Ragged Dick, or, Street Life in New York

by Horatio Alger, Jr.

  Dick looked pleased. Boys generally like to be told that they are large of their age.

  "How old be you?" asked Dick, beginning to feel more at his ease.

  "I'm nine years old," said Ida. "I go to Miss Jarvis's school. I've just begun to learn French. Do you know French?"

  "Not enough to hurt me," said Dick.

  Ida laughed again, and told him that he was a droll boy.

  "Do you like it?" asked Dick.

  "I like it pretty well, except the verbs. I can't remember them well. Do you go to school?"

  "I'm studying with a private tutor," said Dick.

  "Are you? So is my cousin Dick. He's going to college this year. Are you going to college?"

  "Not this year."

  "Because, if you did, you know you'd be in the same class with my cousin. It would be funny to have two Dicks in one class."

  They turned down Twenty-fourth Street, passing the Fifth Avenue Hotel on the left, and stopped before an elegant house with a brown stone front. The bell was rung, and the door being opened, the boys, somewhat abashed, followed Mr. Greyson into a handsome hall. They were told where to hang their hats, and a moment afterwards were ushered into a comfortable dining-room, where a table was spread for dinner.

  Dick took his seat on the edge of a sofa, and was tempted to rub his eyes to make sure that he was really awake. He could hardly believe that he was a guest in so fine a mansion.

  Ida helped to put the boys at their ease.

  "Do you like pictures?" she asked.

  "Very much," answered Henry.

  The little girl brought a book of handsome engravings, and, seating herself beside Dick, to whom she seemed to have taken a decided fancy, commenced showing them to him.

  "There are the Pyramids of Egypt," she said, pointing to one engraving.

  "What are they for?" asked Dick, puzzled. "I don't see any winders."

  "No," said Ida, "I don't believe anybody lives there. Do they, papa?"

  "No, my dear. They were used for the burial of the dead. The largest of them is said to be the loftiest building in the world with one exception. The spire of the Cathedral of Strasburg is twenty-four feet higher, if I remember rightly."

  "Is Egypt near here?" asked Dick.

  "Oh, no, it's ever so many miles off; about four or five hundred. Didn't you know?"

  "No," said Dick. "I never heard."

  "You don't appear to be very accurate in your information, Ida," said her mother. "Four or five thousand miles would be considerably nearer the truth."

  After a little more conversation they sat down to dinner. Dick seated himself in an embarrassed way. He was very much afraid of doing or saying something which would be considered an impropriety, and had the uncomfortable feeling that everybody was looking at him, and watching his behavior.

  "Where do you live, Dick?" asked Ida, familiarly.

  "In Mott Street."

  "Where is that?"

  "More than a mile off."

  "Is it a nice street?"

  "Not very," said Dick. "Only poor folks live there."

  "Are you poor?"

  "Little girls should be seen and not heard," said her mother, gently.

  "If you are," said Ida, "I'll give you the five-dollar gold-piece aunt gave me for a birthday present."

  "Dick cannot be called poor, my child," said Mrs. Greyson, "since he earns his living by his own exertions."

  "Do you earn your living?" asked Ida, who was a very inquisitive young lady, and not easily silenced. "What do you do?"

  Dick blushed violently. At such a table, and in presence of the servant who was standing at that moment behind his chair, he did not like to say that he was a shoe-black, although he well knew that there was nothing dishonorable in the occupation.

  Mr. Greyson perceived his feelings, and to spare them, said, "You are too inquisitive, Ida. Sometime Dick may tell you, but you know we don't talk of business on Sundays."

  Dick in his embarrassment had swallowed a large spoonful of hot soup, which made him turn red in the face. For the second time, in spite of the prospect of the best dinner he had ever eaten, he wished himself back in Mott Street. Henry Fosdick was more easy and unembarrassed than Dick, not having led such a vagabond and neglected life. But it was to Dick that Ida chiefly directed her conversation, having apparently taken a fancy to his frank and handsome face. I believe I have already said that Dick was a very good-looking boy, especially now since he kept his face clean. He had a frank, honest expression, which generally won its way to the favor of those with whom he came in contact.

  Dick got along pretty well at the table by dint of noticing how the rest acted, but there was one thing he could not manage, eating with his fork, which, by the way, he thought a very singular arrangement.

  At length they arose from the table, somewhat to Dick's relief. Again Ida devoted herself to the boys, and exhibited a profusely illustrated Bible for their entertainment. Dick was interested in looking at the pictures, though he knew very little of their subjects. Henry Fosdick was much better informed, as might have been expected.

  When the boys were about to leave the house with Mr. Greyson for the Sunday school, Ida placed her hand in Dick's, and said persuasively. "You'll come again, Dick, won't you?"

  "Thank you," said Dick, "I'd like to," and he could not help thinking Ida the nicest girl he had ever seen.

  "Yes," said Mrs. Greyson, hospitably, "we shall be glad to see you both here again."

  "Thank you very much," said Henry Fosdick, gratefully. "We shall like very much to come."

  I will not dwell upon the hour spent in Sunday school, nor upon the remarks of Mr. Greyson to his class. He found Dick's ignorance of religious subjects so great that he was obliged to begin at the beginning with him. Dick was interested in hearing the children sing, and readily promised to come again the next Sunday.

  When the service was over Dick and Henry walked homewards. Dick could not help letting his thoughts rest on the sweet little girl who had given him so cordial a welcome, and hoping that he might meet her again.

  "Mr. Greyson is a nice man,--isn't he, Dick?" asked Henry, as they were turning into Mott Street, and were already in sight of their lodging-house.

  "Ain't he, though?" said Dick. "He treated us just as if we were young gentlemen."

  "Ida seemed to take a great fancy to you."

  "She's a tip-top girl," said Dick, "but she asked so many questions that I didn't know what to say."

  He had scarcely finished speaking, when a stone whizzed by his head, and, turning quickly, he saw Micky Maguire running round the corner of the street which they had just passed.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  MICKY MAGUIRE'S SECOND DEFEAT

  Dick was no coward. Nor was he in the habit of submitting passively to an insult. When, therefore, he recognized Micky as his assailant, he instantly turned and gave chase. Micky anticipated pursuit, and ran at his utmost speed. It is doubtful if Dick would have overtaken him, but Micky had the ill luck to trip just as he had entered a narrow alley, and, falling with some violence, received a sharp blow from the hard stones, which made him scream with pain.

  "Ow!" he whined. "Don't you hit a feller when he's down."

  "What made you fire that stone at me?" demanded our hero, looking down at the fallen bully.

  "Just for fun," said Micky.

  "It would have been a very agreeable s'prise if it had hit me," said Dick. "S'posin' I fire a rock at you jest for fun."

  "Don't!" exclaimed Micky, in alarm.

  "It seems you don't like agreeable s'prises," said Dick, "any more'n the man did what got hooked by a cow one mornin', before breakfast. It didn't improve his appetite much."

  "I've most broke my arm," said Micky, ruefully, rubbing the affected limb.

  "If it's broke you can't fire no more stones, which is a very cheerin' reflection," said Dick. "Ef you haven't money enough to buy a wooden one I'll lend you a quarter. There's one good thing about wooden ones, the
y ain't liable to get cold in winter, which is another cheerin' reflection."

  "I don't want none of yer cheerin' reflections," said Micky, sullenly. "Yer company ain't wanted here."

  "Thank you for your polite invitation to leave," said Dick, bowing ceremoniously. "I'm willin' to go, but ef you throw any more stones at me, Micky Maguire, I'll hurt you worse than the stones did."

  The only answer made to this warning was a scowl from his fallen opponent. It was quite evident that Dick had the best of it, and he thought it prudent to say nothing.

  "As I've got a friend waitin' outside, I shall have to tear myself away," said Dick. "You'd better not throw any more stones, Micky Maguire, for it don't seem to agree with your constitution."

  Micky muttered something which Dick did not stay to hear. He backed out of the alley, keeping a watchful eye on his fallen foe, and rejoined Henry Fosdick, who was awaiting his return.

  "Who was it, Dick?" he asked.

  "A partic'lar friend of mine, Micky Maguire," said Dick. "He playfully fired a rock at my head as a mark of his 'fection. He loves me like a brother, Micky does."

  "Rather a dangerous kind of a friend, I should think," said Fosdick. "He might have killed you."

  "I've warned him not to be so 'fectionate another time," said Dick.

  "I know him," said Henry Fosdick. "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 Dick. "I guess he won't touch me again. He'd rather get hold of small boys. If he ever does anything to you, Fosdick, just let me know, and I'll give him a thrashing."

  Dick 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 Dick 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 Dick, with scowling at him. Dick 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 Dick. 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 astonishingly 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 Fosdick, who made a capital teacher.

  "You're improving wonderfully, Dick," said his friend, one evening, when Dick had read an entire paragraph without a mistake.

  "Am I?" said Dick, 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 Dick

  "Arithmetic, and geography, and grammar."

  "What a lot you know!" said Dick, admiringly.

  "I don't know any of them," said Fosdick. "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 Dick.

  "It seems a great deal to you now, Dick, but in a few months you'll think differently. The more you know, the more you'll want to know."

  "Then there ain't any end to learnin'?" said Dick.

  "No."

  "Well," said Dick, "I guess I'll be as much as sixty before I know everything."

  "Yes; as old as that, probably," said Fosdick, laughing.

  "Anyway, you know too much to be blackin' boots. Leave that to ignorant chaps like me."

  "You won't be ignorant long, Dick."

  "You'd ought to get into some office or countin'-room."

  "I wish I could," said Fosdick, earnestly. "I don't succeed very well at blacking boots. You make a great deal more than I do."

  "That's cause I ain't troubled with bashfulness," said Dick. "Bashfulness ain't as natural to me as it is to you. I'm always on hand, as the cat said to the milk. You'd better give up shines, Fosdick, and give your 'tention to mercantile pursuits."

  "I've thought of trying to get a place," said Fosdick; "but no one would take me with these clothes;" and he directed his glance to his well-worn suit, which he kept as neat as he could, but which, in spite of all his care, began to show decided marks of use. There was also here and there a stain of blacking upon it, which, though an advertisement of his profession, scarcely added to its good appearance.

  "I almost wanted to stay at home from Sunday school last Sunday," he continued, "because I thought everybody would notice how dirty and worn my clothes had got to be."

  "If my clothes wasn't two sizes too big for you," said Dick, generously, "I'd change. You'd look as if you'd got into your great-uncle's suit by mistake."

  "You're very kind, Dick, to think of changing," said Fosdick, "for your suit is much better than mine; but I don't think that mine would suit you very well. The pants would show a little more of your ankles than is the fashion, and you couldn't eat a very hearty dinner without bursting the buttons off the vest."

  "That wouldn't be very convenient," said Dick. "I ain't fond of lacin' to show my elegant figger. But I say," he added with a sudden thought, "how much money have we got in the savings' bank?"

  Fosdick took a key from his pocket, and went to the drawer in which the bank-books were kept, and, opening it, brought them out for inspection.

  It was found that Dick had the sum of eighteen dollars and ninety cents placed to his credit, while Fosdick had six dollars and forty-five cents. To explain the large difference, it must be remembered that Dick had deposited five dollars before Henry deposited anything, being the amount he had received as a gift from Mr. Whitney.

  "How much does that make, the lot of it?" asked Dick. "I ain't much on figgers yet, you know."

  "It makes twenty-five dollars and thirty-five cents, Dick," said his companion, who did not understand the thought which suggested the question.

  "Take it, and buy some clothes, Henry," said Dick, shortly.

  "What, your money too?"

  "In course."

  "No, Dick, you are too generous. I couldn't think of it. Almost three-quarters of the money is yours. You must spend it on yourself."

  "I don't need it," said Dick.

  "You may not need it now, but you will some time."

  "I shall have some more then."

  "That may be; but it wouldn't be fair for me to use your money, Dick. I thank you all the same for your kindness."

  "Well, I'll lend it to you, then," persisted Dick, "and you can pay me when you get to be a rich merchant."

  "But it isn't likely I ever shall be one."

  "How d'you know? I went to a fortun' teller once, and she told me I was born under a lucky star with a hard name, and I should have a rich man for my particular friend, who would make my fortun'. I guess you are going to be the rich man."

  Fosdick laughed, and steadily refused for some time to avail himself of Dick's generous proposal; but at length, perceiving that our hero seemed much disappointed, and would be really glad if his offer were accepted, he agreed to use as much as might be needful.

  This at once brought back Dick's good-humor, and he entered with great enthusiasm into his friend's plans.

  The next day they withdrew the money from the bank, and, when business got a little slack, in the afternoon set out in search of a clothing store. Dick knew enough of the city to be able to find a place where a good bargain could be obtained. He was determined that Fosdick should have a good serviceable suit, even if it took all the money they had. The result of their search was that for twenty-three dollars Fosdick obtained a very neat outfit, including a couple of shirts, a hat, and a pair of shoes, besides a dark mixed suit, which appear
ed stout and of good quality.

  "Shall I sent the bundle home?" asked the salesman, impressed by the off-hand manner in which Dick drew out the money in payment for the clothes.

  "Thank you," said Dick, "you're very kind, but I'll take it home myself, and you can allow me something for my trouble."

  "All right," said the clerk, laughing; "I'll allow it on your next purchase."

  Proceeding to their apartment in Mott Street, Fosdick at once tried on his new suit, and it was found to be an excellent fit. Dick surveyed his new friend with much satisfaction.

  "You look like a young gentleman of fortun'" he said, "and do credit to your governor."

  "I suppose that means you, Dick," said Fosdick, laughing.

  "In course it does."

  "You should say of course," said Fosdick, who, in virtue of his position as Dick's tutor, ventured to correct his language from time to time.

  "How dare you correct your gov'nor?" said Dick, with comic indignation. "`I'll cut you off with a shillin', you young dog,' as the Markis says to his nephew in the play at the Old Bowery."

  CHAPTER XIX

  FOSDICK CHANGES HIS BUSINESS

  Fosdick did not venture to wear his new clothes while engaged in his business. This he felt would have been wasteful extravagance. About ten o' clock in the morning, when business slackened, he went home, and dressing himself went to a hotel where he could see copies of the "Morning Herald" and "Sun," and, noting down the places where a boy was wanted, went on a round of applications. But he found it no easy thing to obtain a place. Swarms of boys seemed to be out of employment, and it was not unusual to find from fifty to a hundred applicants for a single place.

  There was another difficulty. It was generally desired that the boy wanted should reside with his parents. When Fosdick, on being questioned, revealed the fact of his having no parents, and being a boy of the street, this was generally sufficient of itself to insure a refusal. Merchants were afraid to trust one who had led such a vagabond life. Dick, who was always ready for an emergency, suggested borrowing a white wig, and passing himself off for Fosdick's father or grandfather. But Henry thought this might be rather a difficult character for our hero to sustain. After fifty applications and as many failures, Fosdick began to get discouraged. There seemed to be no way out of his present business, for which he felt unfitted.