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From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Dick Felt
No. 23, 24
Position:Defensive back
Personal information
Born:(1933-03-04)March 4, 1933
Lehi, Utah, U.S.
Died:November 17, 2012(2012-11-17) (aged 79)
Provo, Utah, U.S.
Height:6 ft 1 in (1.85 m)
Weight:185 lb (84 kg)
Career information
High school:Lehi (UT)
College:BYU
AFL Draft:1960 / Round: 
Career history
Career highlights and awards
Career NFL statistics
Player stats at NFL.com · PFR

Richard George Felt (March 4, 1933 – November 17, 2012) was an American football defensive back who played college football at Brigham Young University (BYU) and professionally in the American Football League (AFL) for the New York Titans and the Boston Patriots. He scored the winning touchdown for the Titans against the Buffalo Bills in the Thanksgiving Day game of November 23, 1961. Felt was a two-time AFL All-Star selection.[1]

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Transcription

CHAPTER IX A SCENE IN A THIRD AVENUE CAR 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'." "Glass pudding!" repeated Frank, looking in surprised wonder at Dick. "What does he mean?" "Perhaps you'd like some," said Dick. "I never heard of it before." "Suppose you ask him what he charges for his puddin'." Frank looked more narrowly at the man, and soon concluded that he was a glazier. "Oh, I understand," he said. "He means 'glass put in.'" 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. "Now," said Dick, "where shall we go?" "I should like to see Central Park," said Frank. "Is it far off?" "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." 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. "That is too far to walk," said Frank. "'Twon't cost but six cents to ride," said Dick. "You mean in the horse-cars?" "Yes." "All right then. We'll jump aboard the next car." 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. A car was at that moment approaching, but it seemed pretty crowded. "Shall we take that, or wait for another?" asked Frank. "The next'll most likely be as bad," said Dick. 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. 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. "There aint room for two," she said, looking sourly at Frank. "There were two here before." "Well, there ought not to have been. Some people like to crowd in where they're not wanted." "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. 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. 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. "Conductor!" she exclaimed in a sharp voice. "What's wanted, ma'am?" returned that functionary. "I want you to come here right off." "What's the matter?" "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." "Who stole it?" "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." "That's a lie!" exclaimed Dick, indignantly. "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." "You're a nice female, you be!" said Dick, ironically. "Don't you dare to call me a female, sir," said the lady, furiously. "Why, you aint a man in disguise, be you?" said Dick. "You are very much mistaken, madam," said Frank, quietly. "The conductor may search me, if you desire it." 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. 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." "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. 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. "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. End of Chapter IX CHAPTER X INTRODUCES A VICTIM OF MISPLACED CONFIDENCE "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." 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. "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." 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. "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. "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." End of Chapter X CHAPTER XI DICK AS A DETECTIVE 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. "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." 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. "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?" "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. "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. End of Chapter XI CHAPTER XII DICK HIRES A ROOM ON MOTT STREET 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. 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. "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." 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. 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 everything 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. "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." End of Chapter XII CHAPTER XIII MICKY MAGUIRE 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." 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. 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. 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,— Coffee, . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5 cts. Beefsteak, . . . . . . . . . . . 15 A couple of rolls, . . . . . . . 5 —25 cts. 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 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. 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. 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. "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. End of Chapter XIII CHAPTER XIV A BATTLE AND A VICTORY "What's that for?" demanded Dick, turning round to see who had struck him. "You're gettin' mighty fine!" said Micky Maguire, surveying Dick's new clothes with a scornful air. There was something in his words and tone, which Dick, who was disposed to stand up for his dignity, did not at all relish. "Well, what's the odds if I am?" he retorted. "Does it hurt you any?" "See him put on airs, Jim," said Micky, turning to his companion. "Where'd you get them clo'es?" "Never mind where I got 'em. Maybe the Prince of Wales gave 'em to me." "Hear him, now, Jim," said Micky. "Most likely he stole 'em." "Stealin' aint in _my_ line." It might have been unconscious the emphasis which Dick placed on the word "my." At any rate Micky chose to take offence. "Do you mean to say _I_ steal?" he demanded, doubling up his fist, and advancing towards Dick in a threatening manner. "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." Micky's freckled face grew red with wrath, for Dick had only stated the truth. "Do you mean to insult me?" he demanded shaking the fist already doubled up in Dick's face. "Maybe you want a lickin'?" "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." "You're afraid," sneered Micky. "Isn't he, Jim?" "In course he is." "P'r'aps I am," said Dick, composedly, "but it don't trouble me much." "Do you want to fight?" demanded Micky, encouraged by Dick's quietness, fancying he was afraid to encounter him. "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." 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. 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. 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. "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." 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. "Hit him, Jim!" exclaimed Micky, furiously. 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. "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." "You're afraid of hurtin' your clo'es," said Micky, with a sneer. "Maybe I am," said Dick. "I hope I haven't hurt yours." 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. 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. "Look out for the 'copp,'" said Jim, in a low voice. 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. "What's that chap been doing?" asked the policeman of Dick. "He was amoosin' himself by pitchin' into me," replied Dick. "What for?" "He didn't like it 'cause I patronized a different tailor from him." "Well, it seems to me you _are_ dressed pretty smart for a boot-black," said the policeman. "I wish I wasn't a boot-black," said Dick. "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." "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." "I hope you don't speak from experience." "No," said Dick; "I don't mean to get into prison if I can help it." "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. "Yes." "Well, he was once a newsboy." "And what is he now?" "He keeps a bookstore, and is quite prosperous." Dick looked at the gentleman with interest, wondering if he should look as respectable when he was a grown man. 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. 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. "Where's your book?" asked the clerk. "I haven't got any." "Have you any money deposited here?" "No, sir, I want to leave some here." "Then go to the next desk." Dick followed directions, and presented himself before an elderly man with gray hair, who looked at him over the rims of his spectacles. "I want you to keep that for me," said Dick, awkwardly emptying his money out on the desk. "How much is there?" "Five dollars." "Have you got an account here?" "No, sir." "Of course you can write?" The "of course" was said on account of Dick's neat dress. "Have I got to do any writing?" asked our hero, a little embarrassed. "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. Dick surveyed the book with some awe. "I aint much on writin'," he said. "Very well; write as well as you can." 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 DICK HUNTER. "Dick!—that means Richard, I suppose," said the bank officer, who had some difficulty in making out the signature. "No; Ragged Dick is what folks call me." "You don't look very ragged." "No, I've left my rags to home. They might get wore out if I used 'em too common." "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." 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. 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. 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. End of Chapter XIV CHAPTER XV DICK SECURES A TUTOR 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. "What'll he think of me?" said Dick to himself. "I hope he won't think I'm mean enough to keep the money." 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. The door being open, Dick walked in. "Is Mr. Greyson in?" he asked of a clerk who sat on a high stool before a desk. "Not just now. He'll be in soon. Will you wait?" "Yes," said Dick. "Very well; take a seat then." 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. "Did you wish to speak to me, my lad?" said he to Dick, whom in his new clothes he did not recognize. "Yes, sir," said Dick. "I owe you some money." "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?" "I b'lieve that's right," said Dick, drawing fifteen cents from his pocket, and placing in Mr. Greyson's hand. "Fifteen cents!" repeated he, in some surprise. "How do you happen to be indebted to me in that amount?" "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'." "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." "No," said Dick. "I was dressed for a party, then, but the clo'es was too well ventilated to be comfortable in cold weather." "You're an honest boy," said Mr. Greyson. "Who taught you to be honest?" "Nobody," said Dick. "But it's mean to cheat and steal. I've always knowed that." "Then you've got ahead of some of our business men. Do you read the Bible?" "No," said Dick. "I've heard it's a good book, but I don't know much about it." "You ought to go to some Sunday School. Would you be willing?" "Yes," said Dick, promptly. "I want to grow up 'spectable. But I don't know where to go." "Then I'll tell you. The church I attend is at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Twenty-first Street." "I've seen it," said Dick. "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." "Thank you," said Dick, "but p'r'aps you'll get tired of teaching me. I'm awful ignorant." "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." "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." 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. 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. "How are you, Fosdick?" said Dick, as the other seated himself. "Pretty well," said Fosdick. "I suppose you're all right." "Oh, yes, I'm right side up with care. I've been havin' a bully supper. What are you goin' to have?" "Some bread and butter." "Why don't you get a cup o' coffee?" "Why," said Fosdick, reluctantly, "I haven't got money enough to-night." "Never mind," said Dick; "I'm in luck to-day, I'll stand treat." "That's kind in you," said Fosdick, gratefully. "Oh, never mind that," said Dick. 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. "Where are you going to sleep to-night, Fosdick?" asked Dick, as they stood on the sidewalk. "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." "I'll tell you what," said Dick, "you must go home with me. I guess my bed will hold two." "Have you got a room?" asked the other, in surprise. "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?" "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." "That's more'n I ever had," said Dick. "But I'm goin' to try to live comfortable now. Is your father dead?" "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." "Didn't you have no brothers nor sisters?" asked Dick. "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." "What's the man's name that went off with your father's money?" "His name is Hiram Bates." "P'r'aps you'll get the money again, sometime." "There isn't much chance of it," said Fosdick. "I'd sell out my chances of that for five dollars." "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." "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." "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. "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." * Now the college of the city of New York. "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." "Are you in earnest?" said Fosdick, his face lighting up hopefully. "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." "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?" "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." 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. 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. "Well, how do you like it, Fosdick?" he asked, complacently. 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. "It looks very comfortable, Dick," he said. "The bed aint very large," said Dick; "but I guess we can get along." "Oh, yes," said Fosdick, cheerfully. "I don't take up much room." "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." The boys seated themselves, and five minutes later, under the guidance of his young tutor, Dick had commenced his studies. End of Chapter XV CHAPTER XVI THE FIRST LESSON 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. The two boys drew up their chairs to the rickety table, and spread out the paper before them. "The exercises generally Commence with ringin' the bell," said Dick; "but as I aint got none, we'll have to do without." "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?" "'Taint lawful to use fire-arms," said Dick. "Now, Dick," said Fosdick, "before we begin, I must find out how much you already know. Can you read any?" "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." "I suppose you know your letters?" "Yes," said Dick, "I know 'em all, but not intimately. I guess I can call 'em all by name." "Where did you learn them? Did you ever go to school?" "Yes; I went two days." "Why did you stop?" "It didn't agree with my constitution." "You don't look very delicate," said Fosdick. "No," said Dick, "I aint troubled much that way; but I found lickins didn't agree with me." "Did you get punished?" "Awful," said Dick. "What for?" "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." "You didn't learn to read in that time, of course?" "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." "Well, Dick, if you'll only study well, you won't be liable to make such mistakes." "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." "I must find a good piece for you to begin on," said Fosdick, looking over the paper. "Find an easy one," said Dick, "with words of one story." 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. "Seems to me it's throwin' away letters to use all them," he said. "How would you spell it?" asked his young teacher. "T-h-r-u," said Dick. "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." 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. At the end of an hour and a half the boys stopped for the evening. "You're learning fast, Dick," said Fosdick. "At this rate you will soon learn to read well." "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." "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." "So am I," said Dick. "Them hard words make my head ache. I wonder who made 'em all?" "That's more than I can tell. I suppose you've seen a dictionary." "That's another of 'em. No, I can't say I have, though I may have seen him in the street without knowin' him." "A dictionary is a book containing all the words in the language." "How many are there?" "I don't rightly know; but I think there are about fifty thousand." "It's a pretty large family," said Dick. "Have I got to learn 'em all?" "That will not be necessary. There are a large number which you would never find occasion to use." "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." 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. "What's that for?" asked Dick, curiously. "I was saying my prayers," said Fosdick, as he rose from his knees. "Don't you ever do it?" "No," said Dick. "Nobody ever taught me." "Then I'll teach you. Shall I?" "I don't know," said Dick, dubiously. "What's the good?" 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. 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. 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. 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. 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. Having fully completed his preparations, he descended into the street, and, with Henry by his side, crossed over to Broadway. 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. "Suppose we dine at Delmonico's," said Fosdick, looking towards that famous restaurant. "I'd have to sell some of my Erie shares," said Dick. 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. Turning round, he met the smiling glance of Mr. Greyson. "So, my young friend, you have kept your promise," he said. "And whom have you brought with you?" "A friend of mine," said Dick. "His name is Henry Fosdick." "I am glad you have brought him. Now follow me, and I will give you seats." End of Chapter XVI �

See also

References

  1. ^ "Richard George "Dick" Felt - November 17, 2012 - Obituary - Tributes.com". wral.tributes.com.
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