders were therefore +received with attention by the waiter and in due time a good supper was placed +before him. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I could come here every day,” thought Dick. “It seems +kind o’ nice and ’spectable, side of the other place. There’s +a gent at that other table that I’ve shined boots for more’n once. +He don’t know me in my new clothes. Guess he don’t know his +boot-black patronizes the same establishment.” +</p> + +<p> +His supper over, Dick went up to the desk, and, presenting his check, tendered +in payment his five-dollar bill, as if it were one of a large number which he +possessed. Receiving back his change he went out into the street. +</p> + +<p> +Two questions now arose: How should he spend the evening, and where should he +pass the night? Yesterday, with such a sum of money in his possession, he would +have answered both questions readily. For the evening, he would have passed it +at the Old Bowery, and gone to sleep in any out-of-the-way place that offered. +But he had turned over a new leaf, or resolved to do so. He meant to save his +money for some useful purpose,—to aid his advancement in the world. So he +could not afford the theatre. Besides, with his new clothes, he was unwilling +to pass the night out of doors. +</p> + +<p> +“I should spile ’em,” he thought, “and that +wouldn’t pay.” +</p> + +<p> +So he determined to hunt up a room which he could occupy regularly, and +consider as his own, where he could sleep nights, instead of depending on boxes +and old wagons for a chance shelter. This would be the first step towards +respectability, and Dick determined to take it. +</p> + +<p> +He accordingly passed through the City Hall Park, and walked leisurely up +Centre Street. +</p> + +<p> +He decided that it would hardly be advisable for him to seek lodgings in Fifth +Avenue, although his present cash capital consisted of nearly five dollars in +money, besides the valuable papers contained in his wallet. Besides, he had +reason to doubt whether any in his line of business lived on that aristocratic +street. He took his way to Mott Street, which is considerably less pretentious, +and halted in front of a shabby brick lodging-house kept by a Mrs. Mooney, with +whose son Tom, Dick was acquainted. +</p> + +<p> +Dick rang the bell, which sent back a shrill metallic response. +</p> + +<p> +The door was opened by a slatternly servant, who looked at him inquiringly, and +not without curiosity. It must be remembered that Dick was well dressed, and +that nothing in his appearance bespoke his occupation. Being naturally a +good-looking boy, he might readily be mistaken for a gentleman’s son. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Queen Victoria,” said Dick, “is your missus at +home?” +</p> + +<p> +“My name’s Bridget,” said the girl. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, indeed!” said Dick. “You looked so much like the +queen’s picter what she gave me last Christmas in exchange for mine, that +I couldn’t help calling you by her name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, go along wid ye!” said Bridget. “It’s makin’ +fun ye are.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t believe me,” said Dick, gravely, “all +you’ve got to do is to ask my partic’lar friend, the Duke of +Newcastle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bridget!” called a shrill voice from the basement. +</p> + +<p> +“The missus is calling me,” said Bridget, hurriedly. +“I’ll tell her ye want her.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +The servant descended into the lower regions, and in a short time a stout, +red-faced woman appeared on the scene. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, sir, what’s your wish?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got a room to let?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it for yourself you ask?” questioned the woman, in some +surprise. +</p> + +<p> +Dick answered in the affirmative. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got any very good rooms vacant. There’s a small +room in the third story.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to see it,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know as it would be good enough for you,” said the +woman, with a glance at Dick’s clothes. +</p> + +<p> +“I aint very partic’lar about accommodations,” said our hero. +“I guess I’ll look at it.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick followed the landlady up two narrow stair-cases, uncarpeted and dirty, to +the third landing, where he was ushered into a room about ten feet square. It +could not be considered a very desirable apartment. It had once been covered +with an oilcloth carpet, but this was now very ragged, and looked worse than +none. There was a single bed in the corner, covered with an indiscriminate heap +of bed-clothing, rumpled and not over-clean. There was a bureau, with the +veneering scratched and in some parts stripped off, and a small glass, eight +inches by ten, cracked across the middle; also two chairs in rather a +disjointed condition. Judging from Dick’s appearance, Mrs. Mooney thought +he would turn from it in disdain. +</p> + +<p> +But it must be remembered that Dick’s past experience had not been of a +character to make him fastidious. In comparison with a box, or an empty wagon, +even this little room seemed comfortable. He decided to hire it if the rent +proved reasonable. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what’s the tax?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I ought to have a dollar a week,” said Mrs. Mooney, hesitatingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Say seventy-five cents, and I’ll take it,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Every week in advance?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, as times is hard, and I can’t afford to keep it empty, you +may have it. When will you come?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-night,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“It aint lookin’ very neat. I don’t know as I can fix it up +to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll sleep here to-night, and you can fix it up +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you’ll excuse the looks. I’m a lone woman, and my +help is so shiftless, I have to look after everything myself; so I can’t +keep things as straight as I want to.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right!” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you pay me the first week in advance?” asked the landlady, +cautiously. +</p> + +<p> +Dick responded by drawing seventy-five cents from his pocket, and placing it in +her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s your business, sir, if I may inquire?” said Mrs. +Mooney. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’m professional!” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said the landlady, who did not feel much enlightened by +this answer. +</p> + +<p> +“How’s Tom?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know my Tom?” said Mrs. Mooney in surprise. +“He’s gone to sea,—to Californy. He went last week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did he?” said Dick. “Yes, I knew him.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mooney looked upon her new lodger with increased favor, on finding that he +was acquainted with her son, who, by the way, was one of the worst young scamps +in Mott Street, which is saying considerable. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bring over my baggage from the Astor House this +evening,” said Dick in a tone of importance. +</p> + +<p> +“From the Astor House!” repeated Mrs. Mooney, in fresh amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I’ve been stoppin’ there a short time with some +friends,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mooney might be excused for a little amazement at finding that a guest +from the Astor House was about to become one of her lodgers—such +transfers not being common. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you say you was purfessional?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, ma’am,” said Dick, politely. +</p> + +<p> +“You aint a—a—” Mrs. Mooney paused, uncertain what +conjecture to hazard. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, nothing of the sort,” said Dick, promptly. “How +could you think so, Mrs. Mooney?” +</p> + +<p> +“No offence, sir,” said the landlady, more perplexed than ever. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not,” said our hero. “But you must excuse me now, +Mrs. Mooney, as I have business of great importance to attend to.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll come round this evening?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick answered in the affirmative, and turned away. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder what he is!” thought the landlady, following him with her +eyes as he crossed the street. “He’s got good clothes on, but he +don’t seem very particular about his room. Well; I’ve got all my +rooms full now. That’s one comfort.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick felt more comfortable now that he had taken the decisive step of hiring a +lodging, and paying a week’s rent in advance. For seven nights he was +sure of a shelter and a bed to sleep in. The thought was a pleasant one to our +young vagrant, who hitherto had seldom known when he rose in the morning where +he should find a resting-place at night. +</p> + +<p> +“I must bring my traps round,” said Dick to himself. “I guess +I’ll go to bed early to-night. It’ll feel kinder good to sleep in a +reg’lar bed. Boxes is rather hard to the back, and aint comfortable in +case of rain. I wonder what Johnny Nolan would say if he knew I’d got a +room of my own.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap13"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +MICKY MAGUIRE</h2> + +<p> +About nine o’clock Dick sought his new lodgings. In his hands he carried +his professional wardrobe, namely, the clothes which he had worn at the +commencement of the day, and the implements of his business. These he stowed +away in the bureau drawers, and by the light of a flickering candle took off +his clothes and went to bed. Dick had a good digestion and a reasonably good +conscience; consequently he was a good sleeper. Perhaps, too, the soft feather +bed conduced to slumber. At any rate his eyes were soon closed, and he did not +awake until half-past six the next morning. +</p> + +<p> +He lifted himself on his elbow, and stared around him in transient +bewilderment. +</p> + +<p> +“Blest if I hadn’t forgot where I was,” he said to himself. +“So this is my room, is it? Well, it seems kind of ’spectable to +have a room and a bed to sleep in. I’d orter be able to afford +seventy-five cents a week. I’ve throwed away more money than that in one +evenin’. There aint no reason why I shouldn’t live +’spectable. I wish I knowed as much as Frank. He’s a tip-top +feller. Nobody ever cared enough for me before to give me good advice. It was +kicks, and cuffs, and swearin’ at me all the time. I’d like to show +him I can do something.” +</p> + +<p> +While Dick was indulging in these reflections, he had risen from bed, and, +finding an accession to the furniture of his room, in the shape of an ancient +wash-stand bearing a cracked bowl and broken pitcher, indulged himself in the +rather unusual ceremony of a good wash. On the whole, Dick preferred to be +clean, but it was not always easy to gratify his desire. Lodging in the street +as he had been accustomed to do, he had had no opportunity to perform his +toilet in the customary manner. Even now he found himself unable to arrange his +dishevelled locks, having neither comb nor brush. He determined to purchase a +comb, at least, as soon as possible, and a brush too, if he could get one +cheap. Meanwhile he combed his hair with his fingers as well as he could, +though the result was not quite so satisfactory as it might have been. +</p> + +<p> +A question now came up for consideration. For the first time in his life Dick +possessed two suits of clothes. Should he put on the clothes Frank had given +him, or resume his old rags? +</p> + +<p> +Now, twenty-four hours before, at the time Dick was introduced to the +reader’s notice, no one could have been less fastidious as to his +clothing than he. Indeed, he had rather a contempt for good clothes, or at +least he thought so. But now, as he surveyed the ragged and dirty coat and the +patched pants, Dick felt ashamed of them. He was unwilling to appear in the +streets with them. Yet, if he went to work in his new suit, he was in danger of +spoiling it, and he might not have it in his power to purchase a new one. +Economy dictated a return to the old garments. Dick tried them on, and surveyed +himself in the cracked glass; but the reflection did not please him. +</p> + +<p> +“They don’t look ’spectable,” he decided; and, +forthwith taking them off again, he put on the new suit of the day before. +</p> + +<p> +“I must try to earn a little more,” he thought, “to pay for +my room, and to buy some new clo’es when these is wore out.” +</p> + +<p> +He opened the door of his chamber, and went downstairs and into the street, +carrying his blacking-box with him. +</p> + +<p> +It was Dick’s custom to commence his business before breakfast; generally +it must be owned, because he began the day penniless, and must earn his meal +before he ate it. To-day it was different. He had four dollars left in his +pocket-book; but this he had previously determined not to touch. In fact he had +formed the ambitious design of starting an account at a savings’ bank, in +order to have something to fall back upon in case of sickness or any other +emergency, or at any rate as a reserve fund to expend in clothing or other +necessary articles when he required them. Hitherto he had been content to live +on from day to day without a penny ahead; but the new vision of respectability +which now floated before Dick’s mind, owing to his recent acquaintance +with Frank, was beginning to exercise a powerful effect upon him. +</p> + +<p> +In Dick’s profession as in others there are lucky days, when everything +seems to flow prosperously. As if to encourage him in his new-born resolution, +our hero obtained no less than six jobs in the course of an hour and a half. +This gave him sixty cents, quite abundant to purchase his breakfast, and a comb +besides. His exertions made him hungry, and, entering a small eating-house he +ordered a cup of coffee and a beefsteak. To this he added a couple of rolls. +This was quite a luxurious breakfast for Dick, and more expensive than he was +accustomed to indulge himself with. To gratify the curiosity of my young +readers, I will put down the items with their cost,— +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +Coffee, . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 cts.<br/> +Beefsteak, . . . . . . . . . . . 15<br/> +A couple of rolls, . . . . . . . 5<br/> +—25 cts. +</p> + +<p> +It will thus be seen that our hero had expended nearly one-half of his +morning’s earnings. Some days he had been compelled to breakfast on five +cents, and then he was forced to content himself with a couple of apples, or +cakes. But a good breakfast is a good preparation for a busy day, and Dick +sallied forth from the restaurant lively and alert, ready to do a good stroke +of business. +</p> + +<p> +Dick’s change of costume was liable to lead to one result of which he had +not thought. His brother boot-blacks might think he had grown aristocratic, and +was putting on airs,—that, in fact, he was getting above his business, +and desirous to outshine his associates. Dick had not dreamed of this, because +in fact, in spite of his new-born ambition, he entertained no such feeling. +There was nothing of what boys call “big-feeling” about him. He was +a borough democrat, using the word not politically, but in its proper sense, +and was disposed to fraternize with all whom he styled “good +fellows,” without regard to their position. It may seem a little +unnecessary to some of my readers to make this explanation; but they must +remember that pride and “big-feeling” are confined to no age or +class, but may be found in boys as well as men, and in boot-blacks as well as +those of a higher rank. +</p> + +<p> +The morning being a busy time with the boot-blacks, Dick’s changed +appearance had not as yet attracted much attention. But when business slackened +a little, our hero was destined to be reminded of it. +</p> + +<p> +Among the down-town boot-blacks was one hailing from the Five Points,—a +stout, red-haired, freckled-faced boy of fourteen, bearing the name of Micky +Maguire. This boy, by his boldness and recklessness, as well as by his personal +strength, which was considerable, had acquired an ascendancy among his fellow +professionals, and had a gang of subservient followers, whom he led on to acts +of ruffianism, not unfrequently terminating in a month or two at +Blackwell’s Island. Micky himself had served two terms there; but the +confinement appeared to have had very little effect in amending his conduct, +except, perhaps, in making him a little more cautious about an encounter with +the “copps,” as the members of the city police are, for some +unknown reason, styled among the Five-Point boys. +</p> + +<p> +Now Micky was proud of his strength, and of the position of leader which it had +secured him. Moreover he was democratic in his tastes, and had a jealous hatred +of those who wore good clothes and kept their faces clean. He called it putting +on airs, and resented the implied superiority. If he had been fifteen years +older, and had a trifle more education, he would have interested himself in +politics, and been prominent at ward meetings, and a terror to respectable +voters on election day. As it was, he contented himself with being the leader +of a gang of young ruffians, over whom he wielded a despotic power. +</p> + +<p> +Now it is only justice to Dick to say that, so far as wearing good clothes was +concerned, he had never hitherto offended the eyes of Micky Maguire. Indeed, +they generally looked as if they patronized the same clothing establishment. On +this particular morning it chanced that Micky had not been very fortunate in a +business way, and, as a natural consequence, his temper, never very amiable, +was somewhat ruffled by the fact. He had had a very frugal breakfast,—not +because he felt abstemious, but owing to the low state of his finances. He was +walking along with one of his particular friends, a boy nicknamed Limpy Jim, so +called from a slight peculiarity in his walk, when all at once he espied our +friend Dick in his new suit. +</p> + +<p> +“My eyes!” he exclaimed, in astonishment; “Jim, just look at +Ragged Dick. He’s come into a fortun’, and turned gentleman. See +his new clothes.” +</p> + +<p> +“So he has,” said Jim. “Where’d he get ’em, I +wonder?” +</p> + +<p> +“Hooked ’em, p’raps. Let’s go and stir him up a little. +We don’t want no gentlemen on our beat. So he’s puttin’ on +airs,—is he? I’ll give him a lesson.” +</p> + +<p> +So saying the two boys walked up to our hero, who had not observed them, his +back being turned, and Micky Maguire gave him a smart slap on the shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Dick turned round quickly. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap14"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +A BATTLE AND A VICTORY</h2> + +<p> +“What’s that for?” demanded Dick, turning round to see who +had struck him. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re gettin’ mighty fine!” said Micky Maguire, +surveying Dick’s new clothes with a scornful air. +</p> + +<p> +There was something in his words and tone, which Dick, who was disposed to +stand up for his dignity, did not at all relish. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what’s the odds if I am?” he retorted. “Does it +hurt you any?” +</p> + +<p> +“See him put on airs, Jim,” said Micky, turning to his companion. +“Where’d you get them clo’es?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind where I got ’em. Maybe the Prince of Wales gave +’em to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear him, now, Jim,” said Micky. “Most likely he stole +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stealin’ aint in <i>my</i> line.” +</p> + +<p> +It might have been unconscious the emphasis which Dick placed on the word +“my.” At any rate Micky chose to take offence. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to say <i>I</i> steal?” he demanded, doubling up his +fist, and advancing towards Dick in a threatening manner. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t say anything about it,” answered Dick, by no means +alarmed at this hostile demonstration. “I know you’ve been to the +Island twice. P’r’aps ’twas to make a visit along of the +Mayor and Aldermen. Maybe you was a innocent victim of oppression. I aint a +goin’ to say.” +</p> + +<p> +Micky’s freckled face grew red with wrath, for Dick had only stated the +truth. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you mean to insult me?” he demanded shaking the fist already +doubled up in Dick’s face. “Maybe you want a lickin’?” +</p> + +<p> +“I aint partic’larly anxious to get one,” said Dick, coolly. +“They don’t agree with my constitution which is nat’rally +delicate. I’d rather have a good dinner than a lickin’ any +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re afraid,” sneered Micky. “Isn’t he, +Jim?” +</p> + +<p> +“In course he is.” +</p> + +<p> +“P’r’aps I am,” said Dick, composedly, “but it +don’t trouble me much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to fight?” demanded Micky, encouraged by Dick’s +quietness, fancying he was afraid to encounter him. +</p> + +<p> +“No, I don’t,” said Dick. “I aint fond of +fightin’. It’s a very poor amusement, and very bad for the +complexion, ’specially for the eyes and nose, which is apt to turn red, +white, and blue.” +</p> + +<p> +Micky misunderstood Dick, and judged from the tenor of his speech that he would +be an easy victim. As he knew, Dick very seldom was concerned in any street +fight,—not from cowardice, as he imagined, but because he had too much +good sense to do so. Being quarrelsome, like all bullies, and supposing that he +was more than a match for our hero, being about two inches taller, he could no +longer resist an inclination to assault him, and tried to plant a blow in +Dick’s face which would have hurt him considerably if he had not drawn +back just in time. +</p> + +<p> +Now, though Dick was far from quarrelsome, he was ready to defend himself on +all occasions, and it was too much to expect that he would stand quiet and +allow himself to be beaten. +</p> + +<p> +He dropped his blacking-box on the instant, and returned Micky’s blow +with such good effect that the young bully staggered back, and would have +fallen, if he had not been propped up by his confederate, Limpy Jim. +</p> + +<p> +“Go in, Micky!” shouted the latter, who was rather a coward on his +own account, but liked to see others fight. “Polish him off, that’s +a good feller.” +</p> + +<p> +Micky was now boiling over with rage and fury, and required no urging. He was +fully determined to make a terrible example of poor Dick. He threw himself upon +him, and strove to bear him to the ground; but Dick, avoiding a close hug, in +which he might possibly have got the worst of it, by an adroit movement, +tripped up his antagonist, and stretched him on the side walk. +</p> + +<p> +“Hit him, Jim!” exclaimed Micky, furiously. +</p> + +<p> +Limpy Jim did not seem inclined to obey orders. There was a quiet strength and +coolness about Dick, which alarmed him. He preferred that Micky should incur +all the risks of battle, and accordingly set himself to raising his fallen +comrade. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Micky,” said Dick, quietly, “you’d better give +it up. I wouldn’t have touched you if you hadn’t hit me first. I +don’t want to fight. It’s low business.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re afraid of hurtin’ your clo’es,” said +Micky, with a sneer. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I am,” said Dick. “I hope I haven’t hurt +yours.” +</p> + +<p> +Micky’s answer to this was another attack, as violent and impetuous as +the first. But his fury was in the way. He struck wildly, not measuring his +blows, and Dick had no difficulty in turning aside, so that his +antagonist’s blow fell upon the empty air, and his momentum was such that +he nearly fell forward headlong. Dick might readily have taken advantage of his +unsteadiness, and knocked him down; but he was not vindictive, and chose to act +on the defensive, except when he could not avoid it. +</p> + +<p> +Recovering himself, Micky saw that Dick was a more formidable antagonist than +he had supposed, and was meditating another assault, better planned, which by +its impetuosity might bear our hero to the ground. But there was an +unlooked-for interference. +</p> + +<p> +“Look out for the ‘copp,’” said Jim, in a low voice. +</p> + +<p> +Micky turned round and saw a tall policeman heading towards him, and thought it +might be prudent to suspend hostilities. He accordingly picked up his +black-box, and, hitching up his pants, walked off, attended by Limpy Jim. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that chap been doing?” asked the policeman of Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“He was amoosin’ himself by pitchin’ into me,” replied +Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t like it ’cause I patronized a different tailor +from him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, it seems to me you <i>are</i> dressed pretty smart for a +boot-black,” said the policeman. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I wasn’t a boot-black,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, my lad. It’s an honest business,” said the +policeman, who was a sensible man and a worthy citizen. “It’s an +honest business. Stick to it till you get something better.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean to,” said Dick. “It aint easy to get out of it, as +the prisoner remarked, when he was asked how he liked his residence.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you don’t speak from experience.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “I don’t mean to get into prison if I +can help it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you see that gentleman over there?” asked the officer, pointing +to a well-dressed man who was walking on the other side of the street. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he was once a newsboy.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is he now?” +</p> + +<p> +“He keeps a bookstore, and is quite prosperous.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick looked at the gentleman with interest, wondering if he should look as +respectable when he was a grown man. +</p> + +<p> +It will be seen that Dick was getting ambitious. Hitherto he had thought very +little of the future, but was content to get along as he could, dining as well +as his means would allow, and spending the evenings in the pit of the Old +Bowery, eating peanuts between the acts if he was prosperous, and if unlucky +supping on dry bread or an apple, and sleeping in an old box or a wagon. Now, +for the first time, he began to reflect that he could not black boots all his +life. In seven years he would be a man, and, since his meeting with Frank, he +felt that he would like to be a respectable man. He could see and appreciate +the difference between Frank and such a boy as Micky Maguire, and it was not +strange that he preferred the society of the former. +</p> + +<p> +In the course of the next morning, in pursuance of his new resolutions for the +future, he called at a savings bank, and held out four dollars in bills besides +another dollar in change. There was a high railing, and a number of clerks +busily writing at desks behind it. Dick, never having been in a bank before, +did not know where to go. He went, by mistake, to the desk where money was paid +out. +</p> + +<p> +“Where’s your book?” asked the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got any.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any money deposited here?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, I want to leave some here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then go to the next desk.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick followed directions, and presented himself before an elderly man with gray +hair, who looked at him over the rims of his spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to keep that for me,” said Dick, awkwardly emptying his +money out on the desk. +</p> + +<p> +“How much is there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Five dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got an account here?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you can write?” +</p> + +<p> +The “of course” was said on account of Dick’s neat dress. +</p> + +<p> +“Have I got to do any writing?” asked our hero, a little +embarrassed. +</p> + +<p> +“We want you to sign your name in this book,” and the old gentleman +shoved round a large folio volume containing the names of depositors. +</p> + +<p> +Dick surveyed the book with some awe. +</p> + +<p> +“I aint much on writin’,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well; write as well as you can.” +</p> + +<p> +The pen was put into Dick’s hand, and, after dipping it in the inkstand, +he succeeded after a hard effort, accompanied by many contortions of the face, +in inscribing upon the book of the bank the name +</p> + +<p class="center"> +D<small>ICK</small> H<small>UNTER</small>. +</p> + +<p> +“Dick!—that means Richard, I suppose,” said the bank officer, +who had some difficulty in making out the signature. +</p> + +<p> +“No; Ragged Dick is what folks call me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t look very ragged.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I’ve left my rags to home. They might get wore out if I used +’em too common.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my lad, I’ll make out a book in the name of Dick Hunter, +since you seem to prefer Dick to Richard. I hope you will save up your money +and deposit more with us.” +</p> + +<p> +Our hero took his bank-book, and gazed on the entry “Five Dollars” +with a new sense of importance. He had been accustomed to joke about Erie +shares, but now, for the first time, he felt himself a capitalist; on a small +scale, to be sure, but still it was no small thing for Dick to have five +dollars which he could call his own. He firmly determined that he would lay by +every cent he could spare from his earnings towards the fund he hoped to +accumulate. +</p> + +<p> +But Dick was too sensible not to know that there was something more than money +needed to win a respectable position in the world. He felt that he was very +ignorant. Of reading and writing he only knew the rudiments, and that, with a +slight acquaintance with arithmetic, was all he did know of books. Dick knew he +must study hard, and he dreaded it. He looked upon learning as attended with +greater difficulties than it really possesses. But Dick had good pluck. He +meant to learn, nevertheless, and resolved to buy a book with his first spare +earnings. +</p> + +<p> +When Dick went home at night he locked up his bank-book in one of the drawers +of the bureau. It was wonderful how much more independent he felt whenever he +reflected upon the contents of that drawer, and with what an important air of +joint ownership he regarded the bank building in which his small savings were +deposited. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap15"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/> +DICK SECURES A TUTOR</h2> + +<p> +The next morning Dick was unusually successful, having plenty to do, and +receiving for one job twenty-five cents,—the gentleman refusing to take +change. Then flashed upon Dick’s mind the thought that he had not yet +returned the change due to the gentleman whose boots he had blacked on the +morning of his introduction to the reader. +</p> + +<p> +“What’ll he think of me?” said Dick to himself. “I hope +he won’t think I’m mean enough to keep the money.” +</p> + +<p> +Now Dick was scrupulously honest, and though the temptation to be otherwise had +often been strong, he had always resisted it. He was not willing on any account +to keep money which did not belong to him, and he immediately started for 125 +Fulton Street (the address which had been given him) where he found Mr. +Greyson’s name on the door of an office on the first floor. +</p> + +<p> +The door being open, Dick walked in. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mr. Greyson in?” he asked of a clerk who sat on a high stool +before a desk. +</p> + +<p> +“Not just now. He’ll be in soon. Will you wait?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well; take a seat then.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick sat down and took up the morning “Tribune,” but presently came +to a word of four syllables, which he pronounced to himself a +“sticker,” and laid it down. But he had not long to wait, for five +minutes later Mr. Greyson entered. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you wish to speak to me, my lad?” said he to Dick, whom in his +new clothes he did not recognize. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Dick. “I owe you some money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said Mr. Greyson, pleasantly; “that’s an +agreeable surprise. I didn’t know but you had come for some. So you are a +debtor of mine, and not a creditor?” +</p> + +<p> +“I b’lieve that’s right,” said Dick, drawing fifteen +cents from his pocket, and placing in Mr. Greyson’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Fifteen cents!” repeated he, in some surprise. “How do you +happen to be indebted to me in that amount?” +</p> + +<p> +“You gave me a quarter for a-shinin’ your boots, yesterday +mornin’, and couldn’t wait for the change. I meant to have brought +it before, but I forgot all about it till this mornin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“It had quite slipped my mind also. But you don’t look like the boy +I employed. If I remember rightly he wasn’t as well dressed as +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick. “I was dressed for a party, then, but the +clo’es was too well ventilated to be comfortable in cold weather.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re an honest boy,” said Mr. Greyson. “Who taught +you to be honest?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody,” said Dick. “But it’s mean to cheat and steal. +I’ve always knowed that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ve got ahead of some of our business men. Do you read the +Bible?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick. “I’ve heard it’s a good book, +but I don’t know much about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to go to some Sunday School. Would you be willing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, promptly. “I want to grow up +’spectable. But I don’t know where to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll tell you. The church I attend is at the corner of Fifth +Avenue and Twenty-first Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen it,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a class in the Sunday School there. If you’ll come next +Sunday, I’ll take you into my class, and do what I can to help +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Dick, “but p’r’aps you’ll +get tired of teaching me. I’m awful ignorant.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my lad,” said Mr. Greyson, kindly. “You evidently have +some good principles to start with, as you have shown by your scorn of +dishonesty. I shall hope good things of you in the future.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Dick,” said our hero, apostrophizing himself, as he left the +office; “you’re gettin’ up in the world. You’ve got +money invested, and are goin’ to attend church, by partic’lar +invitation, on Fifth Avenue. I shouldn’t wonder much if you should find +cards, when you get home, from the Mayor, requestin’ the honor of your +company to dinner, along with other distinguished guests.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick felt in very good spirits. He seemed to be emerging from the world in +which he had hitherto lived, into a new atmosphere of respectability, and the +change seemed very pleasant to him. +</p> + +<p> +At six o’clock Dick went into a restaurant on Chatham Street, and got a +comfortable supper. He had been so successful during the day that, after paying +for this, he still had ninety cents left. While he was despatching his supper, +another boy came in, smaller and slighter than Dick, and sat down beside him. +Dick recognized him as a boy who three months before had entered the ranks of +the boot-blacks, but who, from a natural timidity, had not been able to earn +much. He was ill-fitted for the coarse companionship of the street boys, and +shrank from the rude jokes of his present associates. Dick had never troubled +him; for our hero had a certain chivalrous feeling which would not allow him to +bully or disturb a younger and weaker boy than himself. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, Fosdick?” said Dick, as the other seated himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty well,” said Fosdick. “I suppose you’re all +right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I’m right side up with care. I’ve been havin’ +a bully supper. What are you goin’ to have?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some bread and butter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you get a cup o’ coffee?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Fosdick, reluctantly, “I haven’t got money +enough to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” said Dick; “I’m in luck to-day, +I’ll stand treat.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s kind in you,” said Fosdick, gratefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, never mind that,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly he ordered a cup of coffee, and a plate of beefsteak, and was +gratified to see that his young companion partook of both with evident relish. +When the repast was over, the boys went out into the street together, Dick +pausing at the desk to settle for both suppers. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are you going to sleep to-night, Fosdick?” asked Dick, as +they stood on the sidewalk. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Fosdick, a little sadly. “In some +doorway, I expect. But I’m afraid the police will find me out, and make +me move on.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what,” said Dick, “you must go home with +me. I guess my bed will hold two.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got a room?” asked the other, in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, rather proudly, and with a little excusable +exultation. “I’ve got a room over in Mott Street; there I can +receive my friends. That’ll be better than sleepin’ in a +door-way,—won’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed it will,” said Fosdick. “How lucky I was to come +across you! It comes hard to me living as I do. When my father was alive I had +every comfort.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s more’n I ever had,” said Dick. “But +I’m goin’ to try to live comfortable now. Is your father +dead?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Fosdick, sadly. “He was a printer; but he was +drowned one dark night from a Fulton ferry-boat, and, as I had no relations in +the city, and no money, I was obliged to go to work as quick as I could. But I +don’t get on very well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t you have no brothers nor sisters?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Fosdick; “father and I used to live alone. He was +always so much company to me that I feel very lonesome without him. +There’s a man out West somewhere that owes him two thousand dollars. He +used to live in the city, and father lent him all his money to help him go into +business; but he failed, or pretended to, and went off. If father hadn’t +lost that money he would have left me well off; but no money would have made up +his loss to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the man’s name that went off with your father’s +money?” +</p> + +<p> +“His name is Hiram Bates.” +</p> + +<p> +“P’r’aps you’ll get the money again, sometime.” +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t much chance of it,” said Fosdick. +“I’d sell out my chances of that for five dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I’ll buy you out sometime,” said Dick. “Now, +come round and see what sort of a room I’ve got. I used to go to the +theatre evenings, when I had money; but now I’d rather go to bed early, +and have a good sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care much about theatres,” said Fosdick. +“Father didn’t use to let me go very often. He said it wasn’t +good for boys.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like to go to the Old Bowery sometimes. They have tip-top plays there. +Can you read and write well?” he asked, as a sudden thought came to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Fosdick. “Father always kept me at school when he +was alive, and I stood pretty well in my classes. I was expecting to enter at +the Free Academy* next year.” +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* Now the college of the city of New York. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll tell you what,” said Dick; “I’ll make +a bargain with you. I can’t read much more’n a pig; and my +writin’ looks like hens’ tracks. I don’t want to grow up +knowin’ no more’n a four-year-old boy. If you’ll teach me +readin’ and writin’ evenin’s, you shall sleep in my room +every night. That’ll be better’n door-steps or old boxes, where +I’ve slept many a time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you in earnest?” said Fosdick, his face lighting up hopefully. +</p> + +<p> +“In course I am,” said Dick. “It’s fashionable for +young gentlemen to have private tootors to introduct ’em into the +flower-beds of literatoor and science, and why shouldn’t I foller the +fashion? You shall be my perfessor; only you must promise not to be very hard +if my writin’ looks like a rail-fence on a bender.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try not to be too severe,” said Fosdick, laughing. +“I shall be thankful for such a chance to get a place to sleep. Have you +got anything to read out of?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick. “My extensive and well-selected library was +lost overboard in a storm, when I was sailin’ from the Sandwich Islands +to the desert of Sahara. But I’ll buy a paper. That’ll do me a long +time.” +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly Dick stopped at a paper-stand, and bought a copy of a weekly paper, +filled with the usual variety of reading matter,—stories, sketches, +poems, etc. +</p> + +<p> +They soon arrived at Dick’s lodging-house. Our hero, procuring a lamp +from the landlady, led the way into his apartment, which he entered with the +proud air of a proprietor. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, how do you like it, Fosdick?” he asked, complacently. +</p> + +<p> +The time was when Fosdick would have thought it untidy and not particularly +attractive. But he had served a severe apprenticeship in the streets, and it +was pleasant to feel himself under shelter, and he was not disposed to be +critical. +</p> + +<p> +“It looks very comfortable, Dick,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“The bed aint very large,” said Dick; “but I guess we can get +along.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” said Fosdick, cheerfully. “I don’t take up +much room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then that’s all right. There’s two chairs, you see, one for +you and one for me. In case the mayor comes in to spend the evenin’ +socially, he can sit on the bed.” +</p> + +<p> +The boys seated themselves, and five minutes later, under the guidance of his +young tutor, Dick had commenced his studies. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap16"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +THE FIRST LESSON</h2> + +<p> +Fortunately for Dick, his young tutor was well qualified to instruct him. Henry +Fosdick, though only twelve years old, knew as much as many boys of fourteen. +He had always been studious and ambitious to excel. His father, being a +printer, employed in an office where books were printed, often brought home new +books in sheets, which Henry was always glad to read. Mr. Fosdick had been, +besides, a subscriber to the Mechanics’ Apprentices’ Library, which +contains many thousands of well-selected and instructive books. Thus Henry had +acquired an amount of general information, unusual in a boy of his age. Perhaps +he had devoted too much time to study, for he was not naturally robust. All +this, however, fitted him admirably for the office to which Dick had appointed +him,—that of his private instructor. +</p> + +<p> +The two boys drew up their chairs to the rickety table, and spread out the +paper before them. +</p> + +<p> +“The exercises generally Commence with ringin’ the bell,” +said Dick; “but as I aint got none, we’ll have to do +without.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the teacher is generally provided with a rod,” said Fosdick. +“Isn’t there a poker handy, that I can use in case my scholar +doesn’t behave well?” +</p> + +<p> +“’Taint lawful to use fire-arms,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, Dick,” said Fosdick, “before we begin, I must find out +how much you already know. Can you read any?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not enough to hurt me,” said Dick. “All I know about +readin’ you could put in a nutshell, and there’d be room left for a +small family.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you know your letters?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, “I know ’em all, but not intimately. +I guess I can call ’em all by name.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where did you learn them? Did you ever go to school?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; I went two days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you stop?” +</p> + +<p> +“It didn’t agree with my constitution.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t look very delicate,” said Fosdick. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick, “I aint troubled much that way; but I found +lickins didn’t agree with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you get punished?” +</p> + +<p> +“Awful,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” +</p> + +<p> +“For indulgin’ in a little harmless amoosement,” said Dick. +“You see the boy that was sittin’ next to me fell asleep, which I +considered improper in school-time; so I thought I’d help the teacher a +little by wakin’ him up. So I took a pin and stuck into him; but I guess +it went a little too far, for he screeched awful. The teacher found out what it +was that made him holler, and whipped me with a ruler till I was black and +blue. I thought ’twas about time to take a vacation; so that’s the +last time I went to school.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t learn to read in that time, of course?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “but I was a newsboy a little while; so I +learned a little, just so’s to find out what the news was. Sometimes I +didn’t read straight and called the wrong news. One mornin’ I asked +another boy what the paper said, and he told me the King of Africa was dead. I +thought it was all right till folks began to laugh.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Dick, if you’ll only study well, you won’t be liable +to make such mistakes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” said Dick. “My friend Horace Greeley told me the +other day that he’d get me to take his place now and then when he was off +makin’ speeches if my edication hadn’t been neglected.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must find a good piece for you to begin on,” said Fosdick, +looking over the paper. +</p> + +<p> +“Find an easy one,” said Dick, “with words of one +story.” +</p> + +<p> +Fosdick at length found a piece which he thought would answer. He discovered on +trial that Dick had not exaggerated his deficiencies. Words of two syllables he +seldom pronounced right, and was much surprised when he was told how +“through” was sounded. +</p> + +<p> +“Seems to me it’s throwin’ away letters to use all +them,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“How would you spell it?” asked his young teacher. +</p> + +<p> +“T-h-r-u,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Fosdick, “there’s a good many other words +that are spelt with more letters than they need to have. But it’s the +fashion, and we must follow it.” +</p> + +<p> +But if Dick was ignorant, he was quick, and had an excellent capacity. Moreover +he had perseverance, and was not easily discouraged. He had made up his mind he +must know more, and was not disposed to complain of the difficulty of his task. +Fosdick had occasion to laugh more than once at his ludicrous mistakes; but +Dick laughed too, and on the whole both were quite interested in the lesson. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of an hour and a half the boys stopped for the evening. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re learning fast, Dick,” said Fosdick. “At this +rate you will soon learn to read well.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will I?” asked Dick with an expression of satisfaction. +“I’m glad of that. I don’t want to be ignorant. I +didn’t use to care, but I do now. I want to grow up +’spectable.” +</p> + +<p> +“So do I, Dick. We will both help each other, and I am sure we can +accomplish something. But I am beginning to feel sleepy.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said Dick. “Them hard words make my head ache. I +wonder who made ’em all?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s more than I can tell. I suppose you’ve seen a +dictionary.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s another of ’em. No, I can’t say I have, though +I may have seen him in the street without knowin’ him.” +</p> + +<p> +“A dictionary is a book containing all the words in the language.” +</p> + +<p> +“How many are there?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t rightly know; but I think there are about fifty +thousand.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a pretty large family,” said Dick. “Have I got to +learn ’em all?” +</p> + +<p> +“That will not be necessary. There are a large number which you would +never find occasion to use.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad of that,” said Dick; “for I don’t +expect to live to be more’n a hundred, and by that time I wouldn’t +be more’n half through.” +</p> + +<p> +By this time the flickering lamp gave a decided hint to the boys that unless +they made haste they would have to undress in the dark. They accordingly drew +off their clothes, and Dick jumped into bed. But Fosdick, before doing so, +knelt down by the side of the bed, and said a short prayer. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that for?” asked Dick, curiously. +</p> + +<p> +“I was saying my prayers,” said Fosdick, as he rose from his knees. +“Don’t you ever do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick. “Nobody ever taught me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll teach you. Shall I?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Dick, dubiously. “What’s the +good?” +</p> + +<p> +Fosdick explained as well as he could, and perhaps his simple explanation was +better adapted to Dick’s comprehension than one from an older person +would have been. Dick felt more free to ask questions, and the example of his +new friend, for whom he was beginning to feel a warm attachment, had +considerable effect upon him. When, therefore, Fosdick asked again if he should +teach him a prayer, Dick consented, and his young bedfellow did so. Dick was +not naturally irreligious. If he had lived without a knowledge of God and of +religious things, it was scarcely to be wondered at in a lad who, from an early +age, had been thrown upon his own exertions for the means of living, with no +one to care for him or give him good advice. But he was so far good that he +could appreciate goodness in others, and this it was that had drawn him to +Frank in the first place, and now to Henry Fosdick. He did not, therefore, +attempt to ridicule his companion, as some boys better brought up might have +done, but was willing to follow his example in what something told him was +right. Our young hero had taken an important step toward securing that genuine +respectability which he was ambitious to attain. +</p> + +<p> +Weary with the day’s work, and Dick perhaps still more fatigued by the +unusual mental effort he had made, the boys soon sank into a deep and peaceful +slumber, from which they did not awaken till six o’clock the next +morning. Before going out Dick sought Mrs. Mooney, and spoke to her on the +subject of taking Fosdick as a room-mate. He found that she had no objection, +provided he would allow her twenty-five cents a week extra, in consideration of +the extra trouble which his companion might be expected to make. To this Dick +assented, and the arrangement was definitely concluded. +</p> + +<p> +This over, the two boys went out and took stations near each other. Dick had +more of a business turn than Henry, and less shrinking from publicity, so that +his earnings were greater. But he had undertaken to pay the entire expenses of +the room, and needed to earn more. Sometimes, when two customers presented +themselves at the same time, he was able to direct one to his friend. So at the +end of the week both boys found themselves with surplus earnings. Dick had the +satisfaction of adding two dollars and a half to his deposits in the Savings +Bank, and Fosdick commenced an account by depositing seventy-five cents. +</p> + +<p> +On Sunday morning Dick bethought himself of his promise to Mr. Greyson to come +to the church on Fifth Avenue. To tell the truth, Dick recalled it with some +regret. He had never been inside a church since he could remember, and he was +not much attracted by the invitation he had received. But Henry, finding him +wavering, urged him to go, and offered to go with him. Dick gladly accepted the +offer, feeling that he required someone to lend him countenance under such +unusual circumstances. +</p> + +<p> +Dick dressed himself with scrupulous care, giving his shoes a +“shine” so brilliant that it did him great credit in a professional +point of view, and endeavored to clean his hands thoroughly; but, in spite of +all he could do, they were not so white as if his business had been of a +different character. +</p> + +<p> +Having fully completed his preparations, he descended into the street, and, +with Henry by his side, crossed over to Broadway. +</p> + +<p> +The boys pursued their way up Broadway, which on Sunday presents a striking +contrast in its quietness to the noise and confusion of ordinary week-days, as +far as Union Square, then turned down Fourteenth Street, which brought them to +Fifth Avenue. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we dine at Delmonico’s,” said Fosdick, looking +towards that famous restaurant. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d have to sell some of my Erie shares,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +A short walk now brought them to the church of which mention has already been +made. They stood outside, a little abashed, watching the fashionably attired +people who were entering, and were feeling a little undecided as to whether +they had better enter also, when Dick felt a light touch upon his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +Turning round, he met the smiling glance of Mr. Greyson. +</p> + +<p> +“So, my young friend, you have kept your promise,” he said. +“And whom have you brought with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“A friend of mine,” said Dick. “His name is Henry +Fosdick.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad you have brought him. Now follow me, and I will give you +seats.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap17"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +DICK’S FIRST APPEARANCE IN SOCIETY</h2> + +<p> +It was the hour for morning service. The boys followed Mr. Greyson into the +handsome church, and were assigned seats in his own pew. +</p> + +<p> +There were two persons already seated in it,—a good-looking lady of +middle age, and a pretty little girl of nine. They were Mrs. Greyson and her +only daughter Ida. They looked pleasantly at the boys as they entered, smiling +a welcome to them. +</p> + +<p> +The morning service commenced. It must be acknowledged that Dick felt rather +awkward. It was an unusual place for him, and it need not be wondered at that +he felt like a cat in a strange garret. He would not have known when to rise if +he had not taken notice of what the rest of the audience did, and followed +their example. He was sitting next to Ida, and as it was the first time he had +ever been near so well-dressed a young lady, he naturally felt bashful. When +the hymns were announced, Ida found the place, and offered a hymn-book to our +hero. Dick took it awkwardly, but his studies had not yet been pursued far +enough for him to read the words readily. However, he resolved to keep up +appearances, and kept his eyes fixed steadily on the hymn-book. +</p> + +<p> +At length the service was over. The people began to file slowly out of church, +and among them, of course, Mr. Greyson’s family and the two boys. It +seemed very strange to Dick to find himself in such different companionship +from what he had been accustomed, and he could not help thinking, “Wonder +what Johnny Nolan ’ould say if he could see me now!” +</p> + +<p> +But Johnny’s business engagements did not often summon him to Fifth +Avenue, and Dick was not likely to be seen by any of his friends in the lower +part of the city. +</p> + +<p> +“We have our Sunday school in the afternoon,” said Mr. Greyson. +“I suppose you live at some distance from here?” +</p> + +<p> +“In Mott Street, sir,” answered Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“That is too far to go and return. Suppose you and your friend come and +dine with us, and then we can come here together in the afternoon.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was as much astonished at this invitation as if he had really been invited +by the Mayor to dine with him and the Board of Aldermen. Mr. Greyson was +evidently a rich man, and yet he had actually invited two boot-blacks to dine +with him. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess we’d better go home, sir,” said Dick, hesitating. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think you can have any very pressing engagements to +interfere with your accepting my invitation,” said Mr. Greyson, +good-humoredly, for he understood the reason of Dick’s hesitation. +“So I take it for granted that you both accept.” +</p> + +<p> +Before Dick fairly knew what he intended to do, he was walking down Fifth +Avenue with his new friends. +</p> + +<p> +Now, our young hero was not naturally bashful; but he certainly felt so now, +especially as Miss Ida Greyson chose to walk by his side, leaving Henry Fosdick +to walk with her father and mother. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your name?” asked Ida, pleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +Our hero was about to answer “Ragged Dick,” when it occurred to him +that in the present company he had better forget his old nickname. +</p> + +<p> +“Dick Hunter,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“Dick!” repeated Ida. “That means Richard, doesn’t +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Everybody calls me Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have a cousin Dick,” said the young lady, sociably. “His +name is Dick Wilson. I suppose you don’t know him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I like the name of Dick,” said the young lady, with charming +frankness. +</p> + +<p> +Without being able to tell why, Dick felt rather glad she did. He plucked up +courage to ask her name. +</p> + +<p> +“My name is Ida,” answered the young lady. “Do you like +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick. “It’s a bully name.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick turned red as soon as he had said it, for he felt that he had not used the +right expression. +</p> + +<p> +The little girl broke into a silvery laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“What a funny boy you are!” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t mean it,” said Dick, stammering. “I meant +it’s a tip-top name.” +</p> + +<p> +Here Ida laughed again, and Dick wished himself back in Mott Street. +</p> + +<p> +“How old are you?” inquired Ida, continuing her examination. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m fourteen,—goin’ on fifteen,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a big boy of your age,” said Ida. “My cousin +Dick is a year older than you, but he isn’t as large.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick looked pleased. Boys generally like to be told that they are large of +their age. +</p> + +<p> +“How old be you?” asked Dick, beginning to feel more at his ease. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m nine years old,” said Ida. “I go to Miss +Jarvis’s school. I’ve just begun to learn French. Do you know +French?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not enough to hurt me,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Ida laughed again, and told him that he was a droll boy. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like it?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I like it pretty well, except the verbs. I can’t remember them +well. Do you go to school?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m studying with a private tutor,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you? So is my cousin Dick. He’s going to college this year. +Are you going to college?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not this year.” +</p> + +<p> +“Because, if you did, you know you’d be in the same class with my +cousin. It would be funny to have two Dicks in one class.” +</p> + +<p> +They turned down Twenty-fourth Street, passing the Fifth Avenue Hotel on the +left, and stopped before an elegant house with a brown stone front. The bell +was rung, and the door being opened, the boys, somewhat abashed, followed Mr. +Greyson into a handsome hall. They were told where to hang their hats, and a +moment afterwards were ushered into a comfortable dining-room, where a table +was spread for dinner. +</p> + +<p> +Dick took his seat on the edge of a sofa, and was tempted to rub his eyes to +make sure that he was really awake. He could hardly believe that he was a guest +in so fine a mansion. +</p> + +<p> +Ida helped to put the boys at their ease. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like pictures?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Very much,” answered Henry. +</p> + +<p> +The little girl brought a book of handsome engravings, and, seating herself +beside Dick, to whom she seemed to have taken a decided fancy, commenced +showing them to him. +</p> + +<p> +“There are the Pyramids of Egypt,” she said, pointing to one +engraving. +</p> + +<p> +“What are they for?” asked Dick, puzzled. “I don’t see +any winders.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Ida, “I don’t believe anybody lives there. +Do they, papa?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, my dear. They were used for the burial of the dead. The largest of +them is said to be the loftiest building in the world with one exception. The +spire of the Cathedral of Strasburg is twenty-four feet higher, if I remember +rightly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is Egypt near here?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, it’s ever so many miles off; about four or five hundred. +Didn’t you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick. “I never heard.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t appear to be very accurate in your information, +Ida,” said her mother. “Four or five thousand miles would be +considerably nearer the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +After a little more conversation they sat down to dinner. Dick seated himself +in an embarrassed way. He was very much afraid of doing or saying something +which would be considered an impropriety, and had the uncomfortable feeling +that everybody was looking at him, and watching his behavior. +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you live, Dick?” asked Ida, familiarly. +</p> + +<p> +“In Mott Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“More than a mile off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a nice street?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not very,” said Dick. “Only poor folks live there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you poor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Little girls should be seen and not heard,” said her mother, +gently. +</p> + +<p> +“If you are,” said Ida, “I’ll give you the five-dollar +gold-piece aunt gave me for a birthday present.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dick cannot be called poor, my child,” said Mrs. Greyson, +“since he earns his living by his own exertions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you earn your living?” asked Ida, who was a very inquisitive +young lady, and not easily silenced. “What do you do?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick blushed violently. At such a table, and in presence of the servant who was +standing at that moment behind his chair, he did not like to say that he was a +shoe-black, although he well knew that there was nothing dishonorable in the +occupation. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Greyson perceived his feelings, and to spare them, said, “You are too +inquisitive, Ida. Sometime Dick may tell you, but you know we don’t talk +of business on Sundays.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick in his embarrassment had swallowed a large spoonful of hot soup, which +made him turn red in the face. For the second time, in spite of the prospect of +the best dinner he had ever eaten, he wished himself back in Mott Street. Henry +Fosdick was more easy and unembarrassed than Dick, not having led such a +vagabond and neglected life. But it was to Dick that Ida chiefly directed her +conversation, having apparently taken a fancy to his frank and handsome face. I +believe I have already said that Dick was a very good-looking boy, especially +now since he kept his face clean. He had a frank, honest expression, which +generally won its way to the favor of those with whom he came in contact. +</p> + +<p> +Dick got along pretty well at the table by dint of noticing how the rest acted, +but there was one thing he could not manage, eating with his fork, which, by +the way, he thought a very singular arrangement. +</p> + +<p> +At length they arose from the table, somewhat to Dick’s relief. Again Ida +devoted herself to the boys, and exhibited a profusely illustrated Bible for +their entertainment. Dick was interested in looking at the pictures, though he +knew very little of their subjects. Henry Fosdick was much better informed, as +might have been expected. +</p> + +<p> +When the boys were about to leave the house with Mr. Greyson for the Sunday +school, Ida placed her hand in Dick’s, and said persuasively, +“You’ll come again, Dick, won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Dick, “I’d like to,” and he +could not help thinking Ida the nicest girl he had ever seen. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mrs. Greyson, hospitably, “we shall be glad to +see you both here again.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much,” said Henry Fosdick, gratefully. “We +shall like very much to come.” +</p> + +<p> +I will not dwell upon the hour spent in Sunday school, nor upon the remarks of +Mr. Greyson to his class. He found Dick’s ignorance of religious subjects +so great that he was obliged to begin at the beginning with him. Dick was +interested in hearing the children sing, and readily promised to come again the +next Sunday. +</p> + +<p> +When the service was over Dick and Henry walked homewards. Dick could not help +letting his thoughts rest on the sweet little girl who had given him so cordial +a welcome, and hoping that he might meet her again. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Greyson is a nice man,—isn’t he, Dick?” asked +Henry, as they were turning into Mott Street, and were already in sight of +their lodging-house. +</p> + +<p> +“Aint he, though?” said Dick. “He treated us just as if we +were young gentlemen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ida seemed to take a great fancy to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a tip-top girl,” said Dick, “but she asked so +many questions that I didn’t know what to say.” +</p> + +<p> +He had scarcely finished speaking, when a stone whizzed by his head, and, +turning quickly, he saw Micky Maguire running round the corner of the street +which they had just passed. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap18"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +MICKY MAGUIRE’S SECOND DEFEAT</h2> + +<p> +Dick was no coward. Nor was he in the habit of submitting passively to an +insult. When, therefore, he recognized Micky as his assailant, he instantly +turned and gave chase. Micky anticipated pursuit, and ran at his utmost speed. +It is doubtful if Dick would have overtaken him, but Micky had the ill luck to +trip just as he had entered a narrow alley, and, falling with some violence, +received a sharp blow from the hard stones, which made him scream with pain. +</p> + +<p> +“Ow!” he whined. “Don’t you hit a feller when +he’s down.” +</p> + +<p> +“What made you fire that stone at me?” demanded our hero, looking +down at the fallen bully. +</p> + +<p> +“Just for fun,” said Micky. +</p> + +<p> +“It would have been a very agreeable s’prise if it had hit +me,” said Dick. “S’posin’ I fire a rock at you jest for +fun.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t!” exclaimed Micky, in alarm. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems you don’t like agreeable s’prises,” said +Dick, “any more’n the man did what got hooked by a cow one +mornin’, before breakfast. It didn’t improve his appetite +much.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve most broke my arm,” said Micky, ruefully, rubbing the +affected limb. +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s broke you can’t fire no more stones, which is a very +cheerin’ reflection,” said Dick. “Ef you haven’t money +enough to buy a wooden one I’ll lend you a quarter. There’s one +good thing about wooden ones, they aint liable to get cold in winter, which is +another cheerin’ reflection.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want none of yer cheerin’ reflections,” said +Micky, sullenly. “Yer company aint wanted here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you for your polite invitation to leave,” said Dick, bowing +ceremoniously. “I’m willin’ to go, but ef you throw any more +stones at me, Micky Maguire, I’ll hurt you worse than the stones +did.” +</p> + +<p> +The only answer made to this warning was a scowl from his fallen opponent. It +was quite evident that Dick had the best of it, and he thought it prudent to +say nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“As I’ve got a friend waitin’ outside, I shall have to tear +myself away,” said Dick. “You’d better not throw any more +stones, Micky Maguire, for it don’t seem to agree with your +constitution.” +</p> + +<p> +Micky muttered something which Dick did not stay to hear. He backed out of the +alley, keeping a watchful eye on his fallen foe, and rejoined Henry Fosdick, +who was awaiting his return. +</p> + +<p> +“Who was it, Dick?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“A partic’lar friend of mine, Micky Maguire,” said Dick. +“He playfully fired a rock at my head as a mark of his ’fection. He +loves me like a brother, Micky does.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rather a dangerous kind of a friend, I should think,” said +Fosdick. “He might have killed you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve warned him not to be so ’fectionate another +time,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I know him,” said Henry Fosdick. “He’s at the head of +a gang of boys living at the Five-Points. He threatened to whip me once because +a gentleman employed me to black his boots instead of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s been at the Island two or three times for stealing,” +said Dick. “I guess he won’t touch me again. He’d rather get +hold of small boys. If he ever does anything to you, Fosdick, just let me know, +and I’ll give him a thrashing.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was right. Micky Maguire was a bully, and like most bullies did not fancy +tackling boys whose strength was equal or superior to his own. Although he +hated Dick more than ever, because he thought our hero was putting on airs, he +had too lively a remembrance of his strength and courage to venture upon +another open attack. He contented himself, therefore, whenever he met Dick, +with scowling at him. Dick took this very philosophically, remarking that, +“if it was soothin’ to Micky’s feelings, he might go ahead, +as it didn’t hurt him much.” +</p> + +<p> +It will not be necessary to chronicle the events of the next few weeks. A new +life had commenced for Dick. He no longer haunted the gallery of the Old +Bowery; and even Tony Pastor’s hospitable doors had lost their old +attractions. He spent two hours every evening in study. His progress was +astonishingly rapid. He was gifted with a natural quickness; and he was +stimulated by the desire to acquire a fair education as a means of +“growin’ up ’spectable,” as he termed it. Much was due +also to the patience and perseverance of Henry Fosdick, who made a capital +teacher. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re improving wonderfully, Dick,” said his friend, one +evening, when Dick had read an entire paragraph without a mistake. +</p> + +<p> +“Am I?” said Dick, with satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. If you’ll buy a writing-book to-morrow, we can begin writing +to-morrow evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“What else do you know, Henry?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Arithmetic, and geography, and grammar.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a lot you know!” said Dick, admiringly. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t <i>know</i> any of them,” said Fosdick. +“I’ve only studied them. I wish I knew a great deal more.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be satisfied when I know as much as you,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems a great deal to you now, Dick, but in a few months you’ll +think differently. The more you know, the more you’ll want to +know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then there aint any end to learnin’?” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Dick, “I guess I’ll be as much as sixty +before I know everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; as old as that, probably,” said Fosdick, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“Anyway, you know too much to be blackin’ boots. Leave that to +ignorant chaps like me.” +</p> + +<p> +“You won’t be ignorant long, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’d ought to get into some office or countin’-room.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I could,” said Fosdick, earnestly. “I don’t +succeed very well at blacking boots. You make a great deal more than I +do.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s cause I aint troubled with bashfulness,” said Dick. +“Bashfulness aint as natural to me as it is to you. I’m always on +hand, as the cat said to the milk. You’d better give up shines, Fosdick, +and give your ’tention to mercantile pursuits.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve thought of trying to get a place,” said Fosdick; +“but no one would take me with these clothes;” and he directed his +glance to his well-worn suit, which he kept as neat as he could, but which, in +spite of all his care, began to show decided marks of use. There was also here +and there a stain of blacking upon it, which, though an advertisement of his +profession, scarcely added to its good appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“I almost wanted to stay at home from Sunday school last Sunday,” +he continued, “because I thought everybody would notice how dirty and +worn my clothes had got to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“If my clothes wasn’t two sizes too big for you,” said Dick, +generously, “I’d change. You’d look as if you’d got +into your great-uncle’s suit by mistake.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re very kind, Dick, to think of changing,” said Fosdick, +“for your suit is much better than mine; but I don’t think that +mine would suit you very well. The pants would show a little more of your +ankles than is the fashion, and you couldn’t eat a very hearty dinner +without bursting the buttons off the vest.” +</p> + +<p> +“That wouldn’t be very convenient,” said Dick. “I aint +fond of lacin’ to show my elegant figger. But I say,” he added with +a sudden thought, “how much money have we got in the savings’ +bank?” +</p> + +<p> +Fosdick took a key from his pocket, and went to the drawer in which the +bank-books were kept, and, opening it, brought them out for inspection. +</p> + +<p> +It was found that Dick had the sum of eighteen dollars and ninety cents placed +to his credit, while Fosdick had six dollars and forty-five cents. To explain +the large difference, it must be remembered that Dick had deposited five +dollars before Henry deposited anything, being the amount he had received as a +gift from Mr. Whitney. +</p> + +<p> +“How much does that make, the lot of it?” asked Dick. “I aint +much on figgers yet, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“It makes twenty-five dollars and thirty-five cents, Dick,” said +his companion, who did not understand the thought which suggested the question. +</p> + +<p> +“Take it, and buy some clothes, Henry,” said Dick, shortly. +</p> + +<p> +“What, your money too?” +</p> + +<p> +“In course.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Dick, you are too generous. I couldn’t think of it. Almost +three-quarters of the money is yours. You must spend it on yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t need it,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“You may not need it now, but you will some time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have some more then.” +</p> + +<p> +“That may be; but it wouldn’t be fair for me to use your money, +Dick. I thank you all the same for your kindness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll lend it to you, then,” persisted Dick, “and +you can pay me when you get to be a rich merchant.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it isn’t likely I ever shall be one.” +</p> + +<p> +“How d’you know? I went to a fortun’ teller once, and she +told me I was born under a lucky star with a hard name, and I should have a +rich man for my particular friend, who would make my fortun’. I guess you +are going to be the rich man.” +</p> + +<p> +Fosdick laughed, and steadily refused for some time to avail himself of +Dick’s generous proposal; but at length, perceiving that our hero seemed +much disappointed, and would be really glad if his offer were accepted, he +agreed to use as much as might be needful. +</p> + +<p> +This at once brought back Dick’s good-humor, and he entered with great +enthusiasm into his friend’s plans. +</p> + +<p> +The next day they withdrew the money from the bank, and, when business got a +little slack, in the afternoon set out in search of a clothing store. Dick knew +enough of the city to be able to find a place where a good bargain could be +obtained. He was determined that Fosdick should have a good serviceable suit, +even if it took all the money they had. The result of their search was that for +twenty-three dollars Fosdick obtained a very neat outfit, including a couple of +shirts, a hat, and a pair of shoes, besides a dark mixed suit, which appeared +stout and of good quality. +</p> + +<p> +“Shall I send the bundle home?” asked the salesman, impressed by +the off-hand manner in which Dick drew out the money in payment for the +clothes. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Dick, “you’re very kind, but +I’ll take it home myself, and you can allow me something for my +trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said the clerk, laughing; “I’ll allow it +on your next purchase.” +</p> + +<p> +Proceeding to their apartment in Mott Street, Fosdick at once tried on his new +suit, and it was found to be an excellent fit. Dick surveyed his new friend +with much satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“You look like a young gentleman of fortun’,” he said, +“and do credit to your governor.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that means you, Dick,” said Fosdick, laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“In course it does.” +</p> + +<p> +“You should say <i>of</i> course,” said Fosdick, who, in virtue of +his position as Dick’s tutor, ventured to correct his language from time +to time. +</p> + +<p> +“How dare you correct your gov’nor?” said Dick, with comic +indignation. “‘I’ll cut you off with a shillin’, you +young dog,’ as the Markis says to his nephew in the play at the Old +Bowery.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap19"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +FOSDICK CHANGES HIS BUSINESS</h2> + +<p> +Fosdick did not venture to wear his new clothes while engaged in his business. +This he felt would have been wasteful extravagance. About ten o’clock in +the morning, when business slackened, he went home, and dressing himself went +to a hotel where he could see copies of the “Morning Herald” and +“Sun,” and, noting down the places where a boy was wanted, went on +a round of applications. But he found it no easy thing to obtain a place. +Swarms of boys seemed to be out of employment, and it was not unusual to find +from fifty to a hundred applicants for a single place. +</p> + +<p> +There was another difficulty. It was generally desired that the boy wanted +should reside with his parents. When Fosdick, on being questioned, revealed the +fact of his having no parents, and being a boy of the street, this was +generally sufficient of itself to insure a refusal. Merchants were afraid to +trust one who had led such a vagabond life. Dick, who was always ready for an +emergency, suggested borrowing a white wig, and passing himself off for +Fosdick’s father or grandfather. But Henry thought this might be rather a +difficult character for our hero to sustain. After fifty applications and as +many failures, Fosdick began to get discouraged. There seemed to be no way out +of his present business, for which he felt unfitted. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know but I shall have to black boots all my life,” +he said, one day, despondently, to Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep a stiff upper lip,” said Dick. “By the time you get to +be a gray-headed veteran, you may get a chance to run errands for some big firm +on the Bowery, which is a very cheerin’ reflection.” +</p> + +<p> +So Dick by his drollery and perpetual good spirits kept up Fosdick’s +courage. +</p> + +<p> +“As for me,” said Dick, “I expect by that time to lay up a +colossal fortun’ out of shines, and live in princely style on the +Avenoo.” +</p> + +<p> +But one morning, Fosdick, straying into French’s Hotel, discovered the +following advertisement in the columns of “The Herald,”— +</p> + +<p> +“WANTED—A smart, capable boy to run errands, and make himself +generally useful in a hat and cap store. Salary three dollars a week at first. +Inquire at No. — Broadway, after ten o’clock, A.M.” +</p> + +<p> +He determined to make application, and, as the City Hall clock just then struck +the hour indicated, lost no time in proceeding to the store, which was only a +few blocks distant from the Astor House. It was easy to find the store, as from +a dozen to twenty boys were already assembled in front of it. They surveyed +each other askance, feeling that they were rivals, and mentally calculating +each other’s chances. +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t much chance for me,” said Fosdick to Dick, who +had accompanied him. “Look at all these boys. Most of them have good +homes, I suppose, and good recommendations, while I have nobody to refer +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go ahead,” said Dick. “Your chance is as good as +anybody’s.” +</p> + +<p> +While this was passing between Dick and his companion, one of the boys, a +rather supercilious-looking young gentleman, genteelly dressed, and evidently +having a very high opinion of his dress and himself turned suddenly to Dick, +and remarked,— +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen you before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, have you?” said Dick, whirling round; “then +p’r’aps you’d like to see me behind.” +</p> + +<p> +At this unexpected answer all the boys burst into a laugh with the exception of +the questioner, who, evidently, considered that Dick had been disrespectful. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve seen you somewhere,” he said, in a surly tone, +correcting himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Most likely you have,” said Dick. “That’s where I +generally keep myself.” +</p> + +<p> +There was another laugh at the expense of Roswell Crawford, for that was the +name of the young aristocrat. But he had his revenge ready. No boy relishes +being an object of ridicule, and it was with a feeling of satisfaction that he +retorted,— +</p> + +<p> +“I know you for all your impudence. You’re nothing but a +boot-black.” +</p> + +<p> +This information took the boys who were standing around by surprise, for Dick +was well-dressed, and had none of the implements of his profession with him. +</p> + +<p> +“S’pose I be,” said Dick. “Have you got any +objection?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said Roswell, curling his lip; “only +you’d better stick to blacking boots, and not try to get into a +store.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you for your kind advice,” said Dick. “Is it +gratooitous, or do you expect to be paid for it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re an impudent fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a very cheerin’ reflection,” said Dick, +good-naturedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you expect to get this place when there’s gentlemen’s +sons applying for it? A boot-black in a store! That would be a good +joke.” +</p> + +<p> +Boys as well as men are selfish, and, looking upon Dick as a possible rival, +the boys who listened seemed disposed to take the same view of the situation. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I say,” said one of them, taking sides with +Roswell. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t trouble yourselves,” said Dick. “I aint +agoin’ to cut you out. I can’t afford to give up a independent and +loocrative purfession for a salary of three dollars a week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear him talk!” said Roswell Crawford, with an unpleasant sneer. +“If you are not trying to get the place, what are you here for?” +</p> + +<p> +“I came with a friend of mine,” said Dick, indicating Fosdick, +“who’s goin’ in for the situation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he a boot-black, too?” demanded Roswell, superciliously. +</p> + +<p> +“He!” retorted Dick, loftily. “Didn’t you know his +father was a member of Congress, and intimately acquainted with all the biggest +men in the State?” +</p> + +<p> +The boys surveyed Fosdick as if they did not quite know whether to credit this +statement, which, for the credit of Dick’s veracity, it will be observed +he did not assert, but only propounded in the form of a question. There was no +time for comment, however, as just then the proprietor of the store came to the +door, and, casting his eyes over the waiting group, singled out Roswell +Crawford, and asked him to enter. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, my lad, how old are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Fourteen years old,” said Roswell, consequentially. +</p> + +<p> +“Are your parents living?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only my mother. My father is dead. He was a gentleman,” he added, +complacently. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, was he?” said the shop-keeper. “Do you live in the +city?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir. In Clinton Place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever been in a situation before?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Roswell, a little reluctantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Where was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“In an office on Dey Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long were you there?” +</p> + +<p> +“A week.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me that was a short time. Why did you not stay +longer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” said Roswell, loftily, “the man wanted me to get +to the office at eight o’clock, and make the fire. I’m a +gentleman’s son, and am not used to such dirty work.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said the shop-keeper. “Well, young gentleman, you +may step aside a few minutes. I will speak with some of the other boys before +making my selection.” +</p> + +<p> +Several other boys were called in and questioned. Roswell stood by and listened +with an air of complacency. He could not help thinking his chances the best. +“The man can see I’m a gentleman, and will do credit to his +store,” he thought. +</p> + +<p> +At length it came to Fosdick’s turn. He entered with no very sanguine +anticipations of success. Unlike Roswell, he set a very low estimate upon his +qualifications when compared with those of other applicants. But his modest +bearing, and quiet, gentlemanly manner, entirely free from pretension, +prepossessed the shop-keeper, who was a sensible man, in his favor. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you reside in the city?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Henry. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your age?” +</p> + +<p> +“Twelve.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you ever been in any situation?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to see a specimen of your handwriting. Here, take the pen +and write your name.” +</p> + +<p> +Henry Fosdick had a very handsome handwriting for a boy of his age, while +Roswell, who had submitted to the same test, could do little more than scrawl. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you reside with your parents?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, sir, they are dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you live, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“In Mott Street.” +</p> + +<p> +Roswell curled his lip when this name was pronounced, for Mott Street, as my +New York readers know, is in the immediate neighborhood of the Five-Points, and +very far from a fashionable locality. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any testimonials to present?” asked Mr. Henderson, for +that was his name. +</p> + +<p> +Fosdick hesitated. This was the question which he had foreseen would give him +trouble. +</p> + +<p> +But at this moment it happened most opportunely that Mr. Greyson entered the +shop with the intention of buying a hat. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Fosdick, promptly; “I will refer to this +gentleman.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, Fosdick?” asked Mr. Greyson, noticing him for the +first time. “How do you happen to be here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I am applying for a place, sir,” said Fosdick. “May I refer +the gentleman to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly, I shall be glad to speak a good word for you. Mr. Henderson, +this is a member of my Sunday-school class, of whose good qualities and good +abilities I can speak confidently.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will be sufficient,” said the shop-keeper, who knew Mr. +Greyson’s high character and position. “He could have no better +recommendation. You may come to the store to-morrow morning at half past seven +o’clock. The pay will be three dollars a week for the first six months. +If I am satisfied with you, I shall then raise it to five dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +The other boys looked disappointed, but none more so than Roswell Crawford. He +would have cared less if any one else had obtained the situation; but for a boy +who lived in Mott Street to be preferred to him, a gentleman’s son, he +considered indeed humiliating. In a spirit of petty spite, he was tempted to +say, +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a boot-black. Ask him if he isn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s an honest and intelligent lad,” said Mr. Greyson. +“As for you, young man, I only hope you have one-half his good +qualities.” +</p> + +<p> +Roswell Crawford left the store in disgust, and the other unsuccessful +applicants with him. +</p> + +<p> +“What luck, Fosdick?” asked Dick, eagerly, as his friend came out +of the store. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got the place,” said Fosdick, in accents of +satisfaction; “but it was only because Mr. Greyson spoke up for +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a trump,” said Dick, enthusiastically. +</p> + +<p> +The gentleman, so denominated, came out before the boys went away, and spoke +with them kindly. +</p> + +<p> +Both Dick and Henry were highly pleased at the success of the application. The +pay would indeed be small, but, expended economically, Fosdick thought he could +get along on it, receiving his room rent, as before, in return for his services +as Dick’s private tutor. Dick determined, as soon as his education would +permit, to follow his companion’s example. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know as you’ll be willin’ to room with a +boot-black,” he said, to Henry, “now you’re goin’ into +business.” +</p> + +<p> +“I couldn’t room with a better friend, Dick,” said Fosdick, +affectionately, throwing his arm round our hero. “When we part, +it’ll be because you wish it.” +</p> + +<p> +So Fosdick entered upon a new career. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap20"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/> +NINE MONTHS LATER</h2> + +<p> +The next morning Fosdick rose early, put on his new suit, and, after getting +breakfast, set out for the Broadway store in which he had obtained a position. +He left his little blacking-box in the room. +</p> + +<p> +“It’ll do to brush my own shoes,” he said. “Who knows +but I may have to come back to it again?” +</p> + +<p> +“No danger,” said Dick; “I’ll take care of the feet, +and you’ll have to look after the heads, now you’re in a +hat-store.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you had a place too,” said Fosdick. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know enough yet,” said Dick. “Wait till +I’ve gradooated.” +</p> + +<p> +“And can put A.B. after your name.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” +</p> + +<p> +“It stands for Bachelor of Arts. It’s a degree that students get +when they graduate from college.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Dick, “I didn’t know but it meant A +Boot-black. I can put that after my name now. Wouldn’t Dick Hunter, A.B., +sound tip-top?” +</p> + +<p> +“I must be going,” said Fosdick. “It won’t do for me to +be late the very first morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the difference between you and me,” said Dick. +“I’m my own boss, and there aint no one to find fault with me if +I’m late. But I might as well be goin’ too. There’s a gent as +comes down to his store pretty early that generally wants a shine.” +</p> + +<p> +The two boys parted at the Park. Fosdick crossed it, and proceeded to the +hat-store, while Dick, hitching up his pants, began to look about him for a +customer. It was seldom that Dick had to wait long. He was always on the alert, +and if there was any business to do he was always sure to get his share of it. +He had now a stronger inducement than ever to attend strictly to business; his +little stock of money in the savings bank having been nearly exhausted by his +liberality to his room-mate. He determined to be as economical as possible, and +moreover to study as hard as he could, that he might be able to follow +Fosdick’s example, and obtain a place in a store or counting-room. As +there were no striking incidents occurring in our hero’s history within +the next nine months, I propose to pass over that period, and recount the +progress he made in that time. +</p> + +<p> +Fosdick was still at the hat-store, having succeeded in giving perfect +satisfaction to Mr. Henderson. His wages had just been raised to five dollars a +week. He and Dick still kept house together at Mrs. Mooney’s +lodging-house, and lived very frugally, so that both were able to save up +money. Dick had been unusually successful in business. He had several regular +patrons, who had been drawn to him by his ready wit, and quick humor, and from +two of them he had received presents of clothing, which had saved him any +expense on that score. His income had averaged quite seven dollars a week in +addition to this. Of this amount he was now obliged to pay one dollar weekly +for the room which he and Fosdick occupied, but he was still able to save one +half the remainder. At the end of nine months therefore, or thirty-nine weeks, +it will be seen that he had accumulated no less a sum than one hundred and +seventeen dollars. Dick may be excused for feeling like a capitalist when he +looked at the long row of deposits in his little bank-book. There were other +boys in the same business who had earned as much money, but they had had little +care for the future, and spent as they went along, so that few could boast a +bank-account, however small. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be a rich man some time, Dick,” said Henry Fosdick, +one evening. +</p> + +<p> +“And live on Fifth Avenoo,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps so. Stranger things have happened.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Dick, “if such a misfortin’ should come +upon me I should bear it like a man. When you see a Fifth Avenoo manshun for +sale for a hundred and seventeen dollars, just let me know and I’ll buy +it as an investment.” +</p> + +<p> +“Two hundred and fifty years ago you might have bought one for that +price, probably. Real estate wasn’t very high among the Indians.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just my luck,” said Dick; “I was born too late. I’d +orter have been an Indian, and lived in splendor on my present capital.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid you’d have found your present business rather +unprofitable at that time.” +</p> + +<p> +But Dick had gained something more valuable than money. He had studied +regularly every evening, and his improvement had been marvellous. He could now +read well, write a fair hand, and had studied arithmetic as far as Interest. +Besides this he had obtained some knowledge of grammar and geography. If some +of my boy readers, who have been studying for years, and got no farther than +this, should think it incredible that Dick, in less than a year, and studying +evenings only, should have accomplished it, they must remember that our hero +was very much in earnest in his desire to improve. He knew that, in order to +grow up respectable, he must be well advanced, and he was willing to work. But +then the reader must not forget that Dick was naturally a smart boy. His street +education had sharpened his faculties, and taught him to rely upon himself. He +knew that it would take him a long time to reach the goal which he had set +before him, and he had patience to keep on trying. He knew that he had only +himself to depend upon, and he determined to make the most of himself,—a +resolution which is the secret of success in nine cases out of ten. +</p> + +<p> +“Dick,” said Fosdick, one evening, after they had completed their +studies, “I think you’ll have to get another teacher soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Dick, in some surprise. “Have you been offered a +more loocrative position?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Fosdick, “but I find I have taught you all I know +myself. You are now as good a scholar as I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that true?” said Dick, eagerly, a flush of gratification +coloring his brown cheek. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Fosdick. “You’ve made wonderful progress. I +propose, now that evening schools have begun, that we join one, and study +together through the winter.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Dick. “I’d be willin’ to go +now; but when I first began to study I was ashamed to have anybody know that I +was so ignorant. Do you really mean, Fosdick, that I know as much as +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Dick, it’s true.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ve got you to thank for it,” said Dick, earnestly. +“You’ve made me what I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“And haven’t you paid me, Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“By payin’ the room-rent,” said Dick, impulsively. +“What’s that? It isn’t half enough. I wish you’d take +half my money; you deserve it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Dick, but you’re too generous. You’ve more than +paid me. Who was it took my part when all the other boys imposed upon me? And +who gave me money to buy clothes, and so got me my situation?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that’s nothing!” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a great deal, Dick. I shall never forget it. But now it seems +to me you might try to get a situation yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I know enough?” +</p> + +<p> +“You know as much as I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll try,” said Dick, decidedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish there was a place in our store,” said Fosdick. “It +would be pleasant for us to be together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” said Dick; “there’ll be plenty of other +chances. P’r’aps A. T. Stewart might like a partner. I +wouldn’t ask more’n a quarter of the profits.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which would be a very liberal proposal on your part,” said +Fosdick, smiling. “But perhaps Mr. Stewart might object to a partner +living on Mott Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d just as lieves move to Fifth Avenoo,” said Dick. +“I aint got no prejudices in favor of Mott Street.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” said Fosdick, “and in fact I have been thinking it +might be a good plan for us to move as soon as we could afford. Mrs. Mooney +doesn’t keep the room quite so neat as she might.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick. “She aint got no prejudices against dirt. +Look at that towel.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick held up the article indicated, which had now seen service nearly a week, +and hard service at that,—Dick’s avocation causing him to be rather +hard on towels. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Fosdick, “I’ve got about tired of it. I +guess we can find some better place without having to pay much more. When we +move, you must let me pay my share of the rent.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll see about that,” said Dick. “Do you propose to +move to Fifth Avenoo?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not just at present, but to some more agreeable neighborhood than this. +We’ll wait till you get a situation, and then we can decide.” +</p> + +<p> +A few days later, as Dick was looking about for customers in the neighborhood +of the Park, his attention was drawn to a fellow boot-black, a boy about a year +younger than himself, who appeared to have been crying. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter, Tom?” asked Dick. “Haven’t +you had luck to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty good,” said the boy; “but we’re havin’ +hard times at home. Mother fell last week and broke her arm, and to-morrow +we’ve got to pay the rent, and if we don’t the landlord says +he’ll turn us out.” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you got anything except what you earn?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Tom, “not now. Mother used to earn three or four +dollars a week; but she can’t do nothin’ now, and my little sister +and brother are too young.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick had quick sympathies. He had been so poor himself, and obliged to submit +to so many privations that he knew from personal experience how hard it was. +Tom Wilkins he knew as an excellent boy who never squandered his money, but +faithfully carried it home to his mother. In the days of his own extravagance +and shiftlessness he had once or twice asked Tom to accompany him to the Old +Bowery or Tony Pastor’s, but Tom had always steadily refused. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry for you, Tom,” he said. “How much do you owe +for rent?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two weeks now,” said Tom. +</p> + +<p> +“How much is it a week?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two dollars a week—that makes four.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got anything towards it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No; I’ve had to spend all my money for food for mother and the +rest of us. I’ve had pretty hard work to do that. I don’t know what +we’ll do. I haven’t any place to go to, and I’m afraid +mother’ll get cold in her arm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you borrow the money somewhere?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Tom shook his head despondingly. +</p> + +<p> +“All the people I know are as poor as I am,” said he. +“They’d help me if they could, but it’s hard work for them to +get along themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what, Tom,” said Dick, impulsively, +“I’ll stand your friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you got any money?” asked Tom, doubtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“Got any money!” repeated Dick. “Don’t you know that I +run a bank on my own account? How much is it you need?” +</p> + +<p> +“Four dollars,” said Tom. “If we don’t pay that before +to-morrow night, out we go. You haven’t got as much as that, have +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Here are three dollars,” said Dick, drawing out his pocket-book. +“I’ll let you have the rest to-morrow, and maybe a little +more.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re a right down good fellow, Dick,” said Tom; “but +won’t you want it yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ve got some more,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe I’ll never be able to pay you.” +</p> + +<p> +“S’pose you don’t,” said Dick; “I guess I +won’t fail.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t forget it, Dick. I hope I’ll be able to do +somethin’ for you sometime.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Dick. “I’d ought to help you. I +haven’t got no mother to look out for. I wish I had.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a tinge of sadness in his tone, as he pronounced the last four words; +but Dick’s temperament was sanguine, and he never gave way to unavailing +sadness. Accordingly he began to whistle as he turned away, only adding, +“I’ll see you to-morrow, Tom.” +</p> + +<p> +The three dollars which Dick had handed to Tom Wilkins were his savings for the +present week. It was now Thursday afternoon. His rent, which amounted to a +dollar, he expected to save out of the earnings of Friday and Saturday. In +order to give Tom the additional assistance he had promised, Dick would be +obliged to have recourse to his bank-savings. He would not have ventured to +trench upon it for any other reason but this. But he felt that it would be +selfish to allow Tom and his mother to suffer when he had it in his power to +relieve them. But Dick was destined to be surprised, and that in a disagreeable +manner, when he reached home. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap21"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +DICK LOSES HIS BANK-BOOK</h2> + +<p> +It was hinted at the close of the last chapter that Dick was destined to be +disagreeably surprised on reaching home. +</p> + +<p> +Having agreed to give further assistance to Tom Wilkins, he was naturally led +to go to the drawer where he and Fosdick kept their bank-books. To his surprise +and uneasiness <i>the drawer proved to be empty!</i> +</p> + +<p> +“Come here a minute, Fosdick,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter, Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t find my bank-book, nor yours either. What’s +’come of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I took mine with me this morning, thinking I might want to put in a +little more money. I’ve got it in my pocket, now.” +</p> + +<p> +“But where’s mine?” asked Dick, perplexed. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know. I saw it in the drawer when I took mine this +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, positive, for I looked into it to see how much you had got.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you lock it again?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; didn’t you have to unlock it just now?” +</p> + +<p> +“So I did,” said Dick. “But it’s gone now. Somebody +opened it with a key that fitted the lock, and then locked it +ag’in.” +</p> + +<p> +“That must have been the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s rather hard on a feller,” said Dick, who, for the first +time since we became acquainted with him, began to feel down-hearted. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t give it up, Dick. You haven’t lost the money, only the +bank-book.” +</p> + +<p> +“Aint that the same thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. You can go to the bank to-morrow morning, as soon as it opens, and +tell them you have lost the book, and ask them not to pay the money to any one +except yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I can,” said Dick, brightening up. “That is, if the thief +hasn’t been to the bank to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he has, they might detect him by his handwriting.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like to get hold of the one that stole it,” said Dick, +indignantly. “I’d give him a good lickin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must have been somebody in the house. Suppose we go and see Mrs. +Mooney. She may know whether anybody came into our room to-day.” +</p> + +<p> +The two boys went downstairs, and knocked at the door of a little back +sitting-room where Mrs. Mooney generally spent her evenings. It was a shabby +little room, with a threadbare carpet on the floor, the walls covered with a +certain large-figured paper, patches of which had been stripped off here and +there, exposing the plaster, the remainder being defaced by dirt and grease. +But Mrs. Mooney had one of those comfortable temperaments which are tolerant of +dirt, and didn’t mind it in the least. She was seated beside a small pine +work-table, industriously engaged in mending stockings. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-evening, Mrs. Mooney,” said Fosdick, politely. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-evening,” said the landlady. “Sit down, if you can find +chairs. I’m hard at work as you see, but a poor lone widder can’t +afford to be idle.” +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t stop long, Mrs. Mooney, but my friend here has had +something taken from his room to-day, and we thought we’d come and see +you about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked the landlady. “You don’t think +I’d take anything? If I am poor, it’s an honest name I’ve +always had, as all my lodgers can testify.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly not, Mrs. Mooney; but there are others in the house that may +not be honest. My friend has lost his bank-book. It was safe in the drawer this +morning, but to-night it is not to be found.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much money was there in it?” asked Mrs. Mooney. +</p> + +<p> +“Over a hundred dollars,” said Fosdick. +</p> + +<p> +“It was my whole fortun’,” said Dick. “I was +goin’ to buy a house next year.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mooney was evidently surprised to learn the extent of Dick’s wealth, +and was disposed to regard him with increased respect. +</p> + +<p> +“Was the drawer locked?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it couldn’t have been Bridget. I don’t think she has +any keys.” +</p> + +<p> +“She wouldn’t know what a bank-book was,” said Fosdick. +“You didn’t see any of the lodgers go into our room to-day, did +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shouldn’t wonder if it was Jim Travis,” said Mrs. Mooney, +suddenly. +</p> + +<p> +This James Travis was a bar-tender in a low groggery in Mulberry Street, and +had been for a few weeks an inmate of Mrs. Mooney’s lodging-house. He was +a coarse-looking fellow who, from his appearance, evidently patronized +liberally the liquor he dealt out to others. He occupied a room opposite +Dick’s, and was often heard by the two boys reeling upstairs in a state +of intoxication, uttering shocking oaths. +</p> + +<p> +This Travis had made several friendly overtures to Dick and his room-mate, and +had invited them to call round at the bar-room where he tended, and take +something. But this invitation had never been accepted, partly because the boys +were better engaged in the evening, and partly because neither of them had +taken a fancy to Mr. Travis; which certainly was not strange, for nature had +not gifted him with many charms, either of personal appearance or manners. The +rejection of his friendly proffers had caused him to take a dislike to Dick and +Henry, whom he considered stiff and unsocial. +</p> + +<p> +“What makes you think it was Travis?” asked Fosdick. “He +isn’t at home in the daytime.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he was to-day. He said he had got a bad cold, and had to come home +for a clean handkerchief.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you see him?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mrs. Mooney. “Bridget was hanging out clothes, +and I went to the door to let him in.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder if he had a key that would fit our drawer,” said Fosdick. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Mrs. Mooney. “The bureaus in the two rooms are +just alike. I got ’em at auction, and most likely the locks is the +same.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must have been he,” said Dick, looking towards Fosdick. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Fosdick, “it looks like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s to be done? That’s what I’d like to +know,” said Dick. “Of course he’ll say he hasn’t got +it; and he won’t be such a fool as to leave it in his room.” +</p> + +<p> +“If he hasn’t been to the bank, it’s all right,” said +Fosdick. “You can go there the first thing to-morrow morning, and stop +their paying any money on it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I can’t get any money on it myself,” said Dick. “I +told Tom Wilkins I’d let him have some more money to-morrow, or his sick +mother’ll have to turn out of their lodgin’s.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much money were you going to give him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I gave him three dollars to-day, and was goin’ to give him two +dollars to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got the money, Dick. I didn’t go to the bank this +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. I’ll take it, and pay you back next week.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Dick; if you’ve given three dollars, you must let me give +two.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Fosdick, I’d rather give the whole. You know I’ve got +more money than you. No, I haven’t, either,” said Dick, the memory +of his loss flashing upon him. “I thought I was rich this morning, but +now I’m in destitoot circumstances.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cheer up, Dick; you’ll get your money back.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so,” said our hero, rather ruefully. +</p> + +<p> +The fact was, that our friend Dick was beginning to feel what is so often +experienced by men who do business of a more important character and on a +larger scale than he, the bitterness of a reverse of circumstances. With one +hundred dollars and over carefully laid away in the savings bank, he had felt +quite independent. Wealth is comparative, and Dick probably felt as rich as +many men who are worth a hundred thousand dollars. He was beginning to feel the +advantages of his steady self-denial, and to experience the pleasures of +property. Not that Dick was likely to be unduly attached to money. Let it be +said to his credit that it had never given him so much satisfaction as when it +enabled him to help Tom Wilkins in his trouble. +</p> + +<p> +Besides this, there was another thought that troubled him. When he obtained a +place he could not expect to receive as much as he was now making from blacking +boots,—probably not more than three dollars a week,—while his +expenses without clothing would amount to four dollars. To make up the +deficiency he had confidently relied upon his savings, which would be +sufficient to carry him along for a year, if necessary. If he should not +recover his money, he would be compelled to continue a boot-black for at least +six months longer; and this was rather a discouraging reflection. On the whole +it is not to be wondered at that Dick felt unusually sober this evening, and +that neither of the boys felt much like studying. +</p> + +<p> +The two boys consulted as to whether it would be best to speak to Travis about +it. It was not altogether easy to decide. Fosdick was opposed to it. +</p> + +<p> +“It will only put him on his guard,” said he, “and I +don’t see as it will do any good. Of course he will deny it. We’d +better keep quiet, and watch him, and, by giving notice at the bank, we can +make sure that he doesn’t get any money on it. If he does present himself +at the bank, they will know at once that he is a thief, and he can be +arrested.” +</p> + +<p> +This view seemed reasonable, and Dick resolved to adopt it. On the whole, he +began to think prospects were brighter than he had at first supposed, and his +spirits rose a little. +</p> + +<p> +“How’d he know I had any bank-book? That’s what I can’t +make out,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you remember?” said Fosdick, after a moment’s +thought, “we were speaking of our savings, two or three evenings +since?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Our door was a little open at the time, and I heard somebody come +upstairs, and stop a minute in front of it. It must have been Jim Travis. In +that way he probably found out about your money, and took the opportunity +to-day to get hold of it.” +</p> + +<p> +This might or might not be the correct explanation. At all events it seemed +probable. +</p> + +<p> +The boys were just on the point of going to bed, later in the evening, when a +knock was heard at the door, and, to their no little surprise, their neighbor, +Jim Travis, proved to be the caller. He was a sallow-complexioned young man, +with dark hair and bloodshot eyes. +</p> + +<p> +He darted a quick glance from one to the other as he entered, which did not +escape the boys’ notice. +</p> + +<p> +“How are ye, to-night?” he said, sinking into one of the two chairs +with which the room was scantily furnished. +</p> + +<p> +“Jolly,” said Dick. “How are you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Tired as a dog,” was the reply. “Hard work and poor pay; +that’s the way with me. I wanted to go to the theater, to-night, but I +was hard up, and couldn’t raise the cash.” +</p> + +<p> +Here he darted another quick glance at the boys; but neither betrayed anything. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t go out much, do you?” he said +</p> + +<p> +“Not much,” said Fosdick. “We spend our evenings in +study.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s precious slow,” said Travis, rather contemptuously. +“What’s the use of studying so much? You don’t expect to be a +lawyer, do you, or anything of that sort?” +</p> + +<p> +“Maybe,” said Dick. “I haven’t made up my mind yet. If +my feller-citizens should want me to go to Congress some time, I +shouldn’t want to disapp’int ’em; and then readin’ and +writin’ might come handy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Travis, rather abruptly, “I’m tired and I +guess I’ll turn in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night,” said Fosdick. +</p> + +<p> +The boys looked at each other as their visitor left the room. +</p> + +<p> +“He came in to see if we’d missed the bank-book,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“And to turn off suspicion from himself, by letting us know he had no +money,” added Fosdick. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s so,” said Dick. “I’d like to have +searched them pockets of his.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap22"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +TRACKING THE THIEF</h2> + +<p> +Fosdick was right in supposing that Jim Travis had stolen the bank-book. He was +also right in supposing that that worthy young man had come to the knowledge of +Dick’s savings by what he had accidentally overheard. Now, Travis, like a +very large number of young men of his class, was able to dispose of a larger +amount of money than he was able to earn. Moreover, he had no great fancy for +work at all, and would have been glad to find some other way of obtaining money +enough to pay his expenses. He had recently received a letter from an old +companion, who had strayed out to California, and going at once to the mines +had been lucky enough to get possession of a very remunerative claim. He wrote +to Travis that he had already realized two thousand dollars from it, and +expected to make his fortune within six months. +</p> + +<p> +Two thousand dollars! This seemed to Travis a very large sum, and quite dazzled +his imagination. He was at once inflamed with the desire to go out to +California and try his luck. In his present situation he only received thirty +dollars a month, which was probably all that his services were worth, but went +a very little way towards gratifying his expensive tastes. Accordingly he +determined to take the next steamer to the land of gold, if he could possibly +manage to get money enough to pay the passage. +</p> + +<p> +The price of a steerage passage at that time was seventy-five +dollars,—not a large sum, certainly,—but it might as well have been +seventy-five hundred for any chance James Travis had of raising the amount at +present. His available funds consisted of precisely two dollars and a quarter; +of which sum, one dollar and a half was due to his washerwoman. This, however, +would not have troubled Travis much, and he would conveniently have forgotten +all about it; but, even leaving this debt unpaid, the sum at his command would +not help him materially towards paying his passage money. +</p> + +<p> +Travis applied for help to two or three of his companions; but they were all of +that kind who never keep an account with savings banks, but carry all their +spare cash about with them. One of these friends offered to lend him +thirty-seven cents, and another a dollar; but neither of these offers seemed to +encourage him much. He was about giving up his project in despair, when he +learned, accidentally, as we have already said, the extent of Dick’s +savings. +</p> + +<p> +One hundred and seventeen dollars! Why, that would not only pay his passage, +but carry him up to the mines, after he had arrived in San Francisco. He could +not help thinking it over, and the result of this thinking was that he +determined to borrow it of Dick without leave. Knowing that neither of the boys +were in their room in the daytime, he came back in the course of the morning, +and, being admitted by Mrs. Mooney herself, said, by way of accounting for his +presence, that he had a cold, and had come back for a handkerchief. The +landlady suspected nothing, and, returning at once to her work in the kitchen, +left the coast clear. +</p> + +<p> +Travis at once entered Dick’s room, and, as there seemed to be no other +place for depositing money, tried the bureau-drawers. They were all readily +opened, except one, which proved to be locked. This he naturally concluded must +contain the money, and going back to his own chamber for the key of the bureau, +tried it on his return, and found to his satisfaction that it would fit. When +he discovered the bank-book, his joy was mingled with disappointment. He had +expected to find bank-bills instead. This would have saved all further trouble, +and would have been immediately available. Obtaining money at the savings bank +would involve fresh risk. Travis hesitated whether to take it or not; but +finally decided that it would be worth the trouble and hazard. +</p> + +<p> +He accordingly slipped the book into his pocket, locked the drawer again, and, +forgetting all about the handkerchief for which he had come home went +downstairs, and into the street. +</p> + +<p> +There would have been time to go to the savings bank that day, but Travis had +already been absent from his place of business some time, and did not venture +to take the additional time required. Besides, not being very much used to +savings banks, never having had occasion to use them, he thought it would be +more prudent to look over the rules and regulations, and see if he could not +get some information as to the way he ought to proceed. So the day passed, and +Dick’s money was left in safety at the bank. +</p> + +<p> +In the evening, it occurred to Travis that it might be well to find out whether +Dick had discovered his loss. This reflection it was that induced the visit +which is recorded at the close of the last chapter. The result was that he was +misled by the boys’ silence on the subject, and concluded that nothing +had yet been discovered. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” thought Travis, with satisfaction. “If they +don’t find out for twenty-four hours, it’ll be too late, then, and +I shall be all right.” +</p> + +<p> +There being a possibility of the loss being discovered before the boys went out +in the morning, Travis determined to see them at that time, and judge whether +such was the case. He waited, therefore, until he heard the boys come out, and +then opened his own door. +</p> + +<p> +“Morning, gents,” said he, sociably. “Going to +business?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick. “I’m afraid my clerks’ll be +lazy if I aint on hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good joke!” said Travis. “If you pay good wages, I’d +like to speak for a place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I pay all I get myself,” said Dick. “How’s business +with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“So so. Why don’t you call round, some time?” +</p> + +<p> +“All my evenin’s is devoted to literatoor and science,” said +Dick. “Thank you all the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you hang out?” inquired Travis, in choice language, +addressing Fosdick. +</p> + +<p> +“At Henderson’s hat and cap store, on Broadway.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll look in upon you some time when I want a tile,” said +Travis. “I suppose you sell cheaper to your friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be as reasonable as I can,” said Fosdick, not very +cordially; for he did not much fancy having it supposed by his employer that +such a disreputable-looking person as Travis was a friend of his. +</p> + +<p> +However, Travis had no idea of showing himself at the Broadway store, and only +said this by way of making conversation, and encouraging the boys to be social. +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t any of you gents seen a pearl-handled knife, have +you?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Fosdick; “have you lost one?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Travis, with unblushing falsehood. “I left it on +my bureau a day or two since. I’ve missed one or two other little +matters. Bridget don’t look to me any too honest. Likely she’s got +’em.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you goin’ to do about it?” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll keep mum unless I lose something more, and then I’ll +kick up a row, and haul her over the coals. Have you missed anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Fosdick, answering for himself, as he could do without +violating the truth. +</p> + +<p> +There was a gleam of satisfaction in the eyes of Travis, as he heard this. +</p> + +<p> +“They haven’t found it out yet,” he thought. +“I’ll bag the money to-day, and then they may whistle for +it.” +</p> + +<p> +Having no further object to serve in accompanying the boys, he bade them +good-morning, and turned down another street. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s mighty friendly all of a sudden,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Fosdick; “it’s very evident what it all +means. He wants to find out whether you have discovered your loss or +not.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he didn’t find out.” +</p> + +<p> +“No; we’ve put him on the wrong track. He means to get his money +to-day, no doubt.” +</p> + +<p> +“My money,” suggested Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“I accept the correction,” said Fosdick. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, Dick, you’ll be on hand as soon as the bank +opens.” +</p> + +<p> +“In course I shall. Jim Travis’ll find he’s walked into the +wrong shop.” +</p> + +<p> +“The bank opens at ten o’clock, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be there on time.” +</p> + +<p> +The two boys separated. +</p> + +<p> +“Good luck, Dick,” said Fosdick, as he parted from him. +“It’ll all come out right, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope ’twill,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +He had recovered from his temporary depression, and made up his mind that the +money would be recovered. He had no idea of allowing himself to be outwitted by +Jim Travis, and enjoyed already, in anticipation, the pleasure of defeating his +rascality. +</p> + +<p> +It wanted two hours and a half yet to ten o’clock, and this time to Dick +was too precious to be wasted. It was the time of his greatest harvest. He +accordingly repaired to his usual place of business, succeeded in obtaining six +customers, which yielded him sixty cents. He then went to a restaurant, and got +some breakfast. It was now half-past nine, and Dick, feeling that it +wouldn’t do to be late, left his box in charge of Johnny Nolan, and made +his way to the bank. +</p> + +<p> +The officers had not yet arrived, and Dick lingered on the outside, waiting +till they should come. He was not without a little uneasiness, fearing that +Travis might be as prompt as himself, and finding him there, might suspect +something, and so escape the snare. But, though looking cautiously up and down +the street, he could discover no traces of the supposed thief. In due time ten +o’clock struck, and immediately afterwards the doors of the bank were +thrown open, and our hero entered. +</p> + +<p> +As Dick had been in the habit of making a weekly visit for the last nine +months, the cashier had come to know him by sight. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re early, this morning, my lad,” he said, pleasantly. +“Have you got some more money to deposit? You’ll be getting rich, +soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know about that,” said Dick. “My +bank-book’s been stole.” +</p> + +<p> +“Stolen!” echoed the cashier. “That’s unfortunate. Not +so bad as it might be, though. The thief can’t collect the money.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I came to see about,” said Dick. “I was +afraid he might have got it already.” +</p> + +<p> +“He hasn’t been here yet. Even if he had, I remember you, and +should have detected him. When was it taken?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yesterday,” said Dick. “I missed it in the evenin’ +when I got home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you any suspicion as to the person who took it?” asked the +cashier. +</p> + +<p> +Dick thereupon told all he knew as to the general character and suspicious +conduct of Jim Travis, and the cashier agreed with him that he was probably the +thief. Dick also gave his reason for thinking that he would visit the bank that +morning, to withdraw the funds. +</p> + +<p> +“Very good,” said the cashier. “We’ll be ready for him. +What is the number of your book?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. 5,678,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Now give me a little description of this Travis whom you suspect.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick accordingly furnished a brief outline sketch of Travis, not particularly +complimentary to the latter. +</p> + +<p> +“That will answer. I think I shall know him,” said the cashier. +“You may depend upon it that he shall receive no money on your +account.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Considerably relieved in mind, our hero turned towards the door, thinking that +there would be nothing gained by his remaining longer, while he would of course +lose time. +</p> + +<p> +He had just reached the doors, which were of glass, when through them he +perceived James Travis himself just crossing the street, and apparently coming +towards the bank. It would not do, of course, for him to be seen. +</p> + +<p> +“Here he is,” he exclaimed, hurrying back. “Can’t you +hide me somewhere? I don’t want to be seen.” +</p> + +<p> +The cashier understood at once how the land lay. He quickly opened a little +door, and admitted Dick behind the counter. +</p> + +<p> +“Stoop down,” he said, “so as not to be seen.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick had hardly done so when Jim Travis opened the outer door, and, looking +about him in a little uncertainty, walked up to the cashier’s desk. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap23"></a>CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> +TRAVIS IS ARRESTED</h2> + +<p> +Jim Travis advanced into the bank with a doubtful step, knowing well that he +was on a dishonest errand, and heartily wishing that he were well out of it. +After a little hesitation, he approached the paying-teller, and, exhibiting the +bank-book, said, “I want to get my money out.” +</p> + +<p> +The bank-officer took the book, and, after looking at it a moment, said, +“How much do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“The whole of it,” said Travis. +</p> + +<p> +“You can draw out any part of it, but to draw out the whole requires a +week’s notice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll take a hundred dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you the person to whom the book belongs?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir,” said Travis, without hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +“Your name is—” +</p> + +<p> +“Hunter.” +</p> + +<p> +The bank-clerk went to a large folio volume, containing the names of +depositors, and began to turn over the leaves. While he was doing this, he +managed to send out a young man connected with the bank for a policeman. Travis +did not perceive this, or did not suspect that it had anything to do with +himself. Not being used to savings banks, he supposed the delay only what was +usual. After a search, which was only intended to gain time that a policeman +might be summoned, the cashier came back, and, sliding out a piece of paper to +Travis, said, “It will be necessary for you to write an order for the +money.” +</p> + +<p> +Travis took a pen, which he found on the ledge outside, and wrote the order, +signing his name “Dick Hunter,” having observed that name on the +outside of the book. +</p> + +<p> +“Your name is Dick Hunter, then?” said the cashier, taking the +paper, and looking at the thief over his spectacles. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Travis, promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“But,” continued the cashier, “I find Hunter’s age is +put down on the bank-book as fourteen. Surely you must be more than +that.” +</p> + +<p> +Travis would gladly have declared that he was only fourteen; but, being in +reality twenty-three, and possessing a luxuriant pair of whiskers, this was not +to be thought of. He began to feel uneasy. +</p> + +<p> +“Dick Hunter’s my younger brother,” he said. “I’m +getting out the money for him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you said your own name was Dick Hunter,” said the +cashier. +</p> + +<p> +“I said my name was Hunter,” said Travis, ingeniously. “I +didn’t understand you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ve signed the name of Dick Hunter to this order. How is +that?” questioned the troublesome cashier. +</p> + +<p> +Travis saw that he was getting himself into a tight place; but his +self-possession did not desert him. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I must give my brother’s name,” he answered. +</p> + +<p> +“What is your own name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Henry Hunter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you bring any one to testify that the statement you are making is +correct?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, a dozen if you like,” said Travis, boldly. “Give me the +book, and I’ll come back this afternoon. I didn’t think +there’d be such a fuss about getting out a little money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait a moment. Why don’t your brother come himself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because he’s sick. He’s down with the measles,” said +Travis. +</p> + +<p> +Here the cashier signed to Dick to rise and show himself. Our hero accordingly +did so. +</p> + +<p> +“You will be glad to find that he has recovered,” said the cashier, +pointing to Dick. +</p> + +<p> +With an exclamation of anger and dismay, Travis, who saw the game was up, +started for the door, feeling that safety made such a course prudent. But he +was too late. He found himself confronted by a burly policeman, who seized him +by the arm, saying, “Not so fast, my man. I want you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me go,” exclaimed Travis, struggling to free himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry I can’t oblige you,” said the officer. +“You’d better not make a fuss, or I may have to hurt you a +little.” +</p> + +<p> +Travis sullenly resigned himself to his fate, darting a look of rage at Dick, +whom he considered the author of his present misfortune. +</p> + +<p> +“This is your book,” said the cashier, handing back his rightful +property to our hero. “Do you wish to draw out any money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Two dollars,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Write an order for the amount.” +</p> + +<p> +Before doing so, Dick, who now that he saw Travis in the power of the law began +to pity him, went up to the officer, and said,— +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you let him go? I’ve got my bank-book back, and I +don’t want anything done to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sorry I can’t oblige you,” said the officer; “but +I’m not allowed to do it. He’ll have to stand his trial.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry for you, Travis,” said Dick. “I didn’t +want you arrested. I only wanted my bank-book back.” +</p> + +<p> +“Curse you!” said Travis, scowling vindictively. “Wait till I +get free. See if I don’t fix you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t pity him too much,” said the officer. “I +know him now. He’s been to the Island before.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a lie,” said Travis, violently. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be too noisy, my friend,” said the officer. “If +you’ve got no more business here, we’ll be going.” +</p> + +<p> +He withdrew with the prisoner in charge, and Dick, having drawn his two +dollars, left the bank. Notwithstanding the violent words the prisoner had used +towards himself, and his attempted robbery, he could not help feeling sorry +that he had been instrumental in causing his arrest. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll keep my book a little safer hereafter,” thought Dick. +“Now I must go and see Tom Wilkins.” +</p> + +<p> +Before dismissing the subject of Travis and his theft, it may be remarked that +he was duly tried, and, his guilt being clear, was sent to Blackwell’s +Island for nine months. At the end of that time, on his release, he got a +chance to work his passage on a ship to San Francisco, where he probably +arrived in due time. At any rate, nothing more has been heard of him, and +probably his threat of vengence against Dick will never be carried into effect. +</p> + +<p> +Returning to the City Hall Park, Dick soon fell in with Tom Wilkins. +</p> + +<p> +“How are you, Tom?” he said. “How’s your mother?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s better, Dick, thank you. She felt worried about bein’ +turned out into the street; but I gave her that money from you, and now she +feels a good deal easier.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got some more for you, Tom,” said Dick, producing a +two-dollar bill from his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“I ought not to take it from you, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s all right, Tom. Don’t be afraid.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you may need it yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s plenty more where that came from.” +</p> + +<p> +“Any way, one dollar will be enough. With that we can pay the +rent.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll want the other to buy something to eat.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re very kind, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d ought to be. I’ve only got myself to take care +of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll take it for my mother’s sake. When you want +anything done just call on Tom Wilkins.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. Next week, if your mother doesn’t get better, +I’ll give you some more.” +</p> + +<p> +Tom thanked our hero very gratefully, and Dick walked away, feeling the +self-approval which always accompanies a generous and disinterested action. He +was generous by nature, and, before the period at which he is introduced to the +reader’s notice, he frequently treated his friends to cigars and +oyster-stews. Sometimes he invited them to accompany him to the theatre at his +expense. But he never derived from these acts of liberality the same degree of +satisfaction as from this timely gift to Tom Wilkins. He felt that his money +was well bestowed, and would save an entire family from privation and +discomfort. Five dollars would, to be sure, make something of a difference in +the amount of his savings. It was more than he was able to save up in a week. +But Dick felt fully repaid for what he had done, and he felt prepared to give +as much more, if Tom’s mother should continue to be sick, and should +appear to him to need it. +</p> + +<p> +Besides all this, Dick felt a justifiable pride in his financial ability to +afford so handsome a gift. A year before, however much he might have desired to +give, it would have been quite out of his power to give five dollars. His cash +balance never reached that amount. It was seldom, indeed, that it equalled one +dollar. In more ways than one Dick was beginning to reap the advantage of his +self-denial and judicious economy. +</p> + +<p> +It will be remembered that when Mr. Whitney at parting with Dick presented him +with five dollars, he told him that he might repay it to some other boy who was +struggling upward. Dick thought of this, and it occurred to him that after all +he was only paying up an old debt. +</p> + +<p> +When Fosdick came home in the evening, Dick announced his success in recovering +his lost money, and described the manner it had been brought about. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re in luck,” said Fosdick. “I guess we’d +better not trust the bureau-drawer again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean to carry my book round with me,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“So shall I, as long as we stay at Mrs. Mooney’s. I wish we were in +a better place.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must go down and tell her she needn’t expect Travis back. Poor +chap, I pity him!” +</p> + +<p> +Travis was never more seen in Mrs. Mooney’s establishment. He was owing +that lady for a fortnight’s rent of his room, which prevented her feeling +much compassion for him. The room was soon after let to a more creditable +tenant who proved a less troublesome neighbor than his predecessor. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap24"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +DICK RECEIVES A LETTER</h2> + +<p> +It was about a week after Dick’s recovery of his bank-book, that Fosdick +brought home with him in the evening a copy of the “Daily Sun.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you like to see your name in print, Dick?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, who was busy at the wash-stand, endeavoring to +efface the marks which his day’s work had left upon his hands. +“They haven’t put me up for mayor, have they? ’Cause if they +have, I shan’t accept. It would interfere too much with my private +business.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Fosdick, “they haven’t put you up for office +yet, though that may happen sometime. But if you want to see your name in +print, here it is.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was rather incredulous, but, having dried his hands on the towel, took the +paper, and following the directions of Fosdick’s finger, observed in the +list of advertised letters the name of “RAGGED DICK.” +</p> + +<p> +“By gracious, so it is,” said he. “Do you s’pose it +means me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know of any other Ragged Dick,—do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick, reflectively; “it must be me. But I +don’t know of anybody that would be likely to write to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it is Frank Whitney,” suggested Fosdick, after a little +reflection. “Didn’t he promise to write to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, “and he wanted me to write to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where is he now?” +</p> + +<p> +“He was going to a boarding-school in Connecticut, he said. The name of +the town was Barnton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely the letter is from him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope it is. Frank was a tip-top boy, and he was the first that made me +ashamed of bein’ so ignorant and dirty.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better go to the post-office to-morrow morning, and ask for the +letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“P’r’aps they won’t give it to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose you wear the old clothes you used to a year ago, when Frank +first saw you? They won’t have any doubt of your being Ragged Dick +then.” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess I will. I’ll be sort of ashamed to be seen in ’em +though,” said Dick, who had considerable more pride in a neat personal +appearance than when we were first introduced to him. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be only for one day, or one morning,” said Fosdick. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d do more’n that for the sake of gettin’ a letter +from Frank. I’d like to see him.” +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, in accordance with the suggestion of Fosdick, Dick arrayed +himself in the long disused Washington coat and Napoleon pants, which he had +carefully preserved, for what reason he could hardly explain. +</p> + +<p> +When fairly equipped, Dick surveyed himself in the mirror,—if the little +seven-by-nine-inch looking-glass, with which the room was furnished, deserved +the name. The result of the survey was not on the whole a pleasing one. To tell +the truth, Dick was quite ashamed of his appearance, and, on opening the +chamber-door, looked around to see that the coast was clear, not being willing +to have any of his fellow-boarders see him in his present attire. +</p> + +<p> +He managed to slip out into the street unobserved, and, after attending to two +or three regular customers who came down-town early in the morning, he made his +way down Nassau Street to the post-office. He passed along until he came to a +compartment on which he read ADVERTISED LETTERS, and, stepping up to the little +window, said,— +</p> + +<p> +“There’s a letter for me. I saw it advertised in the +‘Sun’ yesterday.” +</p> + +<p> +“What name?” demanded the clerk. +</p> + +<p> +“Ragged Dick,” answered our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a queer name,” said the clerk, surveying him a little +curiously. “Are you Ragged Dick?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you don’t believe me, look at my clo’es,” said +Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s pretty good proof, certainly,” said the clerk, +laughing. “If that isn’t your name, it deserves to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe in dressin’ up to your name,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know any one in Barnton, Connecticut?” asked the clerk, who +had by this time found the letter. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick. “I know a chap that’s at +boardin’-school there.” +</p> + +<p> +“It appears to be in a boy’s hand. I think it must be yours.” +</p> + +<p> +The letter was handed to Dick through the window. He received it eagerly, and +drawing back so as not to be in the way of the throng who were constantly +applying for letters, or slipping them into the boxes provided for them, +hastily opened it, and began to read. As the reader may be interested in the +contents of the letter as well as Dick, we transcribe it below. +</p> + +<p> +It was dated Barnton, Conn., and commenced thus,— +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“D<small>EAR</small> D<small>ICK</small>,—You must excuse my +addressing this letter to ‘Ragged Dick’; but the fact is, I +don’t know what your last name is, nor where you live. I am afraid there +is not much chance of your getting this letter; but I hope you will. I have +thought of you very often, and wondered how you were getting along, and I +should have written to you before if I had known where to direct. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me tell you a little about myself. Barnton is a very pretty country +town, only about six miles from Hartford. The boarding-school which I attend is +under the charge of Ezekiel Munroe, A.M. He is a man of about fifty, a graduate +of Yale College, and has always been a teacher. It is a large two-story house, +with an addition containing a good many small bed-chambers for the boys. There +are about twenty of us, and there is one assistant teacher who teaches the +English branches. Mr. Munroe, or Old Zeke, as we call him behind his back, +teaches Latin and Greek. I am studying both these languages, because father +wants me to go to college. +</p> + +<p> +“But you won’t be interested in hearing about our studies. I will +tell you how we amuse ourselves. There are about fifty acres of land belonging +to Mr. Munroe; so that we have plenty of room for play. About a quarter of a +mile from the house there is a good-sized pond. There is a large, +round-bottomed boat, which is stout and strong. Every Wednesday and Saturday +afternoon, when the weather is good, we go out rowing on the pond. Mr. Barton, +the assistant teacher, goes with us, to look after us. In the summer we are +allowed to go in bathing. In the winter there is splendid skating on the pond. +</p> + +<p> +“Besides this, we play ball a good deal, and we have various other plays. +So we have a pretty good time, although we study pretty hard too. I am getting +on very well in my studies. Father has not decided yet where he will send me to +college. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you were here, Dick. I should enjoy your company, and besides I +should like to feel that you were getting an education. I think you are +naturally a pretty smart boy; but I suppose, as you have to earn your own +living, you don’t get much chance to learn. I only wish I had a few +hundred dollars of my own. I would have you come up here, and attend school +with us. If I ever have a chance to help you in any way, you may be sure that I +will. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to wind up my letter now, as I have to hand in a +composition to-morrow, on the life and character of Washington. I might say +that I have a friend who wears a coat that once belonged to the general. But I +suppose that coat must be worn out by this time. I don’t much like +writing compositions. I would a good deal rather write letters. +</p> + +<p> +“I have written a longer letter than I meant to. I hope you will get it, +though I am afraid not. If you do, you must be sure to answer it, as soon as +possible. You needn’t mind if your writing does look like +‘hens-tracks,’ as you told me once. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-by, Dick. You must always think of me, as your very true friend, +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“F<small>RANK</small> W<small>HITNEY</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick read this letter with much satisfaction. It is always pleasant to be +remembered, and Dick had so few friends that it was more to him than to boys +who are better provided. Again, he felt a new sense of importance in having a +letter addressed to him. It was the first letter he had ever received. If it +had been sent to him a year before, he would not have been able to read it. But +now, thanks to Fosdick’s instructions, he could not only read writing, +but he could write a very good hand himself. +</p> + +<p> +There was one passage in the letter which pleased Dick. It was where Frank said +that if he had the money he would pay for his education himself. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s a tip-top feller,” said Dick. “I wish I could see +him ag’in.” +</p> + +<p> +There were two reasons why Dick would like to have seen Frank. One was, the +natural pleasure he would have in meeting a friend; but he felt also that he +would like to have Frank witness the improvement he had made in his studies and +mode of life. +</p> + +<p> +“He’d find me a little more ’spectable than when he first saw +me,” thought Dick. +</p> + +<p> +Dick had by this time got up to Printing House Square. Standing on Spruce +Street, near the “Tribune” office, was his old enemy, Micky +Maguire. +</p> + +<p> +It has already been said that Micky felt a natural enmity towards those in his +own condition in life who wore better clothes than himself. For the last nine +months, Dick’s neat appearance had excited the ire of the young +Philistine. To appear in neat attire and with a clean face Micky felt was a +piece of presumption, and an assumption of superiority on the part of our hero, +and he termed it “tryin’ to be a swell.” +</p> + +<p> +Now his astonished eyes rested on Dick in his ancient attire, which was very +similar to his own. It was a moment of triumph to him. He felt that +“pride had had a fall,” and he could not forbear reminding Dick of +it. +</p> + +<p> +“Them’s nice clo’es you’ve got on,” said he, +sarcastically, as Dick came up. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick, promptly. “I’ve been employin’ +your tailor. If my face was only dirty we’d be taken for twin +brothers.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you’ve give up tryin’ to be a swell?” +</p> + +<p> +“Only for this partic’lar occasion,” said Dick. “I +wanted to make a fashionable call, so I put on my regimentals.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t b’lieve you’ve got any better +clo’es,” said Micky. +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Dick, “I won’t charge you +nothin’ for what you believe.” +</p> + +<p> +Here a customer presented himself for Micky, and Dick went back to his room to +change his clothes, before resuming business. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap25"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +DICK WRITES HIS FIRST LETTER</h2> + +<p> +When Fosdick reached home in the evening, Dick displayed his letter with some +pride. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a nice letter,” said Fosdick, after reading it. +“I should like to know Frank.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll bet you would,” said Dick. “He’s a +trump.” +</p> + +<p> +“When are you going to answer it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Dick, dubiously. “I never writ a +letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s no reason why you shouldn’t. There’s always a +first time, you know.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what to say,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“Get some paper and sit down to it, and you’ll find enough to say. +You can do that this evening instead of studying.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll look it over afterwards, and shine it up a +little.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, if it needs it; but I rather think Frank would like it best just as +you wrote it.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick decided to adopt Fosdick’s suggestion. He had very serious doubts as +to his ability to write a letter. Like a good many other boys, he looked upon +it as a very serious job, not reflecting that, after all, letter-writing is +nothing but talking upon paper. Still, in spite of his misgivings, he felt that +the letter ought to be answered, and he wished Frank to hear from him. After +various preparations, he at last got settled down to his task, and, before the +evening was over, a letter was written. As the first letter which Dick had ever +produced, and because it was characteristic of him, my readers may like to read +it. +</p> + +<p> +Here it is,— +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“D<small>EAR</small> F<small>RANK</small>,—I got your letter this +mornin’, and was very glad to hear you hadn’t forgotten Ragged +Dick. I aint so ragged as I was. Openwork coats and trowsers has gone out of +fashion. I put on the Washington coat and Napoleon pants to go to the +post-office, for fear they wouldn’t think I was the boy that was meant. +On my way back I received the congratulations of my intimate friend, Micky +Maguire, on my improved appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve give up sleepin’ in boxes, and old wagons, +findin’ it didn’t agree with my constitution. I’ve hired a +room in Mott Street, and have got a private tooter, who rooms with me and looks +after my studies in the evenin’. Mott Street aint very fashionable; but +my manshun on Fifth Avenoo isn’t finished yet, and I’m afraid it +won’t be till I’m a gray-haired veteran. I’ve got a hundred +dollars towards it, which I’ve saved up from my earnin’s. I +haven’t forgot what you and your uncle said to me, and I’m +tryin’ to grow up ’spectable. I haven’t been to Tony +Pastor’s, or the Old Bowery, for ever so long. I’d rather save up +my money to support me in my old age. When my hair gets gray, I’m +goin’ to knock off blackin’ boots, and go into some light, genteel +employment, such as keepin’ an apple-stand, or disseminatin’ +pea-nuts among the people. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve got so as to read pretty well, so my tooter says. I’ve +been studyin’ geography and grammar also. I’ve made such +astonishin’ progress that I can tell a noun from a conjunction as far +away as I can see ’em. Tell Mr. Munroe that if he wants an accomplished +teacher in his school, he can send for me, and I’ll come on by the very +next train. Or, if he wants to sell out for a hundred dollars, I’ll buy +the whole concern, and agree to teach the scholars all I know myself in less +than six months. Is teachin’ as good business, generally speakin’, +as blackin’ boots? My private tooter combines both, and is makin’ a +fortun’ with great rapidity. He’ll be as rich as Astor some time, +<i>if he only lives long enough.</i> +</p> + +<p> +“I should think you’d have a bully time at your school. I should +like to go out in the boat, or play ball with you. When are you comin’ to +the city? I wish you’d write and let me know when you do, and I’ll +call and see you. I’ll leave my business in the hands of my numerous +clerks, and go round with you. There’s lots of things you didn’t +see when you was here before. They’re getting on fast at the Central +Park. It looks better than it did a year ago. +</p> + +<p> +“I aint much used to writin’ letters. As this is the first one I +ever wrote, I hope you’ll excuse the mistakes. I hope you’ll write +to me again soon. I can’t write so good a letter as you; but, I’ll +do my best, as the man said when he was asked if he could swim over to Brooklyn +backwards. Good-by, Frank. Thank you for all your kindness. Direct your next +letter to No. — Mott Street. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Your true friend,<br/> +“D<small>ICK</small> H<small>UNTER</small>.” +</p> + +<p> +When Dick had written the last word, he leaned back in his chair, and surveyed +the letter with much satisfaction. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think I could have wrote such a long letter, +Fosdick,” said he. +</p> + +<p> +“Written would be more grammatical, Dick,” suggested his friend. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess there’s plenty of mistakes in it,” said Dick. +“Just look at it, and see.” +</p> + +<p> +Fosdick took the letter, and read it over carefully. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, there are some mistakes,” he said; “but it sounds so +much like you that I think it would be better to let it go just as it is. It +will be more likely to remind Frank of what you were when he first saw +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it good enough to send?” asked Dick, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; it seems to me to be quite a good letter. It is written just as you +talk. Nobody but you could have written such a letter, Dick. I think Frank will +be amused at your proposal to come up there as teacher.” +</p> + +<p> +“P’r’aps it would be a good idea for us to open a seleck +school here in Mott Street,” said Dick, humorously. “We could call +it ‘Professor Fosdick and Hunter’s Mott Street Seminary.’ +Boot-blackin’ taught by Professor Hunter.” +</p> + +<p> +The evening was so far advanced that Dick decided to postpone copying his +letter till the next evening. By this time he had come to have a very fair +handwriting, so that when the letter was complete it really looked quite +creditable, and no one would have suspected that it was Dick’s first +attempt in this line. Our hero surveyed it with no little complacency. In fact, +he felt rather proud of it, since it reminded him of the great progress he had +made. He carried it down to the post-office, and deposited it with his own +hands in the proper box. Just on the steps of the building, as he was coming +out, he met Johnny Nolan, who had been sent on an errand to Wall Street by some +gentleman, and was just returning. +</p> + +<p> +“What are you doin’ down here, Dick?” asked Johnny. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been mailin’ a letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who sent you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nobody.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, who writ the letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wrote it myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you write letters?” asked Johnny, in amazement. +</p> + +<p> +“Why shouldn’t I?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t know you could write. I can’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you ought to learn.” +</p> + +<p> +“I went to school once; but it was too hard work, so I give it up.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re lazy, Johnny,—that’s what’s the matter. +How’d you ever expect to know anything, if you don’t try?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t learn.” +</p> + +<p> +“You can, if you want to.” +</p> + +<p> +Johnny Nolan was evidently of a different opinion. He was a good-natured boy, +large of his age, with nothing particularly bad about him, but utterly lacking +in that energy, ambition, and natural sharpness, for which Dick was +distinguished. He was not adapted to succeed in the life which circumstances +had forced upon him; for in the street-life of the metropolis a boy needs to be +on the alert, and have all his wits about him, or he will find himself wholly +distanced by his more enterprising competitors for popular favor. To succeed in +his profession, humble as it is, a boot-black must depend upon the same +qualities which gain success in higher walks in life. It was easy to see that +Johnny, unless very much favored by circumstances, would never rise much above +his present level. For Dick, we cannot help hoping much better things. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap26"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br/> +AN EXCITING ADVENTURE</h2> + +<p> +Dick now began to look about for a position in a store or counting-room. Until +he should obtain one he determined to devote half the day to blacking boots, +not being willing to break in upon his small capital. He found that he could +earn enough in half a day to pay all his necessary expenses, including the +entire rent of the room. Fosdick desired to pay his half; but Dick steadily +refused, insisting upon paying so much as compensation for his friend’s +services as instructor. +</p> + +<p> +It should be added that Dick’s peculiar way of speaking and use of slang +terms had been somewhat modified by his education and his intimacy with Henry +Fosdick. Still he continued to indulge in them to some extent, especially when +he felt like joking, and it was natural to Dick to joke, as my readers have +probably found out by this time. Still his manners were considerably improved, +so that he was more likely to obtain a situation than when first introduced to +our notice. +</p> + +<p> +Just now, however, business was very dull, and merchants, instead of hiring new +assistants, were disposed to part with those already in their employ. After +making several ineffectual applications, Dick began to think he should be +obliged to stick to his profession until the next season. But about this time +something occurred which considerably improved his chances of preferment. +</p> + +<p> +This is the way it happened. +</p> + +<p> +As Dick, with a balance of more than a hundred dollars in the savings bank, +might fairly consider himself a young man of property, he thought himself +justified in occasionally taking a half holiday from business, and going on an +excursion. On Wednesday afternoon Henry Fosdick was sent by his employer on an +errand to that part of Brooklyn near Greenwood Cemetery. Dick hastily dressed +himself in his best, and determined to accompany him. +</p> + +<p> +The two boys walked down to the South Ferry, and, paying their two cents each, +entered the ferry boat. They remained at the stern, and stood by the railing, +watching the great city, with its crowded wharves, receding from view. Beside +them was a gentleman with two children,—a girl of eight and a little boy +of six. The children were talking gayly to their father. While he was pointing +out some object of interest to the little girl, the boy managed to creep, +unobserved, beneath the chain that extends across the boat, for the protection +of passengers, and, stepping incautiously to the edge of the boat, fell over +into the foaming water. +</p> + +<p> +At the child’s scream, the father looked up, and, with a cry of horror, +sprang to the edge of the boat. He would have plunged in, but, being unable to +swim, would only have endangered his own life, without being able to save his +child. +</p> + +<p> +“My child!” he exclaimed in anguish,—“who will save my +child? A thousand—ten thousand dollars to any one who will save +him!” +</p> + +<p> +There chanced to be but few passengers on board at the time, and nearly all +these were either in the cabins or standing forward. Among the few who saw the +child fall was our hero. +</p> + +<p> +Now Dick was an expert swimmer. It was an accomplishment which he had possessed +for years, and he no sooner saw the boy fall than he resolved to rescue him. +His determination was formed before he heard the liberal offer made by the +boy’s father. Indeed, I must do Dick the justice to say that, in the +excitement of the moment, he did not hear it at all, nor would it have +stimulated the alacrity with which he sprang to the rescue of the little boy. +</p> + +<p> +Little Johnny had already risen once, and gone under for the second time, when +our hero plunged in. He was obliged to strike out for the boy, and this took +time. He reached him none too soon. Just as he was sinking for the third and +last time, he caught him by the jacket. Dick was stout and strong, but Johnny +clung to him so tightly, that it was with great difficulty he was able to +sustain himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Put your arms round my neck,” said Dick. +</p> + +<p> +The little boy mechanically obeyed, and clung with a grasp strengthened by his +terror. In this position Dick could bear his weight better. But the ferry-boat +was receding fast. It was quite impossible to reach it. The father, his face +pale with terror and anguish, and his hands clasped in suspense, saw the brave +boy’s struggles, and prayed with agonizing fervor that he might be +successful. But it is probable, for they were now midway of the river, that +both Dick and the little boy whom he had bravely undertaken to rescue would +have been drowned, had not a row-boat been fortunately near. The two men who +were in it witnessed the accident, and hastened to the rescue of our hero. +</p> + +<p> +“Keep up a little longer,” they shouted, bending to their oars, +“and we will save you.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick heard the shout, and it put fresh strength into him. He battled manfully +with the treacherous sea, his eyes fixed longingly upon the approaching boat. +</p> + +<p> +“Hold on tight, little boy,” he said. “There’s a boat +coming.” +</p> + +<p> +The little boy did not see the boat. His eyes were closed to shut out the +fearful water, but he clung the closer to his young preserver. Six long, steady +strokes, and the boat dashed along side. Strong hands seized Dick and his +youthful burden, and drew them into the boat, both dripping with water. +</p> + +<p> +“God be thanked!” exclaimed the father, as from the steamer he saw +the child’s rescue. “That brave boy shall be rewarded, if I +sacrifice my whole fortune to compass it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve had a pretty narrow escape, young chap,” said one of +the boatmen to Dick. “It was a pretty tough job you undertook.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dick. “That’s what I thought when I was in +the water. If it hadn’t been for you, I don’t know what would have +’come of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anyhow you’re a plucky boy, or you wouldn’t have dared to +jump into the water after this little chap. It was a risky thing to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m used to the water,” said Dick, modestly. “I +didn’t stop to think of the danger, but I wasn’t going to see that +little fellow drown without tryin’ to save him.” +</p> + +<p> +The boat at once headed for the ferry wharf on the Brooklyn side. The captain +of the ferry-boat, seeing the rescue, did not think it necessary to stop his +boat, but kept on his way. The whole occurrence took place in less time than I +have occupied in telling it. +</p> + +<p> +The father was waiting on the wharf to receive his little boy, with what +feelings of gratitude and joy can be easily understood. With a burst of happy +tears he clasped him to his arms. Dick was about to withdraw modestly, but the +gentleman perceived the movement, and, putting down the child, came forward, +and, clasping his hand, said with emotion, “My brave boy, I owe you a +debt I can never repay. But for your timely service I should now be plunged +into an anguish which I cannot think of without a shudder.” +</p> + +<p> +Our hero was ready enough to speak on most occasions, but always felt awkward +when he was praised. +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t any trouble,” he said, modestly. “I can swim +like a top.” +</p> + +<p> +“But not many boys would have risked their lives for a stranger,” +said the gentleman. “But,” he added with a sudden thought, as his +glance rested on Dick’s dripping garments, “both you and my little +boy will take cold in wet clothes. Fortunately I have a friend living close at +hand, at whose house you will have an opportunity of taking off your clothes, +and having them dried.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick protested that he never took cold; but Fosdick, who had now joined them, +and who, it is needless to say, had been greatly alarmed at Dick’s +danger, joined in urging compliance with the gentleman’s proposal, and in +the end our hero had to yield. His new friend secured a hack, the driver of +which agreed for extra recompense to receive the dripping boys into his +carriage, and they were whirled rapidly to a pleasant house in a side street, +where matters were quickly explained, and both boys were put to bed. +</p> + +<p> +“I aint used to goin’ to bed quite so early,” thought Dick. +“This is the queerest excursion I ever took.” +</p> + +<p> +Like most active boys Dick did not enjoy the prospect of spending half a day in +bed; but his confinement did not last as long as he anticipated. +</p> + +<p> +In about an hour the door of his chamber was opened, and a servant appeared, +bringing a new and handsome suit of clothes throughout. +</p> + +<p> +“You are to put on these,” said the servant to Dick; “but you +needn’t get up till you feel like it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whose clothes are they?” asked Dick. +</p> + +<p> +“They are yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mine! Where did they come from?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Rockwell sent out and bought them for you. They are the same size as +your wet ones.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he here now?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. He bought another suit for the little boy, and has gone back to New +York. Here’s a note he asked me to give you.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick opened the paper, and read as follows,— +</p> + +<p class="p2"> +“Please accept this outfit of clothes as the first instalment of a debt +which I can never repay. I have asked to have your wet suit dried, when you can +reclaim it. Will you oblige me by calling to-morrow at my counting room, No. +—, Pearl Street. +</p> + +<p class="right"> +“Your friend,<br/> +“J<small>AMES</small> R<small>OCKWELL</small>.” +</p> + + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="chap27"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br/> +CONCLUSION</h2> + +<p> +When Dick was dressed in his new suit, he surveyed his figure with pardonable +complacency. It was the best he had ever worn, and fitted him as well as if it +had been made expressly for him. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s done the handsome thing,” said Dick to himself; +“but there wasn’t no ’casion for his givin’ me these +clothes. My lucky stars are shinin’ pretty bright now. Jumpin’ into +the water pays better than shinin’ boots; but I don’t think +I’d like to try it more’n once a week.” +</p> + +<p> +About eleven o’clock the next morning Dick repaired to Mr. +Rockwell’s counting-room on Pearl Street. He found himself in front of a +large and handsome warehouse. The counting-room was on the lower floor. Our +hero entered, and found Mr. Rockwell sitting at a desk. No sooner did that +gentleman see him than he arose, and, advancing, shook Dick by the hand in the +most friendly manner. +</p> + +<p> +“My young friend,” he said, “you have done me so great +service that I wish to be of some service to you in return. Tell me about +yourself, and what plans or wishes you have formed for the future.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick frankly related his past history, and told Mr. Rockwell of his desire to +get into a store or counting-room, and of the failure of all his applications +thus far. The merchant listened attentively to Dick’s statement, and, +when he had finished, placed a sheet of paper before him, and, handing him a +pen, said, “Will you write your name on this piece of paper?” +</p> + +<p> +Dick wrote in a free, bold hand, the name Richard Hunter. He had very much +improved in his penmanship, as has already been mentioned, and now had no cause +to be ashamed of it. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Rockwell surveyed it approvingly. +</p> + +<p> +“How would you like to enter my counting-room as clerk, Richard?” +he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Dick was about to say “Bully,” when he recollected himself, and +answered, “Very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you know something of arithmetic, do you not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you may consider yourself engaged at a salary of ten dollars a +week. You may come next Monday morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ten dollars!” repeated Dick, thinking he must have misunderstood. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes; will that be sufficient?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s more than I can earn,” said Dick, honestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps it is at first,” said Mr. Rockwell, smiling; “but I +am willing to pay you that. I will besides advance you as fast as your progress +will justify it.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick was so elated that he hardly restrained himself from some demonstration +which would have astonished the merchant; but he exercised self-control, and +only said, “I’ll try to serve you so faithfully, sir, that you +won’t repent having taken me into your service.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I think you will succeed,” said Mr. Rockwell, encouragingly. +“I will not detain you any longer, for I have some important business to +attend to. I shall expect to see you on Monday morning.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick left the counting-room, hardly knowing whether he stood on his head or his +heels, so overjoyed was he at the sudden change in his fortunes. Ten dollars a +week was to him a fortune, and three times as much as he had expected to obtain +at first. Indeed he would have been glad, only the day before, to get a place +at three dollars a week. He reflected that with the stock of clothes which he +had now on hand, he could save up at least half of it, and even then live +better than he had been accustomed to do; so that his little fund in the +savings bank, instead of being diminished, would be steadily increasing. Then +he was to be advanced if he deserved it. It was indeed a bright prospect for a +boy who, only a year before, could neither read nor write, and depended for a +night’s lodging upon the chance hospitality of an alley-way or old wagon. +Dick’s great ambition to “grow up ’spectable” seemed +likely to be accomplished after all. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish Fosdick was as well off as I am,” he thought generously. +But he determined to help his less fortunate friend, and assist him up the +ladder as he advanced himself. +</p> + +<p> +When Dick entered his room on Mott Street, he discovered that some one else had +been there before him, and two articles of wearing apparel had disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +“By gracious!” he exclaimed; “somebody’s stole my +Washington coat and Napoleon pants. Maybe it’s an agent of +Barnum’s, who expects to make a fortun’ by exhibitin’ the +valooable wardrobe of a gentleman of fashion.” +</p> + +<p> +Dick did not shed many tears over his loss, as, in his present circumstances, +he never expected to have any further use for the well-worn garments. It may be +stated that he afterwards saw them adorning the figure of Micky Maguire; but +whether that estimable young man stole them himself, he never ascertained. As +to the loss, Dick was rather pleased that it had occurred. It seemed to cut him +off from the old vagabond life which he hoped never to resume. Henceforward he +meant to press onward, and rise as high as possible. +</p> + +<p> +Although it was yet only noon, Dick did not go out again with his brush. He +felt that it was time to retire from business. He would leave his share of the +public patronage to other boys less fortunate than himself. That evening Dick +and Fosdick had a long conversation. Fosdick rejoiced heartily in his +friend’s success, and on his side had the pleasant news to communicate +that his pay had been advanced to six dollars a week. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we can afford to leave Mott Street now,” he continued. +“This house isn’t as neat as it might be, and I shall like to live +in a nicer quarter of the city.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Dick. “We’ll hunt up a new room +to-morrow. I shall have plenty of time, having retired from business. +I’ll try to get my reg’lar customers to take Johnny Nolan in my +place. That boy hasn’t any enterprise. He needs some body to look out for +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might give him your box and brush, too, Dick.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dick; “I’ll give him some new ones, but mine +I want to keep, to remind me of the hard times I’ve had, when I was an +ignorant boot-black, and never expected to be anything better.” +</p> + +<p> +“When, in short, you were ‘Ragged Dick.’ You must drop that +name, and think of yourself now as”— +</p> + +<p> +“Richard Hunter, Esq.,” said our hero, smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“A young gentleman on the way to fame and fortune,” added Fosdick. +</p> + +<hr /> + +<p> +Here ends the story of Ragged Dick. As Fosdick said, he is Ragged Dick no +longer. He has taken a step upward, and is determined to mount still higher. +There are fresh adventures in store for him, and for others who have been +introduced in these pages. Those who have felt interested in his early life +will find his history continued in a new volume, forming the second of the +series, to be called,— +</p> + +<p class="center">F<small>AME AND</small> F<small>ORTUNE</small>;<br/> +<small>OR</small>,<br/> +T<small>HE</small> P<small>ROGRESS OF</small> R<small>ICHARD</small> +H<small>UNTER</small>. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK RAGGED DICK ***</div> +<div style='text-align:left'> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will +be renamed. +</div> + +<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> +Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright +law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, +so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United +States without permission and without paying copyright +royalties. 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