Part 2 (1/2)

”You haven't any cause to be ashamed of it, d.i.c.k. It wasn't a very desirable business, but it was honest. Now you can do something better.

You must adapt yourself to your new circ.u.mstances.”

”So I mean to,” said d.i.c.k. ”I'm going in for respectability. When I get to be sixty years old, I'm goin' to wear gold spectacles and walk round this way, like the old gentlemen I see most every day on Wall Street.”

d.i.c.k threw his head back, and began to walk round the room with a pompous step and an air of great importance.

”I hope we'll both rise, d.i.c.k; we've got well started now, and there've been other boys, worse off than we are, who have worked hard, and risen to FAME AND FORTUNE.”

”We can try,” said d.i.c.k. ”Now let us go out and have a walk.”

”All right,” said Fosd.i.c.k.

They went downstairs, and out into the street. Accustomed to the lower part of the city, there was a novelty in the evening aspect of Broadway, with its shops and theatres glittering with light. They sauntered carelessly along, looking in at the shop-windows, feeling more and more pleased with their change of location. All at once d.i.c.k's attention was drawn to a gentleman accompanied by a boy of about his own size, who was walking a little in advance.

”Stop a minute,” he said to Fosd.i.c.k, and hurrying forward placed his hand on the boy's arm.

”How are you, Frank?” he said.

Frank Whitney, for it was he, turned in some surprise and looked at d.i.c.k, but did not at first recognize in the neat, well-dressed boy of fifteen the ragged boot-black he had encountered a year before.

”I don't think I remember you,” he said, surveying d.i.c.k with a puzzled expression.

”Perhaps you'd remember me better if I had on my Was.h.i.+ngton coat and Napoleon pants,” said our hero, with a smile. He felt rather pleased to find he was not recognized, since it was a compliment to his improved appearance.

”What!” exclaimed Frank, his face lighting up with pleasure, ”is it possible that you are--”

”Richard Hunter, at your service,” said our hero; ”but when you knew me I was Ragged d.i.c.k.”

CHAPTER II.

INTRODUCTION TO MERCANTILE LIFE.

Frank Whitney was indeed surprised to find the ragged boot-black of a year before so wonderfully changed. He grasped d.i.c.k's hand, and shook it heartily.

”Uncle,” he said, ”this is d.i.c.k. Isn't he changed?”

”It is a change I am glad to see,” said Mr. Whitney, also extending his hand; ”for it appears to be a change for the better. And who is this other young man?”

”This is my private tutor,” said d.i.c.k, presenting Fosd.i.c.k,--”Professor Fosd.i.c.k. He's been teachin' me every evenin' for most a year. His terms is very reasonable. If it hadn't been for him, I never should have reached my present high position in literature and science.”

”I am glad to make your acquaintance, _Professor_ Fosd.i.c.k,” said Frank, laughing. ”May I inquire whether my friend d.i.c.k owes his elegant system of p.r.o.nunciation to your instructions?”

”d.i.c.k can speak more correctly when he pleases,” said Fosd.i.c.k; ”but sometimes he falls back into his old way. He understands the common English branches very well.”

”Then he must have worked hard; for when I first met him a year ago, he was--”

”As ignorant as a horse,” interrupted d.i.c.k. ”It was you that first made me ambitious, Frank. I wanted to be like you, and grow up 'spectable.”

”_Re_spectable, d.i.c.k,” suggested Fosd.i.c.k.