Part 4 (1/2)

”I hope you will. If you do well you may depend upon promotion. I shall not forget under what a heavy obligation I am to you, my brave boy.”

What would the book-keeper have said, if he had heard this?

”How is the little boy, sir?” asked d.i.c.k.

”Very well, indeed. He does not appear even to have taken cold, as might have been expected from his exposure, and remaining in wet clothes for some time.”

”I am glad to hear that he is well, sir.”

”You must come up and see him for yourself, Richard,” said Mr. Rockwell, in a friendly manner. ”I have no doubt you will become good friends very soon. Besides, my wife is anxious to see and thank the preserver of her boy.”

”I shall be very glad indeed to come, sir.”

”I live at No. ---- Madison Avenue. Come to-morrow evening, if you have no engagement.”

”Thank you, sir.”

Mr. Rockwell now introduced d.i.c.k to his head clerk with a few words, stating that he was a lad in whose welfare he took a deep interest, and he would be glad to have him induct him into his duties, and regard with indulgence any mistakes which he might at first make through ignorance.

The head clerk was a pleasant-looking man, of middle age, named Murdock; very different in his manners and bearing from Mr. Gilbert, the book-keeper.

”Yes, sir,” he said, ”I will take the young man under my charge; he looks bright and sharp enough, and I hope we may make a business man of him in course of time.”

That was what d.i.c.k liked. His heart always opened to kindness, but harshness always made him defiant.

”I'll try to make you as little trouble as possible, sir,” he said. ”I may make mistakes at first, but I'm willin' to work, and I want to work my way up.”

”That's right, my boy,” said Mr. Murdock. ”Let that be your determination, and I am sure you will succeed.”

”Before Mr. Murdock begins to instruct you in your duties,” said Mr.

Rockwell, ”you may go to the post-office, and see if there are any letters for us. Our box is No. 5,670.”

”All right, sir,” said d.i.c.k; and he took his hat at once and started.

He reached Chatham Square, turned into Printing House Square, and just at the corner of Spruce and Na.s.sau Streets, close by the Tribune Office, he saw the familiar face and figure of Johnny Nolan, one of his old a.s.sociates when he was a boot-black.

”How are you, Johnny?” he said.

”Is that you, d.i.c.k?” asked Johnny, turning round. ”Where's your box and brush?”

”At home.”

”You haven't give up business,--have you?”

”I've just gone into business, Johnny.”

”I mean you aint give up blackin' boots,--have you?”