CHAPTER II. JOHNNY NOLAN
CHAPTER III. DICK MAKES A PROPOSITION
CHAPTER IV. DICK’S NEW SUIT
CHAPTER V. CHATHAM STREET AND BROADWAY
CHAPTER VI. UP BROADWAY TO MADISON SQUARE
CHAPTER VII. THE POCKET-BOOK
CHAPTER VIII. DICK’S EARLY HISTORY
CHAPTER IX. A SCENE IN A THIRD AVENUE CAR
CHAPTER X. INTRODUCES A VICTIM OF MISPLACED CONFIDENCE
CHAPTER XI. DICK AS A DETECTIVE
CHAPTER XII. DICK HIRES A ROOM ON MOTT STREET
CHAPTER XIII. MICKY MAGUIRE
CHAPTER XIV. A BATTLE AND A VICTORY
CHAPTER XV. DICK SECURES A TUTOR
CHAPTER XVI. THE FIRST LESSON
CHAPTER XVII. DICK’S FIRST APPEARANCE IN SOCIETY
CHAPTER XVIII. MICKY MAGUIRE’S SECOND DEFEAT
CHAPTER XIX. FOSDICK CHANGES HIS BUSINESS
CHAPTER XX. NINE MONTHS LATER
CHAPTER XXI. DICK LOSES HIS BANK-BOOK
CHAPTER XXII. TRACKING THE THIEF
CHAPTER XXIII. TRAVIS IS ARRESTED
CHAPTER XXIV. DICK RECEIVES A LETTER
CHAPTER XXV. DICK WRITES HIS FIRST LETTER
CHAPTER XXVI. AN EXCITING ADVENTURE
CHAPTER XXVII. CONCLUSION
To
Joseph W. Allen,
at whose suggestion this story
was undertaken,
it is
inscribed with friendly regard.
PREFACE
“Ragged Dick” was contributed as a serial story to the pages of the
Schoolmate, a well-known juvenile magazine, during the year 1867. While
in course of publication, it was received with so many evidences of
favor that it has been rewritten and considerably enlarged, and is now
presented to the public as the first volume of a series intended to
illustrate the life and experiences of the friendless and vagrant
children who are now numbered by thousands in New York and other
cities.
Several characters in the story are sketched from life. The necessary
information has been gathered mainly from personal observation and
conversations with the boys themselves. The author is indebted also to
the excellent Superintendent of the Newsboys’ Lodging House, in Fulton
Street, for some facts of which he has been able to make use. Some
anachronisms may be noted. Wherever they occur, they have been
admitted, as aiding in the development of the story, and will probably
be considered as of little importance in an unpretending volume, which
does not aspire to strict historical accuracy.
The author hopes that, while the volumes in this series may prove
interesting stories, they may also have the effect of enlisting the
sympathies of his readers in behalf of the unfortunate children whose
life is described, and of leading them to co-operate with the
praiseworthy efforts now making by the Children’s Aid Society and other
organizations to ameliorate their condition.
New York, April, 1868
CHAPTER I.
RAGGED DICK IS INTRODUCED TO THE READER
“Wake up there, youngster,” said a rough voice.
Ragged Dick opened his eyes slowly, and stared stupidly in the face of
the speaker, but did not offer to get up.
“Wake up, you young vagabond!” said the man a little impatiently; “I
suppose you’d lay there all day, if I hadn’t called you.”
“What time is it?” asked Dick.
“Seven o’clock.”
“Seven o’clock! I oughter’ve been up an hour ago. I know what ’twas
made me so precious sleepy. I went to the Old Bowery last night, and
didn’t turn in till past twelve.”
“You went to the Old Bowery? Where’d you get your money?” asked the
man, who was a porter in the employ of a firm doing business on Spruce
Street. “Made it by shines, in course. My guardian don’t allow me no
money for theatres, so I have to earn it.”
“Some boys get it easier than that,” said the porter significantly.
“You don’t catch me stealin’, if that’s what you mean,” said Dick.
“Don’t you ever steal, then?”
“No, and I wouldn’t. Lots of boys does it, but I wouldn’t.”
“Well, I’m glad to hear you say that. I believe there’s some good in
you, Dick, after all.”
“Oh, I’m a rough customer!” said Dick. “But I wouldn’t steal. It’s
mean.”
“I’m glad you think so, Dick,” and the rough voice sounded gentler than
at first. “Have you got any money to buy your breakfast?”
“No, but I’ll soon get some.”
While this conversation had been going on, Dick had got up. His
bedchamber had been a wooden box half full of straw, on which the young
boot-black had reposed his weary limbs, and slept as soundly as if it
had been a bed of down. He dumped down into the straw without taking
the trouble of undressing.
Getting up too was an equally short process. He jumped out of the box,
shook himself, picked out one or two straws that had found their way
into rents in his clothes, and, drawing a well-worn cap over his
uncombed locks, he was all ready for the business of the day.
Dick’s appearance as he stood beside the box was rather peculiar. His
pants were torn in several places, and had apparently belonged in the
first instance to a boy two sizes larger than himself. He wore a vest,
all the buttons of which were gone except two, out of which peeped a
shirt which looked as if it had been worn a month. To complete his
costume he wore a coat too long for him, dating back, if one might
judge from its general appearance, to a remote antiquity.
Washing the face and hands is usually considered proper in commencing
the day, but Dick was above such refinement. He had no particular
dislike to dirt, and did not think it necessary to remove several dark
streaks on his face and hands. But in spite of his dirt and rags there
was something about Dick that was attractive. It was easy to see that
if he had been clean and well dressed he would have been decidedly
good-looking. Some of his companions were sly, and their faces inspired
distrust; but Dick had a frank, straight-forward manner that made him a
favorite.
Dick’s business hours had commenced. He had no office to open. His
little blacking-box was ready for use, and he looked sharply in the
faces of all who passed, addressing each with, “Shine yer boots, sir?”
“How much?” asked a gentleman on his way to his office.
“Ten cents,” said Dick, dropping his box, and sinking upon his knees on
the sidewalk, flourishing his brush with the air of one skilled in his
profession.
“Ten cents! Isn’t that a little steep?”
“Well, you know ’taint all clear profit,” said Dick, who had already
set to work. “There’s the _blacking_ costs something, and I have to get
a new brush pretty often.”
“And you have a large rent too,” said the gentleman quizzically, with a
glance at a large hole in Dick’s coat.
“Yes, sir,” said Dick, always ready to joke; “I have to pay such a big
rent for my manshun up on Fifth Avenoo, that I can’t afford to take
less than ten cents a shine. I’ll give you a bully shine, sir.”
“Be quick about it, for I am in a hurry. So your house is on Fifth
Avenue, is it?”
“It isn’t anywhere else,” said Dick, and Dick spoke the truth there.
“What tailor do you patronize?” asked the gentleman, surveying Dick’s
attire.
“Would you like to go to the same one?” asked Dick, shrewdly.
“Well, no; it strikes me that he didn’t give you a very good fit.”
“This coat once belonged to General Washington,” said Dick, comically.
“He wore it all through the Revolution, and it got torn some, ’cause he
fit so hard. When he died he told his widder to give it to some smart
young feller that hadn’t got none of his own; so she gave it to me. But
if you’d like it, sir, to remember General Washington by, I’ll let you
have it reasonable.”
“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to deprive you of it. And did your
pants come from General Washington too?”
“No, they was a gift from Lewis Napoleon. Lewis had outgrown ’em and
sent ’em to me,—he’s bigger than me, and that’s why they don’t fit.”
“It seems you have distinguished friends. Now, my lad, I suppose you
would like your money.”
“I shouldn’t have any objection,” said Dick.
“I believe,” said the gentleman, examining his pocket-book, “I haven’t
got anything short of twenty-five cents. Have you got any change?”
“Not a cent,” said Dick. “All my money’s invested in the Erie
Railroad.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Shall I get the money changed, sir?”
“I can’t wait; I’ve got to meet an appointment immediately. I’ll hand
you twenty-five cents, and you can leave the change at my office any
time during the day.”
“All right, sir. Where is it?”
“No. 125 Fulton Street. Shall you remember?”
“Yes, sir. What name?”
“Greyson,—office on second floor.”
“All right, sir; I’ll bring it.”
“I wonder whether the little scamp will prove honest,” said Mr. Greyson
to himself, as he walked away. “If he does, I’ll give him my custom
regularly. If he don’t as is most likely, I shan’t mind the loss of
fifteen cents.”
Mr. Greyson didn’t understand Dick. Our ragged hero wasn’t a model boy
in all respects. I am afraid he swore sometimes, and now and then he
played tricks upon unsophisticated boys from the country, or gave a
wrong direction to honest old gentlemen unused to the city. A clergyman
in search of the Cooper Institute he once directed to the Tombs Prison,
and, following him unobserved, was highly delighted when the
unsuspicious stranger walked up the front steps of the great stone
building on Centre Street, and tried to obtain admission.
“I guess he wouldn’t want to stay long if he did get in,” thought
Ragged Dick, hitching up his pants. “Leastways I shouldn’t. They’re so
precious glad to see you that they won’t let you go, but board you
gratooitous, and never send in no bills.”
Another of Dick’s faults was his extravagance. Being always wide-awake
and ready for business, he earned enough to have supported him
comfortably and respectably. There were not a few young clerks who
employed Dick from time to time in his professional capacity, who
scarcely earned as much as he, greatly as their style and dress
exceeded his. But Dick was careless of his earnings. Where they went he
could hardly have told himself. However much he managed to earn during
the day, all was generally spent before morning. He was fond of going
to the Old Bowery Theatre, and to Tony Pastor’s, and if he had any
money left afterwards, he would invite some of his friends in somewhere
to have an oyster-stew; so it seldom happened that he commenced the day
with a penny.
Then I am sorry to add that Dick had formed the habit of smoking. This
cost him considerable, for Dick was rather fastidious about his cigars,
and wouldn’t smoke the cheapest. Besides, having a liberal nature, he
was generally ready to treat his companions. But of course the expense
was the smallest objection. No boy of fourteen can smoke without being
affected injuriously. Men are frequently injured by smoking, and boys
always. But large numbers of the newsboys and boot-blacks form the
habit. Exposed to the cold and wet they find that it warms them up, and
the self-indulgence grows upon them. It is not uncommon to see a little
boy, too young to be out of his mother’s sight, smoking with all the
apparent satisfaction of a veteran smoker.
There was another way in which Dick sometimes lost money. There was a
noted gambling-house on Baxter Street, which in the evening was
sometimes crowded with these juvenile gamesters, who staked their hard
earnings, generally losing of course, and refreshing themselves from
time to time with a vile mixture of liquor at two cents a glass.
Sometimes Dick strayed in here, and played with the rest.
I have mentioned Dick’s faults and defects, because I want it
understood, to begin with, that I don’t consider him a model boy. But
there were some good points about him nevertheless. He was above doing
anything mean or dishonorable. He would not steal, or cheat, or impose
upon younger boys, but was frank and straight-forward, manly and
self-reliant. His nature was a noble one, and had saved him from all
mean faults. I hope my young readers will like him as I do, without
being blind to his faults. Perhaps, although he was only a boot-black,
they may find something in him to imitate.
And now, having fairly introduced Ragged Dick to my young readers, I
must refer them to the next chapter for his further adventures.