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.
Meanwhile the passengers rather sided with the boys. Appearances go a great ways, and Frank did not look like a thief.
"I think you must be mistaken, madam," said a gentleman sitting opposite. "The lad does not look as if he would steal."
"You can't tell by looks," said the lady, sourly. "They're deceitful; villains are generally well dressed."
"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."
"I've no doubt you are," said the lady, scowling in the direction of our hero.
"Thank you, ma'am," said Dick. "'Tisn't often I get such fine compliments."
"None of your impudence," said the lady, wrathfully. "I believe you're the worst of the two."
Meanwhile the car had been stopped.
"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."
"I want my pocket-book," said the lady, defiantly.
"Well, ma'am, I haven't got it, and I don't see as it's doing you any good detaining us all here."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"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."
"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."
"Well, youngster," said the conductor, "if the lady agrees, I'll search you."
The lady signified her assent.
Frank accordingly turned his pockets inside out, but nothing was revealed except his own porte-monnaie and a penknife.
"Well, ma'am, are you satisfied?" asked the conductor.
"No, I aint," said she, decidedly.
"You don't think he's got it still?"
"No, but he's passed it over to his confederate, that boy there that's so full of impudence."
"That's me," said Dick, comically.
"He confesses it," said the lady; "I want him searched."
"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."
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.

"Is that yours, ma'am?" asked the conductor, holding up the wallet which excited some amazement, by its size, among the other passengers.
"It seems to me you carry a large pocket-book for a young man of your age," said the conductor.
"That's what I carry my cash and valooable papers in," said Dick.
"I suppose that isn't yours, ma'am," said the conductor, turning to the lady.
"No," said she, scornfully. "I wouldn't carry round such a great wallet as that. Most likely he's stolen it from somebody else."
"What a prime detective you'd be!" said Dick. "P'rhaps you know who I took it from."
"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?"
"Don't disturb the valooable papers," said Dick, in a tone of pretended anxiety.
The contents of the wallet excited some amusement among the passengers.
"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.
"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."
"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."
"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."
"Thank you, sir," said Frank.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifThe 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.
"Is that the pocket-book you thought stolen?" asked the conductor.
"Yes," said she, rather confusedly.
"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."
"I can't help it," was the cross reply; "I didn't know it was in my pocket."
"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.
"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."
"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."
"You're a character," said the gentleman who had already spoken, with a smile.

"A bad character!" muttered the lady.
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.
The cars had now reached Fifty-ninth Street, the southern boundary of the Park, and here our hero and his companion got off.
"You'd better look out for pickpockets, my lad," said the conductor, pleasantly. "That big wallet of yours might prove a great temptation."
"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."
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.

"What a queer chap you are, Dick!" said Frank, laughing. "You always seem to be in good spirits."
"No, I aint always. Sometimes I have the blues."
"When?"
"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."
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.
"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."
"Will you?"
"If you will let me."
"I wish you would," said Dick, earnestly. "I'd like to feel that I have one friend who cares for me."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifCentral 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.
"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."
"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."
"No," said Frank, "I've seen as much of it as I want to. Besides, I feel tired."
"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."

"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 stealing again."
"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?"
"Yes, I think she'd just suit him. Is that the right car, Dick?"
"Yes, jump in, and I'll follow."
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.
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.
"Are you goin' in now, Frank?" asked Dick.
"That depends upon whether you have anything else to show me."
"Wouldn't you like to go to Wall Street?"
"That's the street where there are so many bankers and brokers,--isn't it?"
"Yes, I s'pose you aint afraid of bulls and bears,--are you?"
"Bulls and bears?" repeated Frank, puzzled.
"Yes."
"What are they?"
"The bulls is what tries to make the stocks go up, and the bears is what try to growl 'em down."
"Oh, I see. Yes, I'd like to go."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifAccordingly 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.
"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.
"That's the Custom House," said Dick.
"It looks like pictures I've seen of the Parthenon at Athens," said Frank, meditatively.
"Where's Athens?" asked Dick. "It aint in York State,--is it?"
"Not the Athens I mean, at any rate. It is in Greece, and was a famous city two thousand years ago."
"That's longer than I can remember," said Dick. "I can't remember distinctly more'n about a thousand years."
"What a chap you are, Dick! Do you know if we can go in?"
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.

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.
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.
"Be they a-payin' out money inside there?" he asked, indicating the interior by a motion of his hand.
"I guess so," said Dick. "Are you a-goin' in for some?"
"Wal, yes. I've got an order here for sixty dollars,--made a kind of speculation this morning."
"How was it?" asked Frank.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"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?"
"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."
"Washington Bank!" repeated Frank. "Dick, is there such a bank in the city?"
"Not as I knows on," said Dick. "Leastways I don't own any shares in it."
"Aint this the Washington Bank?" asked the countryman, pointing to the building on the steps of which the three were now standing.
"No, it's the Custom House."
"And won't they give me any money for this?" asked the young man, the perspiration standing on his brow.
"I am afraid the man who gave it to you was a swindler," said Frank, gently.
"And won't I ever see my fifty dollars again?" asked the youth in agony.
"I am afraid not."
"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."

"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."
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.
"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."
"I suppose you never got swindled out of fifty dollars, Dick?"
"No, I don't carry no such small bills. I wish I did," he added.
"So do I, Dick. What's that building there at the end of the street?"
"That's the Wall-Street Ferry to Brooklyn."
"How long does it take to go across?"
"Not more'n five minutes."
"Suppose we just ride over and back."
"All right!" said Dick. "It's rather expensive; but if you don't mind, I don't."
"Why, how much does it cost?"
"Two cents apiece."
"I guess I can stand that. Let us go."
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.
They had scarcely entered the boat, when Dick, grasping Frank by the arm, pointed to a man just outside of the gentlemen's cabin.
"Do you see that man, Frank?" he inquired.
"Yes, what of him?"
"He's the man that cheated the country chap out of his fifty dollars."

Dick's ready identification of the rogue who had cheated the countryman, surprised Frank.
"What makes you think it is he?" he asked.
"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."
"Our recognizing him won't be of much use," said Frank. "It won't give back the countryman his money."
"I don't know," said Dick, thoughtfully. "May be I can get it."
"How?" asked Frank, incredulously.
"Wait a minute, and you'll see."
Dick left his companion, and went up to the man whom he suspected.
"Ephraim Smith," said Dick, in a low voice.
The man turned suddenly, and looked at Dick uneasily.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"I believe your name is Ephraim Smith," continued Dick.
"You're mistaken," said the man, and was about to move off.
"Stop a minute," said Dick. "Don't you keep your money in the Washington Bank?"
"I don't know any such bank. I'm in a hurry, young man, and I can't stop to answer any foolish questions."
The boat had by this time reached the Brooklyn pier, and Mr. Ephraim Smith seemed in a hurry to land.
"Look here," said Dick, significantly; "you'd better not go on shore unless you want to jump into the arms of a policeman."
"What do you mean?" asked the man, startled.
"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."
"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.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"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."
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.
All this Frank witnessed with great amazement, not understanding what influence Dick could have obtained over the swindler sufficient to compel restitution.
"How did you do it?" he asked eagerly.
"I told him I'd exert my influence with the president to have him tried by habeas corpus," said Dick.
"And of course that frightened him. But tell me, without joking, how you managed."
Dick gave a truthful account of what occurred, and then said, "Now we'll go back and carry the money."
"Suppose we don't find the poor countryman?"
"Then the p'lice will take care of it."
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.

"Hilloa!" said Dick. "Have you found your money?"
"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!"
And the miserable youth, having despatched his cakes, was so overcome by the thought of his loss that he burst into tears.
"I say," said Dick, "dry up, and see what I've got here."
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.
"'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."
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.
"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."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifJonathan 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.
"Now," said Frank, "I think I'll go back to the Astor House. Uncle has probably got through his business and returned."
"All right," said Dick.
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."
"Not yet," said Frank; "I want you to come in with me."
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.
"Well, boys," he said, looking up, "have you had a pleasant jaunt?"
"Yes, sir," said Frank. "Dick's a capital guide."
"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."

"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."
"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."
"Were you, sir," asked Dick, eagerly.
"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."
"How did you get up in the world," asked Dick, anxiously.
"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."
"What was that, sir?"

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"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."
"I'm awful ignorant," said Dick, soberly.
"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."
"I will," said Dick, resolutely. "I aint always goin' to black boots for a livin'."
"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."
"Thank you for your advice," said our hero. "There aint many that takes an interest in Ragged Dick."
"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."

"I'll try," said Dick. "Good-night, sir."
"Wait a minute, Dick," said Frank. "Your blacking-box and old clothes are upstairs. You may want them."
"In course," said Dick. "I couldn't get along without my best clothes, and my stock in trade."
"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."
"Yes, sir," said Dick.
"Where are you going to sleep to-night, Dick?" asked Frank, as they went upstairs together.
"P'r'aps at the Fifth Avenue Hotel--on the outside," said Dick.
"Haven't you any place to sleep, then?"
"I slept in a box, last night."
"In a box?"
"Yes, on Spruce Street."
"Poor fellow!" said Frank, compassionately.
"Oh, 'twas a bully bed--full of straw! I slept like a top."
"Don't you earn enough to pay for a room, Dick?"
"Yes," said Dick; "only I spend my money foolish, goin' to the Old Bowery, and Tony Pastor's, and sometimes gamblin' in Baxter Street."
"You won't gamble any more,--will you, Dick?" said Frank, laying his hand persuasively on his companion's shoulder.
"No, I won't," said Dick.
"You'll promise?"
"Yes, and I'll keep it. You're a good feller. I wish you was goin' to be in New York."
"I am going to a boarding-school in Connecticut. The name of the town is Barnton. Will you write to me, Dick?"
"My writing would look like hens' tracks," said our hero.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"Never mind. I want you to write. When you write you can tell me how to direct, and I will send you a letter."
"I wish you would," said Dick. "I wish I was more like you."
"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."
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.
"Uncle, Dick's ready to go," said Frank.
"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."
He held out his hand, in which was a five-dollar bill. Dick shrunk back.
"I don't like to take it," he said. "I haven't earned it."
"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."

"I will, sir," said Dick, manfully.
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.

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.
"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."
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.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifTwo 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.
"I should spile 'em," he thought, "and that wouldn't pay."
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.
He accordingly passed through the City Hall Park, and walked leisurely up Centre Street.
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.
Dick rang the bell, which sent back a shrill metallic response.
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.

"Well, Queen Victoria," said Dick, "is your missus at home?"
"My name's Bridget," said the girl.
"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."
"Oh, go along wid ye!" said Bridget. "It's makin' fun ye are."
"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."
"Bridget!" called a shrill voice from the basement.
"The missus is calling me," said Bridget, hurriedly. "I'll tell her ye want her."
"All right!" said Dick.
The servant descended into the lower regions, and in a short time a stout, red-faced woman appeared on the scene.
"Well, sir, what's your wish?" she asked.
"Have you got a room to let?" asked Dick.
"Is it for yourself you ask?" questioned the woman, in some surprise.
Dick answered in the affirmative.
"I haven't got any very good rooms vacant. There's a small room in the third story."
"I'd like to see it," said Dick.
"I don't know as it would be good enough for you," said the woman, with a glance at Dick's clothes.
"I aint very partic'lar about accommodations," said our hero. "I guess I'll look at it."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifDick 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.
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.
"Well, what's the tax?" asked Dick.
"I ought to have a dollar a week," said Mrs. Mooney, hesitatingly.
"Say seventy-five cents, and I'll take it," said Dick.
"Every week in advance?"
"Yes."
"Well, as times is hard, and I can't afford to keep it empty, you may have it. When will you come?"
"To-night," said Dick.
"It aint lookin' very neat. I don't know as I can fix it up to-night."

"Well, I'll sleep here to-night, and you can fix it up to-morrow."
"I hope you'll excuse the looks. I'm a lone woman, and my help is so shiftless, I have to look after everythilng myself; so I can't keep things as straight as I want to."
"All right!" said Dick.
"Can you pay me the first week in advance?" asked the landlady, cautiously.
Dick responded by drawing seventy-five cents from his pocket, and placing it in her hand.
"What's your business, sir, if I may inquire?" said Mrs. Mooney.
"Oh, I'm professional!" said Dick.
"Indeed!" said the landlady, who did not feel much enlightened by this answer.
"How's Tom?" asked Dick.
"Do you know my Tom?" said Mrs. Mooney in surprise. "He's gone to sea,--to Californy. He went last week."
"Did he?" said Dick. "Yes, I knew him."
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.
"I'll bring over my baggage from the Astor House this evening," said Dick in a tone of importance.
"From the Astor House!" repeated Mrs. Mooney, in fresh amazement.
"Yes, I've been stoppin' there a short time with some friends," said Dick.
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.
"Did you say you was purfessional?" she asked.
"Yes, ma'am," said Dick, politely.
"You aint a--a--" Mrs. Mooney paused, uncertain what conjecture to hazard.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"Oh, no, nothing of the sort," said Dick, promptly. "How could you think so, Mrs. Mooney?"
"No offence, sir," said the landlady, more perplexed than ever.
"Certainly not," said our hero. "But you must excuse me now, Mrs. Mooney, as I have business of great importance to attend to."
"You'll come round this evening?"
Dick answered in the affirmative, and turned away.
"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."
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.
"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."

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.
He lifted himself on his elbow, and stared around him in transient bewilderment.
"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."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifWhile 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.
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?
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.

"They don't look 'spectable," he decided; and, forthwith taking them off again, he put on the new suit of the day before.
"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."
He opened the door of his chamber, and went downstairs and into the street, carrying his blacking-box with him.
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.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifIn 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,--
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.
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.

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.
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 ascendency 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.
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.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifNow 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.
"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."
"So he has," said Jim. "Where'd he get 'em, I wonder?"
"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."
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.
Dick turned round quickly.