Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter. Alger Horatio Jr.Читать онлайн книгу.
Dick. I don't half the time make enough to live on. If it wasn't for the Newsboys' Lodgin' House, I don't know what I'd do. I need a new brush and box of blacking, but I aint got money enough to buy one."
"Then, Johnny, I'll help you this once. Here's fifty cents; I'll give it to you. Now, if you're smart you can make a dollar a day easy, and save up part of it. You ought to be more enterprisin', Johnny. There's a gentleman wants a shine now."
Johnny hitched up his trousers, put the fifty cents in his mouth, having no pocket unprovided with holes, and proffered his services to the gentleman indicated, with success. Dick left him at work, and kept on his way down Nassau Street.
"A year ago," he thought, "I was just like Johnny, dressed in rags, and livin' as I could. If it hadn't been for my meetin' with Frank, I'd been just the same to day, most likely. Now I've got a good place, and some money in the bank, besides 'ristocratic friends who invite me to come and see them. Blessed if I aint afraid I'm dreamin' it all, like the man that dreamed he was in a palace, and woke up to find himself in a pigpen."
CHAPTER III.
AT THE POST-OFFICE
The New York Post-Office is built of brick, and was formerly a church. It is a shabby building, and quite unworthy of so large and important a city. Of course Dick was quite familiar with its general appearance; but as his correspondence had been very limited, he had never had occasion to ask for letters.
There were several letters in Box 5,670. Dick secured these, and, turning round to go out, his attention was drawn to a young gentleman of about his own age, who, from his consequential air, appeared to feel his own importance in no slight degree. He recognized him at once as Roswell Crawford, a boy who had applied unsuccessfully for the place which Fosdick obtained in Henderson's hat and cap store.
Roswell recognized Dick at the same time, and perceiving that our hero was well-dressed, concluded to speak to him, though he regarded Dick as infinitely beneath himself in the social scale, on account of his former employment. He might not have been so condescending, but he was curious to learn what Dick was about.
"I haven't seen you for some time," he said, in a patronizing tone.
"No," said Dick, "and I haven't seen you for some time either, which is a very curious coincidence."
"How's boot-blacking, now?" inquired Roswell, with something of a sneer.
"Tip-top," said Dick, not at all disturbed by Roswell's manner. "I do it wholesale now, and have been obliged to hire a large building on Pearl Street to transact my business in. You see them letters? They're all from wholesale customers."
"I congratulate you on your success," said Roswell, in the same disagreeable manner. "Of course that's all humbug. I suppose you've got a place."
"Yes," said Dick.
"Who are you with?"
"Rockwell & Cooper, on Pearl Street."
"How did you get it?" asked Roswell, appearing surprised. "Did they know you had been a boot-black?"
"Of course they did."
"I shouldn't think that they would have taken you."
"Why not?"
"There are not many firms that would hire a boot-black, when they could get plenty of boys from nice families."
"Perhaps they might have secured your services if they had applied," said Dick, good-humoredly.
"I've got a place," said Roswell, in rather an important manner. "I'm very glad I didn't go into Henderson's hat and cap store. I've got a better situation."
"Have you?" said Dick. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm always happy to hear that my friends are risin' in the world."
"You needn't class me among your friends," said Roswell, superciliously.
"No, I won't," said Dick. "I'm goin' to be particular about my associates, now that I'm gettin' up in the world."
"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Roswell, haughtily.
"No," said Dick. "I wouldn't on any account. I should be afraid you'd want me to fight a duel, and that wouldn't be convenient, for I haven't made my will, and I'm afraid my heirs would quarrel over my extensive property."
"How much do you get a week?" asked Roswell, thinking it best to change the subject.
"Ten dollars," said Dick.
"Ten dollars!" ejaculated Roswell. "That's a pretty large story."
"You needn't believe it if you don't want to," said Dick. "That won't make any difference to me as long as they pay me reg'lar."
"Ten dollars! Why, I never heard of such a thing," exclaimed Roswell, who only received four dollars a week himself, and thought he was doing well.
"Do you think I'd give up a loocrative business for less?" asked Dick. "How much do you get?"
"That's my business," said Roswell, who, for reasons that may be guessed, didn't care to mention the price for which he was working. Judging Dick by himself, he thought it would give him a chance to exult over him.
"I suppose it is," said Dick; "but as you was so partic'lar to find out how much I got, I thought I'd inquire."
"You're trying to deceive me; I don't believe you get more than three dollars a week."
"Don't you? Is that what you get?"
"I get a great deal more."
"I'm happy to hear it."
"I can find out how much you get, if I want to."
"You've found out already."
"I know what you say, but I've got a cousin in Rockwell & Cooper's."
"Have you?" asked Dick, a little surprised. "Who is it?"
"It is the book-keeper."
"Mr. Gilbert?"
"Yes; he has been there five years. I'll ask him about it."
"You'd better, as you're so anxious to find out. Mr. Gilbert is a friend of mine. He spoke only this morning of my valooable services."
Roswell looked incredulous. In fact he did not understand Dick at all; nor could he comprehend his imperturbable good-humor. There were several things that he had said which would have offended most boys; but Dick met them with a careless good-humor, and an evident indifference to Roswell's good opinion, which piqued and provoked that young man.
It must not be supposed that while this conversation was going on the boys were standing in the post-office. Dick understood his duty to his employers too well to delay unnecessarily while on an errand, especially when he was sent to get letters, some of which might be of an important and urgent nature.
The two boys had been walking up Nassau Street together, and they had now reached Printing House Square.
"There are some of your old friends," said Roswell, pointing to a group of ragged boot-blacks, who were on the alert for customers, crying to each passer, "Shine yer boots?"
"Yes," said Dick, "I know them all."
"No doubt," sneered Roswell. "They're friends to be proud of."
"I'm glad you think so," said Dick. "They're a rough set," he continued, more earnestly; "but there's one of them, at least, that's ten times better than you or I."
"Speak for yourself, if you please," said Roswell, haughtily.
"I'm speakin' for both of us," said Dick. "There's one boy there, only twelve years old, that's supported his sick mother and sister for more'n a year, and that's more good than ever you or I did.—How are you, Tom?" he said, nodding to the boy of whom he had spoken.
"Tip-top, Dick," said a bright-looking boy, who kept as clean as his avocation would permit. "Have you given up business?"
"Yes, Tom. I'll tell you about it some other time. I must get back to Pearl Street with these letters. How's your mother?"
"She aint much better, Dick."
"Buy her some oranges. They'll