"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."
"How much money were you going to give him?"
"I gave him three dollars to-day, and was goin' to give him two dollars to-morrow."
"I've got the money, Dick. I didn't go to the bank this morning."
"All right. I'll take it, and pay you back next week."
"No, Dick; if you've given three dollars, you must let me give two."
"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."
"Cheer up, Dick; you'll get your money back."
"I hope so," said our hero, rather ruefully.
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.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifBesides 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.
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.
"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."
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.

"How'd he know I had any bank-book? That's what I can't make out," he said.
"Don't you remember?" said Fosdick, after a moment's thought, "we were speaking of our savings, two or three evenings since?"
"Yes," said Dick.
"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."
This might or might not be the correct explanation. At all events it seemed probable.
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.
He darted a quick glance from one to the other as he entered, which did not escape the boys' notice.
"How are ye, to-night?" he said, sinking into one of the two chairs with which the room was scantily furnished.
"Jolly," said Dick. "How are you?"
"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."
Here he darted another quick glance at the boys; but neither betrayed anything.
"You don't go out much, do you?" he said
"Not much," said Fosdick. "We spend our evenings in study."
"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?"

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"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."
"Well," said Travis, rather abruptly, "I'm tired and I guess I'll turn in."
"Good-night," said Fosdick.
The boys looked at each other as their visitor left the room.
"He came in to see if we'd missed the bank-book," said Dick.
"And to turn off suspicion from himself, by letting us know he had no money," added Fosdick.
"That's so," said Dick. "I'd like to have searched them pockets of his."

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.
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.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifThe 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.
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.
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.

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.
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.
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.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifIn 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.
"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."
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.
"Morning, gents," said he, sociably. "Going to business?"
"Yes," said Dick. "I'm afraid my clerks'll be lazy if I aint on hand."
"Good joke!" said Travis. "If you pay good wages, I'd like to speak for a place."
"I pay all I get myself," said Dick. "How's business with you?"
"So so. Why don't you call round, some time?"
"All my evenin's is devoted to literatoor and science," said Dick. "Thank you all the same."
"Where do you hang out?" inquired Travis, in choice language, addressing Fosdick.
"At Henderson's hat and cap store, on Broadway."
"I'll look in upon you some time when I want a tile," said Travis. "I suppose you sell cheaper to your friends."

"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.
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.
"You haven't any of you gents seen a pearl-handled knife, have you?" he asked.
"No," said Fosdick; "have you lost one?"
"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."
"What are you goin' to do about it?" said Dick.
"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?"
"No," said Fosdick, answering for himself, as he could do without violating the truth.
There was a gleam of satisfaction in the eyes of Travis, as he heard this.
"They haven't found it out yet," he thought. "I'll bag the money to-day, and then they may whistle for it."
Having no further object to serve in accompanying the boys, he bade them good-morning, and turned down another street.
"He's mighty friendly all of a sudden," said Dick.
"Yes," said Fosdick; "it's very evident what it all means. He wants to find out whether you have discovered your loss or not."
"But he didn't find out."
"No; we've put him on the wrong track. He means to get his money to-day, no doubt."
"My money," suggested Dick.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"I accept the correction," said Fosdick.
"Of course, Dick, you'll be on hand as soon as the bank opens."
"In course I shall. Jim Travis'll find he's walked into the wrong shop."
"The bank opens at ten o'clock, you know."
"I'll be there on time."
The two boys separated.
"Good luck, Dick," said Fosdick, as he parted from him. "It'll all come out right, I think."
"I hope 'twill," said Dick.
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.
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.
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.

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.
"You're early, this morning, my lad," he said, pleasantly. "Have you got some more money to deposit? You'll be getting rich, soon."
"I don't know about that," said Dick. "My bank-book's been stole."
"Stolen!" echoed the cashier. "That's unfortunate. Not so bad as it might be, though. The thief can't collect the money."
"That's what I came to see about," said Dick. "I was afraid he might have got it already."
"He hasn't been here yet. Even if he had, I remember you, and should have detected him. When was it taken?"
"Yesterday," said Dick. "I missed it in the evenin' when I got home."
"Have you any suspicion as to the person who took it?" asked the cashier.
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.
"Very good," said the cashier. "We'll be ready for him. What is the number of your book?"
"No. 5,678," said Dick.
"Now give me a litttle description of this Travis whom you suspect."
Dick accordingly furnished a brief outline sketch of Travis, not particularly complimentary to the latter.
"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."
"Thank you," said Dick.
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.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifHe 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.
"Here he is," he exclaimed, hurrying back. "Can't you hide me somewhere? I don't want to be seen."
The cashier understood at once how the land lay. He quickly opened a little door, and admitted Dick behind the counter.
"Stoop down," he said, "so as not to be seen."
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.

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."
The bank-officer took the book, and, after looking at it a moment, said, "How much do you want?"
"The whole of it," said Travis.
"You can draw out any part of it, but to draw out the whole requires a week's notice."
"Then I'll take a hundred dollars."
"Are you the person to whom the book belongs?"
"Yes, sir," said Travis, without hesitation.
"Your name is--"
"Hunter."
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."
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.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"Your name is Dick Hunter, then?" said the cashier, taking the paper, and looking at the thief over his spectacles.
"Yes," said Travis, promptly.
"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."
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.
"Dick Hunter's my younger brother," he said. "I'm getting out the money for him."
"I thought you said your own name was Dick Hunter," said the cashier.
"I said my name was Hunter," said Travis, ingeniously. "I didn't understand you."
"But you've signed the name of Dick Hunter to this order. How is that?" questioned the troublesome cashier.
Travis saw that he was getting himself into a tight place; but his self-possession did not desert him.
"I thought I must give my brother's name," he answered.
"What is your own name?"
"Henry Hunter."
"Can you bring any one to testify that the statement you are making is correct?"
"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."

"Wait a moment. Why don't your brother come himself?"
"Because he's sick. He's down with the measles," said Travis.
Here the cashier signed to Dick to rise and show himself. Our hero accordingly did so.
"You will be glad to find that he has recovered," said the cashier, pointing to Dick.
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."
"Let me go," exclaimed Travis, struggling to free himself.
"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."
Travis sullenly resigned himself to his fate, darting a look of rage at Dick, whom he considered the author of his present misfortune.
"This is your book," said the cashier, handing back his rightful property to our hero. "Do you wish to draw out any money?"
"Two dollars," said Dick.
"Very well. Write an order for the amount."
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,--
"Won't you let him go? I've got my bank-book back, and I don't want anything done to him."
"Sorry I can't oblige you," said the officer; "but I'm not allowed to do it. He'll have to stand his trial."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"I'm sorry for you, Travis," said Dick. "I didn't want you arrested. I only wanted my bank-book back."
"Curse you!" said Travis, scowling vindictively. "Wait till I get free. See if I don't fix you."
"You needn't pity him too much," said the officer. "I know him now. He's been to the Island before."
"It's a lie," said Travis, violently.
"Don't be too noisy, my friend," said the officer. "If you've got no more business here, we'll be going."
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.
"I'll keep my book a little safer hereafter," thought Dick. "Now I must go and see Tom Wilkins."
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.

Returning to the City Hall Park, Dick soon fell in with Tom Wilkins.
"How are you, Tom?" he said. "How's your mother?"
"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."
"I've got some more for you, Tom," said Dick, producing a two-dollar bill from his pocket.
"I ought not to take it from you, Dick."
"Oh, it's all right, Tom. Don't be afraid."
"But you may need it yourself."
"There's plenty more where that came from."
"Any way, one dollar will be enough. With that we can pay the rent."
"You'll want the other to buy something to eat."
"You're very kind, Dick."
"I'd ought to be. I've only got myself to take care of."
"Well, I'll take it for my mother's sake. When you want anything done just call on Tom Wilkins."
"All right. Next week, if your mother doesn't get better, I'll give you some more."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifTom 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 mount 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.
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.
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.
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.
"You're in luck," said Fosdick. "I guess we'd better not trust the bureau-drawer again."
"I mean to carry my book round with me," said Dick.
"So shall I, as long as we stay at Mrs. Mooney's. I wish we were in a better place."
"I must go down and tell her she needn't expect Travis back. Poor chap, I pity him!"
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.

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."
"Would you like to see your name in print, Dick?" he asked.
"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."
"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."
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."
"By gracious, so it is," said he. "Do you s'poseit means me?"
"I don't know of any other Ragged Dick,--do you?"
"No," said Dick, reflectively; "it must be me. But I don't know of anybody that would be likely to write to me."
"Perhaps it is Frank Whitney," suggested Fosdick, after a little reflection. "Didn't he promise to write to you?"
"Yes," said Dick, "and he wanted me to write to him."
"Where is he now?"
"He was going to a boarding-school in Connecticut, he said. The name of the town was Barnton."
"Very likely the letter is from him."
"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."
"You had better go to the post-office to-morrow morning, and ask for the letter."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"P'r'aps they won't give it to me."
"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."
"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.
"It will be only for one day, or one morning," said Fosdick.
"I'd do more'n that for the sake of gettin' a letter from Frank. I'd like to see him."
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.
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.
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,--

"There's a letter for me. I saw it advertised in the 'Sun' yesterday."
"What name?" demanded the clerk.
"Ragged Dick," answered our hero.
"That's a queer name," said the clerk, surveying him a little curiously. "Are you Ragged Dick?"
"If you don't believe me, look at my clo'es," said Dick.
"That's pretty good proof, certainly," said the clerk, laughing. "If that isn't your name, it deserves to be."
"I believe in dressin' up to your name," said Dick.
"Do you know any one in Barnton, Connecticut?" asked the clerk, who had by this time found the letter.
"Yes," said Dick. "I know a chap that's at boardin'-school there."
"It appears to be in a boy's hand. I think it must be yours."
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.
It was dated Barnton, Conn., and commenced thus,--
"DEAR DICK,--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.

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"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.
"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.

"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.
"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.
"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.
"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.
"Good-by, Dick. You must always think of me, as your very true friend,
"FRANK WHITNEY."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifDick 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.
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.
"He's a tip-top feller," said Dick. "I wish I could see him ag'in."
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.
"He'd find me a little more 'spectable than when he first saw me," thought Dick.
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.

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."
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.
"Them's nice clo'es you've got on," said he, sarcastically, as Dick came up.
"Yes," said Dick, promptly. "I've been employin' your tailor. If my face was only dirty we'd be taken for twin brothers."
"So you've give up tryin' to be a swell?"
"Only for this partic'lar occasion," said Dick. "I wanted to make a fashionable call, so I put on my regimentals."
"I don't b'lieve you've got any better clo'es," said Micky.
"All right," said Dick, "I won't charge you nothin' for what you believe."
Here a customer presented himself for Micky, and Dick went back to his room to change his clothes, before resuming business.

When Fosdick reached home in the evening, Dick displayed his letter with some pride.
"It's a nice letter," said Fosdick, after reading it "I should like to know Frank."
"I'll bet you would," said Dick. "He's a trump."
"When are you going to answer it?"
"I don't know," said Dick, dubiously. "I never writ a letter."
"That's no reason why you shouldn't. There's always a first time, you know."
"I don't know what to say," said Dick.
"Get some paper and sit down to it, and you'll find enough to say. You can do that this evening instead of studying."
"If you'll look it over afterwards, and shine it up a little."
"Yes, if it needs it; but I rather think Frank would like it best just as you wrote it."
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 setttled 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.
Here it is,--

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif

"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.
"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.
When Dick had written the last word, he leaned back in his chair, and surveyed the letter with much satisfaction.
"I didn't think I could have wrote such a long letter, Fosdick," said he.
"Written would be more grammatical, Dick," suggested his friend.
"I guess there's plenty of mistakes in it," said Dick. "Just look at it, and see."
Fosdick took the letter, and read it over carefully.
"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."

http://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gifhttp://www.pagebypagebooks.com/images/spacer.gif"Is it good enough to send?" asked Dick, anxiously.
"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'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."
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.

"What are you doin' down here, Dick?" asked Johnny.
"I've been mailin' a letter."
"Who sent you?"
"Nobody."
"I mean, who writ the letter?"
"I wrote it myself."
"Can you write letters?" asked Johnny, in amazement.
"Why shouldn't I?"
"I didn't know you could write. I can't."
"Then you ought to learn."
"I went to school once; but it was too hard work, so I give it up."
"You're lazy, Johnny,--that's what's the matter. How'd you ever expect to know anything, if you don't try?"
"I can't learn."
"You can, if you want to."
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.