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Ragged Dick

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<h2>CHAPTER III. DICK MAKES A PROPOSITION</h2> Though Dick was somewhat startled at discovering that the bill he had offered was counterfeit, he stood his ground bravely. “Clear out of this shop, you young vagabond,” repeated the clerk. “Then give me back my bill.” “That you may pass it again? No, sir, I shall do no such thing.” “It doesn’t belong to me,” said Dick. “A gentleman that owes me for a shine gave it to me to change.” “A likely story,” said the clerk; but he seemed a little uneasy. “I’ll go and call him,” said Dick. He went out, and found his late customer standing on the Astor House steps. “Well, youngster, have you brought back my change? You were a precious long time about it. I began to think you had cleared out with the money.” “That aint my style,” said Dick, proudly. “Then where’s the change?” “I haven’t got it.” “Where’s the bill then?” “I haven’t got that either.” “You young rascal!” “Hold on a minute, mister,” said Dick, “and I’ll tell you all about it. The man what took the bill said it wasn’t good, and kept it.” “The bill was perfectly good. So he kept it, did he? I’ll go with you to the store, and see whether he won’t give it back to me.” Dick led the way, and the gentleman followed him into the store. At the reappearance of Dick in such company, the clerk flushed a little, and looked nervous. He fancied that he could browbeat a ragged boot-black, but with a gentleman he saw that it would be a different matter. He did not seem to notice the newcomers, but began to replace some goods on the shelves. “Now,” said the young man, “point out the clerk that has my money.” “That’s him,” said Dick, pointing out the clerk. The gentleman walked up to the counter. “I will trouble you,” he said a little haughtily, “for a bill which that boy offered you, and which you still hold in your possession.” “It was a bad bill,” said the clerk, his cheek flushing, and his manner nervous. “It was no such thing. I require you to produce it, and let the matter be decided.” The clerk fumbled in his vest-pocket, and drew out a bad-looking bill. “This is a bad bill, but it is not the one I gave the boy.” “It is the one he gave me.” The young man looked doubtful. “Boy,” he said to Dick, “is this the bill you gave to be changed?” “No, it isn’t.” “You lie, you young rascal!” exclaimed the clerk, who began to find himself in a tight place, and could not see the way out. This scene naturally attracted the attention of all in the store, and the proprietor walked up from the lower end, where he had been busy. “What’s all this, Mr. Hatch?” he demanded. “That boy,” said the clerk, “came in and asked change for a bad bill. I kept the bill, and told him to clear out. Now he wants it again to pass on somebody else.” “Show the bill.” The merchant looked at it. “Yes, that’s a bad bill,” he said. “There is no doubt about that.” “But it is not the one the boy offered,” said Dick’s patron. “It is one of the same denomination, but on a different bank.” “Do you remember what bank it was on?” “It was on the Merchants’ Bank of Boston.” “Are you sure of it?” “I am.” “Perhaps the boy kept it and offered the other.” “You may search me if you want to,” said Dick, indignantly. “He doesn’t look as if he was likely to have any extra bills. I suspect that your clerk pocketed the good bill, and has substituted the counterfeit note. It is a nice little scheme of his for making money.” “I haven’t seen any bill on the Merchants’ Bank,” said the clerk, doggedly. “You had better feel in your pockets.” “This matter must be investigated,” said the merchant, firmly. “If you have the bill, produce it.” “I haven’t got it,” said the clerk; but he looked guilty notwithstanding. “I demand that he be searched,” said Dick’s patron. “I tell you I haven’t got it.” “Shall I send for a police officer, Mr. Hatch, or will you allow yourself to be searched quietly?” said the merchant. Alarmed at the threat implied in these words, the clerk put his hand into his vest-pocket, and drew out a two-dollar bill on the Merchants’ Bank. “Is this your note?” asked the shopkeeper, showing it to the young man. “It is.” “I must have made a mistake,” faltered the clerk. “I shall not give you a chance to make such another mistake in my employ,” said the merchant sternly. “You may go up to the desk and ask for what wages are due you. I shall have no further occasion for your services.” “Now, youngster,” said Dick’s patron, as they went out of the store, after he had finally got the bill changed. “I must pay you something extra for your trouble. Here’s fifty cents.” “Thank you, sir,” said Dick. “You’re very kind. Don’t you want some more bills changed?” “Not to-day,” said he with a smile. “It’s too expensive.” “I’m in luck,” thought our hero complacently. “I guess I’ll go to Barnum’s to-night, and see the bearded lady, the eight-foot giant, the two-foot dwarf, and the other curiosities, too numerous to mention.” Dick shouldered his box and walked up as far as the Astor House. He took his station on the sidewalk, and began to look about him. Just behind him were two persons,—one, a gentleman of fifty; the other, a boy of thirteen or fourteen. They were speaking together, and Dick had no difficulty in hearing what was said. “I am sorry, Frank, that I can’t go about, and show you some of the sights of New York, but I shall be full of business to-day. It is your first visit to the city, too.” “Yes, sir.” “There’s a good deal worth seeing here. But I’m afraid you’ll have to wait to next time. You can go out and walk by yourself, but don’t venture too far, or you will get lost.” Frank looked disappointed. “I wish Tom Miles knew I was here,” he said. “He would go around with me.” “Where does he live?” “Somewhere up town, I believe.” “Then, unfortunately, he is not available. If you would rather go with me than stay here, you can, but as I shall be most of the time in merchants’-counting-rooms, I am afraid it would not be very interesting.” “I think,” said Frank, after a little hesitation, “that I will go off by myself. I won’t go very far, and if I lose my way, I will inquire for the Astor House.” “Yes, anybody will direct you here. Very well, Frank, I am sorry I can’t do better for you.” “Oh, never mind, uncle, I shall be amused in walking around, and looking at the shop-windows. There will be a great deal to see.” Now Dick had listened to all this conversation. Being an enterprising young man, he thought he saw a chance for a speculation, and determined to avail himself of it. Accordingly he stepped up to the two just as Frank’s uncle was about leaving, and said, “I know all about the city, sir; I’ll show him around, if you want me to.” The gentleman looked a little curiously at the ragged figure before him. “So you are a city boy, are you?” “Yes, sir,” said Dick, “I’ve lived here ever since I was a baby.” “And you know all about the public buildings, I suppose?” “Yes, sir.” “And the Central Park?” “Yes, sir. I know my way all round.” The gentleman looked thoughtful. “I don’t know what to say, Frank,” he remarked after a while. “It is rather a novel proposal. He isn’t exactly the sort of guide I would have picked out for you. Still he looks honest. He has an open face, and I think can be depended upon.” “I wish he wasn’t so ragged and dirty,” said Frank, who felt a little shy about being seen with such a companion. “I’m afraid you haven’t washed your face this morning,” said Mr. Whitney, for that was the gentleman’s name. “They didn’t have no wash-bowls at the hotel where I stopped,” said Dick. “What hotel did you stop at?” “The Box Hotel.” “The Box Hotel?” “Yes, sir, I slept in a box on Spruce Street.” Frank surveyed Dick curiously. “How did you like it?” he asked. “I slept bully.” “Suppose it had rained.” “Then I’d have wet my best clothes,” said Dick. “Are these all the clothes you have?” “Yes, sir.” Mr. Whitney spoke a few words to Frank, who seemed pleased with the suggestion. “Follow me, my lad,” he said. Dick in some surprise obeyed orders, following Mr. Whitney and Frank into the hotel, past the office, to the foot of the staircase. Here a servant of the hotel stopped Dick, but Mr. Whitney explained that he had something for him to do, and he was allowed to proceed. They entered a long entry, and finally paused before a door. This being opened a pleasant chamber was disclosed. “Come in, my lad,” said Mr. Whitney. Dick and Frank entered. <h2>CHAPTER IV. DICK’S NEW SUIT</h2> “Now,” said Mr. Whitney to Dick, “my nephew here is on his way to a boarding-school. He has a suit of clothes in his trunk about half worn. He is willing to give them to you. I think they will look better than those you have on.” Dick was so astonished that he hardly knew what to say. Presents were something that he knew very little about, never having received any to his knowledge. That so large a gift should be made to him by a stranger seemed very wonderful. The clothes were brought out, and turned out to be a neat gray suit. “Before you put them on, my lad, you must wash yourself. Clean clothes and a dirty skin don’t go very well together. Frank, you may attend to him. I am obliged to go at once. Have you got as much money as you require?” “Yes, uncle.” “One more word, my lad,” said Mr. Whitney, addressing Dick; “I may be rash in trusting a boy of whom I know nothing, but I like your looks, and I think you will prove a proper guide for my nephew.” “Yes, I will, sir,” said Dick, earnestly. “Honor bright!” “Very well. A pleasant time to you.” The process of cleansing commenced. To tell the truth Dick needed it, and the sensation of cleanliness he found both new and pleasant. Frank added to his gift a shirt, stockings, and an old pair of shoes. “I am sorry I haven’t any cap,” said he. “I’ve got one,” said Dick. “It isn’t so new as it might be,” said Frank, surveying an old felt hat, which had once been black, but was now dingy, with a large hole in the top and a portion of the rim torn off. “No,” said Dick; “my grandfather used to wear it when he was a boy, and I’ve kep’ it ever since out of respect for his memory. But I’ll get a new one now. I can buy one cheap on Chatham Street.” “Is that near here?” “Only five minutes’ walk.” “Then we can get one on the way.” When Dick was dressed in his new attire, with his face and hands clean, and his hair brushed, it was difficult to imagine that he was the same boy. He now looked quite handsome, and might readily have been taken for a young gentleman, except that his hands were red and grimy. “Look at yourself,” said Frank, leading him before the mirror. “By gracious!” said Dick, starting back in astonishment, “that isn’t me, is it?” “Don’t you know yourself?” asked Frank, smiling. “It reminds me of Cinderella,” said Dick, “when she was changed into a fairy princess. I see it one night at Barnum’s. What’ll Johnny Nolan say when he sees me? He won’t dare to speak to such a young swell as I be now. Aint it rich?” and Dick burst into a loud laugh. His fancy was tickled by the anticipation of his friend’s surprise. Then the thought of the valuable gifts he had received occurred to him, and he looked gratefully at Frank. “You’re a brick,” he said. “A what?” “A brick! You’re a jolly good fellow to give me such a present.” “You’re quite welcome, Dick,” said Frank, kindly. “I’m better off than you are, and I can spare the clothes just as well as not. You must have a new hat though. But that we can get when we go out. The old clothes you can make into a bundle.” “Wait a minute till I get my handkercher,” and Dick pulled from the pocket of the pants a dirty rag, which might have been white once, though it did not look like it, and had apparently once formed a part of a sheet or shirt. “You mustn’t carry that,” said Frank. “But I’ve got a cold,” said Dick. “Oh, I don’t mean you to go without a handkerchief. I’ll give you one.” Frank opened his trunk and pulled out two, which he gave to Dick. “I wonder if I aint dreamin’,” said Dick, once more surveying himself doubtfully in the glass. “I’m afraid I’m dreamin’, and shall wake up in a barrel, as I did night afore last.” “Shall I pinch you so you can wake here?” asked Frank, playfully. “Yes,” said Dick, seriously, “I wish you would.” He pulled up the sleeve of his jacket, and Frank pinched him pretty hard, so that Dick winced. “Yes, I guess I’m awake,” said Dick; “you’ve got a pair of nippers, you have. But what shall I do with my brush and blacking?” he asked. “You can leave them here till we come back,” said Frank. “They will be safe.” “Hold on a minute,” said Dick, surveying Frank’s boots with a professional eye, “you aint got a good shine on them boots. I’ll make ’em shine so you can see your face in ’em.” And he was as good as his word. “Thank you,” said Frank; “now you had better brush your own shoes.” This had not occurred to Dick, for in general the professional boot-black considers his blacking too valuable to expend on his own shoes or boots, if he is fortunate enough to possess a pair. The two boys now went downstairs together. They met the same servant who had spoken to Dick a few minutes before, but there was no recognition. “He don’t know me,” said Dick. “He thinks I’m a young swell like you.” “What’s a swell?” “Oh, a feller that wears nobby clothes like you.” “And you, too, Dick.” “Yes,” said Dick, “who’d ever have thought as I should have turned into a swell?” They had now got out on Broadway, and were slowly walking along the west side by the Park, when who should Dick see in front of him, but Johnny Nolan? Instantly Dick was seized with a fancy for witnessing Johnny’s amazement at his change in appearance. He stole up behind him, and struck him on the back. “Hallo, Johnny, how many shines have you had?” Johnny turned round expecting to see Dick, whose voice he recognized, but his astonished eyes rested on a nicely dressed boy (the hat alone excepted) who looked indeed like Dick, but so transformed in dress that it was difficult to be sure of his identity. “What luck, Johnny?” repeated Dick. Johnny surveyed him from head to foot in great bewilderment. “Who be you?” he said. “Well, that’s a good one,” laughed Dick; “so you don’t know Dick?” “Where’d you get all them clothes?” asked Johnny. “Have you been stealin’?” “Say that again, and I’ll lick you. No, I’ve lent my clothes to a young feller as was goin’ to a party, and didn’t have none fit to wear, and so I put on my second-best for a change.” Without deigning any further explanation, Dick went off, followed by the astonished gaze of Johnny Nolan, who could not quite make up his mind whether the neat-looking boy he had been talking with was really Ragged Dick or not. In order to reach Chatham Street it was necessary to cross Broadway. This was easier proposed than done. There is always such a throng of omnibuses, drays, carriages, and vehicles of all kinds in the neighborhood of the Astor House, that the crossing is formidable to one who is not used to it. Dick made nothing of it, dodging in and out among the horses and wagons with perfect self-possession. Reaching the opposite sidewalk, he looked back, and found that Frank had retreated in dismay, and that the width of the street was between them. “Come across!” called out Dick. “I don’t see any chance,” said Frank, looking anxiously at the prospect before him. “I’m afraid of being run over.” “If you are, you can sue ’em for damages,” said Dick. Finally Frank got safely over after several narrow escapes, as he considered them. “Is it always so crowded?” he asked. “A good deal worse sometimes,” said Dick. “I knowed a young man once who waited six hours for a chance to cross, and at last got run over by an omnibus, leaving a widder and a large family of orphan children. His widder, a beautiful young woman, was obliged to start a peanut and apple stand. There she is now.” “Where?” Dick pointed to a hideous old woman, of large proportions, wearing a bonnet of immense size, who presided over an apple-stand close by. Frank laughed. “If that is the case,” he said, “I think I will patronize her.” “Leave it to me,” said Dick, winking. He advanced gravely to the apple-stand, and said, “Old lady, have you paid your taxes?” The astonished woman opened her eyes. “I’m a gov’ment officer,” said Dick, “sent by the mayor to collect your taxes. I’ll take it in apples just to oblige. That big red one will about pay what you’re owin’ to the gov’ment.” “I don’t know nothing about no taxes,” said the old woman, in bewilderment. “Then,” said Dick, “I’ll let you off this time. Give us two of your best apples, and my friend here, the President of the Common Council, will pay you.” Frank smiling, paid three cents apiece for the apples, and they sauntered on, Dick remarking, “If these apples aint good, old lady, we’ll return ’em, and get our money back.” This would have been rather difficult in his case, as the apple was already half consumed. Chatham Street, where they wished to go, being on the East side, the two boys crossed the Park. This is an enclosure of about ten acres, which years ago was covered with a green sward, but is now a great thoroughfare for pedestrians and contains several important public buildings. Dick pointed out the City Hall, the Hall of Records, and the Rotunda. The former is a white building of large size, and surmounted by a cupola. “That’s where the mayor’s office is,” said Dick. “Him and me are very good friends. I once blacked his boots by partic’lar appointment. That’s the way I pay my city taxes.” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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