Part 26 (2/2)

”That is too far to go and return. Suppose you and your friend come and dine with us, and then we can come here together in the afternoon.”

d.i.c.k was as much astonished at this invitation as if he had really been invited by the Mayor to dine with him and the Board of Aldermen. Mr. Greyson was evidently a rich man, and yet he had actually invited two boot-blacks to dine with him.

”I guess we'd better go home, sir,” said d.i.c.k, hesitating.

”I don't think you can have any very pressing engagements to interfere with your accepting my invitation,” said Mr. Greyson, good-humoredly, for he understood the reason of d.i.c.k's hesitation.

”So I take it for granted that you both accept.”

Before d.i.c.k fairly knew what he intended to do, he was walking down Fifth Avenue with his new friends.

Now, our young hero was not naturally bashful; but he certainly felt so now, especially as Miss Ida Greyson chose to walk by his side, leaving Henry Fosd.i.c.k to walk with her father and mother.

”What is your name?” asked Ida, pleasantly.

Our hero was about to answer ”Ragged d.i.c.k,” when it occurred to him that in the present company he had better forget his old nickname.

”d.i.c.k Hunter,” he answered.

”d.i.c.k!” repeated Ida. ”That means Richard, doesn't it?”

”Everybody calls me d.i.c.k.”

”I have a cousin d.i.c.k,” said the young lady, sociably. ”His name is d.i.c.k Wilson. I suppose you don't know him?”

”No,” said d.i.c.k.

”I like the name of d.i.c.k,” said the young lady, with charming frankness.

Without being able to tell why, d.i.c.k felt rather glad she did. He plucked up courage to ask her name.

”My name is Ida,” answered the young lady. ”Do you like it?”

”Yes,” said d.i.c.k. ”It's a bully name.”

d.i.c.k turned red as soon as he had said it, for he felt that he had not used the right expression.

The little girl broke into a silvery laugh.

”What a funny boy you are!” she said.

”I didn't mean it,” said d.i.c.k, stammering. ”I meant it's a tip-top name.”

Here Ida laughed again, and d.i.c.k wished himself back in Mott Street.

”How old are you?” inquired Ida, continuing her examination.

”I'm fourteen,--goin' on fifteen,” said d.i.c.k.

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