Part 28 (2/2)
”I've warned him not to be so 'fectionate another time,” said d.i.c.k.
”I know him,” said Henry Fosd.i.c.k. ”He's at the head of a gang of boys living at the Five-Points. He threatened to whip me once because a gentleman employed me to black his boots instead of him.”
”He's been at the Island two or three times for stealing,” said d.i.c.k. ”I guess he won't touch me again. He'd rather get hold of small boys. If he ever does anything to you, Fosd.i.c.k, just let me know, and I'll give him a thras.h.i.+ng.”
d.i.c.k was right. Micky Maguire was a bully, and like most bullies did not fancy tackling boys whose strength was equal or superior to his own. Although he hated d.i.c.k more than ever, because he thought our hero was putting on airs, he had too lively a remembrance of his strength and courage to venture upon another open attack. He contented himself, therefore, whenever he met d.i.c.k, with scowling at him. d.i.c.k took this very philosophically, remarking that, ”if it was soothin' to Micky's feelings, he might go ahead, as it didn't hurt him much.”
It will not be necessary to chronicle the events of the next few weeks. A new life had commenced for d.i.c.k. He no longer haunted the gallery of the Old Bowery; and even Tony Pastor's hospitable doors had lost their old attractions. He spent two hours every evening in study. His progress was astonis.h.i.+ngly rapid. He was gifted with a natural quickness; and he was stimulated by the desire to acquire a fair education as a means of ”growin' up 'spectable,” as he termed it. Much was due also to the patience and perseverance of Henry Fosd.i.c.k, who made a capital teacher.
”You're improving wonderfully, d.i.c.k,” said his friend, one evening, when d.i.c.k had read an entire paragraph without a mistake.
”Am I?” said d.i.c.k, with satisfaction.
”Yes. If you'll buy a writing-book to-morrow, we can begin writing to-morrow evening.”
”What else do you know, Henry?” asked d.i.c.k.
”Arithmetic, and geography, and grammar.”
”What a lot you know!” said d.i.c.k, admiringly.
”I don't _know_ any of them,” said Fosd.i.c.k. ”I've only studied them.
I wish I knew a great deal more.”
”I'll be satisfied when I know as much as you,” said d.i.c.k.
”It seems a great deal to you now, d.i.c.k, but in a few months you'll think differently. The more you know, the more you'll want to know.”
”Then there aint any end to learnin'?” said d.i.c.k.
”No.”
”Well,” said d.i.c.k, ”I guess I'll be as much as sixty before I know everything.”
”Yes; as old as that, probably,” said Fosd.i.c.k, laughing.
”Anyway, you know too much to be blackin' boots. Leave that to ignorant chaps like me.”
”You won't be ignorant long, d.i.c.k.”
”You'd ought to get into some office or countin'-room.”
”I wish I could,” said Fosd.i.c.k, earnestly. ”I don't succeed very well at blacking boots. You make a great deal more than I do.”
”That's cause I aint troubled with bashfulness,” said d.i.c.k.
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