Part 23 (2/2)
”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 d.i.c.k, 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-s.h.i.+nin' 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 d.i.c.k. ”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?”
”n.o.body,” said d.i.c.k. ”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 d.i.c.k. ”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 d.i.c.k, 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 d.i.c.k.
”I have a cla.s.s in the Sunday School there. If you'll come next Sunday, I'll take you into my cla.s.s, and do what I can to help you.”
”Thank you,” said d.i.c.k, ”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, d.i.c.k,” 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.”
d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k 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 d.i.c.k, and sat down beside him. d.i.c.k 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 coa.r.s.e companions.h.i.+p of the street boys, and shrank from the rude jokes of his present a.s.sociates. d.i.c.k 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, Fosd.i.c.k?” said d.i.c.k, as the other seated himself.
”Pretty well,” said Fosd.i.c.k. ”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?”
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