Part 12 (2/2)
”I wish you would,” said d.i.c.k. ”They'll know most likely whether it's Stewart or Astor that's lost the pocket-book, and I can get 'em to return it.”
The ”dropper,” whose object it was to recover the pocket-book, in order to try the same game on a more satisfactory customer, was irritated by d.i.c.k's refusal, and above all by the coolness he displayed. He resolved to make one more attempt.
”Do you want to pa.s.s the night in the Tombs?” he asked.
”Thank you for your very obligin' proposal,” said d.i.c.k; ”but it aint convenient to-day. Any other time, when you'd like to have me come and stop with you, I'm agreeable; but my two youngest children is down with the measles, and I expect I'll have to set up all night to take care of 'em. Is the Tombs, in gineral, a pleasant place of residence?”
d.i.c.k asked this question with an air of so much earnestness that Frank could scarcely forbear laughing, though it is hardly necessary to say that the dropper was by no means so inclined.
”You'll know sometime,” he said, scowling.
”I'll make you a fair offer,” said d.i.c.k. ”If I get more'n fifty dollars as a reward for my honesty, I'll divide with you. But I say, aint it most time to go back to your sick family in Boston?”
Finding that nothing was to be made out of d.i.c.k, the man strode away with a muttered curse.
”You were too smart for him, d.i.c.k,” said Frank.
”Yes,” said d.i.c.k, ”I aint knocked round the city streets all my life for nothin'.”
CHAPTER VIII
d.i.c.k'S EARLY HISTORY
”Have you always lived in New York, d.i.c.k?” asked Frank, after a pause.
”Ever since I can remember.”
”I wish you'd tell me a little about yourself. Have you got any father or mother?”
”I aint got no mother. She died when I wasn't but three years old.
My father went to sea; but he went off before mother died, and nothin' was ever heard of him. I expect he got wrecked, or died at sea.”
”And what became of you when your mother died?”
”The folks she boarded with took care of me, but they was poor, and they couldn't do much. When I was seven the woman died, and her husband went out West, and then I had to scratch for myself.”
”At seven years old!” exclaimed Frank, in amazement.
”Yes,” said d.i.c.k, ”I was a little feller to take care of myself, but,” he continued with pardonable pride, ”I did it.”
”What could you do?”
”Sometimes one thing, and sometimes another,” said d.i.c.k. ”I changed my business accordin' as I had to. Sometimes I was a newsboy, and diffused intelligence among the ma.s.ses, as I heard somebody say once in a big speech he made in the Park. Them was the times when Horace Greeley and James Gordon Bennett made money.”
”Through your enterprise?” suggested Frank.
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