Part 6 (1/2)

”It reminds me of Cinderella,” said d.i.c.k, ”when she was changed into a fairy princess. I see it one night at Barnum's. What'll Johnny Nolan say when he sees me? He won't dare to speak to such a young swell as I be now. Aint it rich?” and d.i.c.k burst into a loud laugh.

His fancy was tickled by the antic.i.p.ation of his friend's surprise.

Then the thought of the valuable gifts he had received occurred to him, and he looked gratefully at Frank.

”You're a brick,” he said.

”A what?”

”A brick! You're a jolly good fellow to give me such a present.”

”You're quite welcome, d.i.c.k,” said Frank, kindly. ”I'm better off than you are, and I can spare the clothes just as well as not. You must have a new hat though. But that we can get when we go out. The old clothes you can make into a bundle.”

”Wait a minute till I get my handkercher,” and d.i.c.k pulled from the pocket of the pants a dirty rag, which might have been white once, though it did not look like it, and had apparently once formed a part of a sheet or s.h.i.+rt.

”You mustn't carry that,” said Frank.

”But I've got a cold,” said d.i.c.k.

”Oh, I don't mean you to go without a handkerchief. I'll give you one.”

Frank opened his trunk and pulled out two, which he gave to d.i.c.k.

”I wonder if I aint dreamin',” said d.i.c.k, once more surveying himself doubtfully in the gla.s.s. ”I'm afraid I'm dreamin', and shall wake up in a barrel, as I did night afore last.”

”Shall I pinch you so you can wake here?” asked Frank, playfully.

”Yes,” said d.i.c.k, seriously, ”I wish you would.”

He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, and Frank pinched him pretty hard, so that d.i.c.k winced.

”Yes, I guess I'm awake,” said d.i.c.k; ”you've got a pair of nippers, you have. But what shall I do with my brush and blacking?” he asked.

”You can leave them here till we come back,” said Frank. ”They will be safe.”

”Hold on a minute,” said d.i.c.k, surveying Frank's boots with a professional eye, ”you aint got a good s.h.i.+ne on them boots. I'll make 'em s.h.i.+ne so you can see your face in 'em.”

And he was as good as his word.

”Thank you,” said Frank; ”now you had better brush your own shoes.”

This had not occurred to d.i.c.k, for in general the professional boot-black considers his blacking too valuable to expend on his own shoes or boots, if he is fortunate enough to possess a pair.

The two boys now went downstairs together. They met the same servant who had spoken to d.i.c.k a few minutes before, but there was no recognition.

”He don't know me,” said d.i.c.k. ”He thinks I'm a young swell like you.”

”What's a swell?”

”Oh, a feller that wears n.o.bby clothes like you.”

”And you, too, d.i.c.k.”