NINE MONTHS LATER
The next morning Fosdick rose early, put on his new suit, and, after
getting breakfast, set out for the Broadway store in which he had
obtained a position. He left his little blacking-box in the room.
“It’ll do to brush my own shoes,” he said. “Who knows but I may have to
come back to it again?”
“No danger,” said Dick; “I’ll take care of the feet, and you’ll have to
look after the heads, now you’re in a hat-store.”
“I wish you had a place too,” said Fosdick.
“I don’t know enough yet,” said Dick. “Wait till I’ve gradooated.”
“And can put A.B. after your name.”
“What’s that?”
“It stands for Bachelor of Arts. It’s a degree that students get when
they graduate from college.”
“Oh,” said Dick, “I didn’t know but it meant A Boot-black. I can put
that after my name now. Wouldn’t Dick Hunter, A.B., sound tip-top?”
“I must be going,” said Fosdick. “It won’t do for me to be late the
very first morning.”
“That’s the difference between you and me,” said Dick. “I’m my own
boss, and there aint no one to find fault with me if I’m late. But I
might as well be goin’ too. There’s a gent as comes down to his store
pretty early that generally wants a shine.”
The two boys parted at the Park. Fosdick crossed it, and proceeded to
the hat-store, while Dick, hitching up his pants, began to look about
him for a customer. It was seldom that Dick had to wait long. He was
always on the alert, and if there was any business to do he was always
sure to get his share of it. He had now a stronger inducement than ever
to attend strictly to business; his little stock of money in the
savings bank having been nearly exhausted by his liberality to his
room-mate. He determined to be as economical as possible, and moreover
to study as hard as he could, that he might be able to follow Fosdick’s
example, and obtain a place in a store or counting-room. As there were
no striking incidents occurring in our hero’s history within the next
nine months, I propose to pass over that period, and recount the
progress he made in that time.
Fosdick was still at the hat-store, having succeeded in giving perfect
satisfaction to Mr. Henderson. His wages had just been raised to five
dollars a week. He and Dick still kept house together at Mrs. Mooney’s
lodging-house, and lived very frugally, so that both were able to save
up money. Dick had been unusually successful in business. He had
several regular patrons, who had been drawn to him by his ready wit,
and quick humor, and from two of them he had received presents of
clothing, which had saved him any expense on that score. His income had
averaged quite seven dollars a week in addition to this. Of this amount
he was now obliged to pay one dollar weekly for the room which he and
Fosdick occupied, but he was still able to save one half the remainder.
At the end of nine months therefore, or thirty-nine weeks, it will be
seen that he had accumulated no less a sum than one hundred and
seventeen dollars. Dick may be excused for feeling like a capitalist
when he looked at the long row of deposits in his little bank-book.
There were other boys in the same business who had earned as much
money, but they had had little care for the future, and spent as they
went along, so that few could boast a bank-account, however small.
“You’ll be a rich man some time, Dick,” said Henry Fosdick, one
evening.
“And live on Fifth Avenoo,” said Dick.
“Perhaps so. Stranger things have happened.”
“Well,” said Dick, “if such a misfortin’ should come upon me I should
bear it like a man. When you see a Fifth Avenoo manshun for sale for a
hundred and seventeen dollars, just let me know and I’ll buy it as an
investment.”
“Two hundred and fifty years ago you might have bought one for that
price, probably. Real estate wasn’t very high among the Indians.”
“Just my luck,” said Dick; “I was born too late. I’d orter have been an
Indian, and lived in splendor on my present capital.”
“I’m afraid you’d have found your present business rather unprofitable
at that time.”
But Dick had gained something more valuable than money. He had studied
regularly every evening, and his improvement had been marvellous. He
could now read well, write a fair hand, and had studied arithmetic as
far as Interest. Besides this he had obtained some knowledge of grammar
and geography. If some of my boy readers, who have been studying for
years, and got no farther than this, should think it incredible that
Dick, in less than a year, and studying evenings only, should have
accomplished it, they must remember that our hero was very much in
earnest in his desire to improve. He knew that, in order to grow up
respectable, he must be well advanced, and he was willing to work. But
then the reader must not forget that Dick was naturally a smart boy.
His street education had sharpened his faculties, and taught him to
rely upon himself. He knew that it would take him a long time to reach
the goal which he had set before him, and he had patience to keep on
trying. He knew that he had only himself to depend upon, and he
determined to make the most of himself,—a resolution which is the
secret of success in nine cases out of ten.
“Dick,” said Fosdick, one evening, after they had completed their
studies, “I think you’ll have to get another teacher soon.”
“Why?” asked Dick, in some surprise. “Have you been offered a more
loocrative position?”
“No,” said Fosdick, “but I find I have taught you all I know myself.
You are now as good a scholar as I am.”
“Is that true?” said Dick, eagerly, a flush of gratification coloring
his brown cheek.
“Yes,” said Fosdick. “You’ve made wonderful progress. I propose, now
that evening schools have begun, that we join one, and study together
through the winter.”
“All right,” said Dick. “I’d be willin’ to go now; but when I first
began to study I was ashamed to have anybody know that I was so
ignorant. Do you really mean, Fosdick, that I know as much as you?”
“Yes, Dick, it’s true.”
“Then I’ve got you to thank for it,” said Dick, earnestly. “You’ve made
me what I am.”
“And haven’t you paid me, Dick?”
“By payin’ the room-rent,” said Dick, impulsively. “What’s that? It
isn’t half enough. I wish you’d take half my money; you deserve it.”
“Thank you, Dick, but you’re too generous. You’ve more than paid me.
Who was it took my part when all the other boys imposed upon me? And
who gave me money to buy clothes, and so got me my situation?”
“Oh, that’s nothing!” said Dick.
“It’s a great deal, Dick. I shall never forget it. But now it seems to
me you might try to get a situation yourself.”
“Do I know enough?”
“You know as much as I do.”
“Then I’ll try,” said Dick, decidedly.
“I wish there was a place in our store,” said Fosdick. “It would be
pleasant for us to be together.”
“Never mind,” said Dick; “there’ll be plenty of other chances. P’r’aps
A. T. Stewart might like a partner. I wouldn’t ask more’n a quarter of
the profits.”
“Which would be a very liberal proposal on your part,” said Fosdick,
smiling. “But perhaps Mr. Stewart might object to a partner living on
Mott Street.”
“I’d just as lieves move to Fifth Avenoo,” said Dick. “I aint got no
prejudices in favor of Mott Street.”
“Nor I,” said Fosdick, “and in fact I have been thinking it might be a
good plan for us to move as soon as we could afford. Mrs. Mooney
doesn’t keep the room quite so neat as she might.”
“No,” said Dick. “She aint got no prejudices against dirt. Look at that
towel.”
Dick held up the article indicated, which had now seen service nearly a
week, and hard service at that,—Dick’s avocation causing him to be
rather hard on towels.
“Yes,” said Fosdick, “I’ve got about tired of it. I guess we can find
some better place without having to pay much more. When we move, you
must let me pay my share of the rent.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Dick. “Do you propose to move to Fifth
Avenoo?”
“Not just at present, but to some more agreeable neighborhood than
this. We’ll wait till you get a situation, and then we can decide.”
A few days later, as Dick was looking about for customers in the
neighborhood of the Park, his attention was drawn to a fellow
boot-black, a boy about a year younger than himself, who appeared to
have been crying.
“What’s the matter, Tom?” asked Dick. “Haven’t you had luck to-day?”
“Pretty good,” said the boy; “but we’re havin’ hard times at home.
Mother fell last week and broke her arm, and to-morrow we’ve got to pay
the rent, and if we don’t the landlord says he’ll turn us out.”
“Haven’t you got anything except what you earn?” asked Dick.
“No,” said Tom, “not now. Mother used to earn three or four dollars a
week; but she can’t do nothin’ now, and my little sister and brother
are too young.”
Dick had quick sympathies. He had been so poor himself, and obliged to
submit to so many privations that he knew from personal experience how
hard it was. Tom Wilkins he knew as an excellent boy who never
squandered his money, but faithfully carried it home to his mother. In
the days of his own extravagance and shiftlessness he had once or twice
asked Tom to accompany him to the Old Bowery or Tony Pastor’s, but Tom
had always steadily refused.
“I’m sorry for you, Tom,” he said. “How much do you owe for rent?”
“Two weeks now,” said Tom.
“How much is it a week?”
“Two dollars a week—that makes four.”
“Have you got anything towards it?”
“No; I’ve had to spend all my money for food for mother and the rest of
us. I’ve had pretty hard work to do that. I don’t know what we’ll do. I
haven’t any place to go to, and I’m afraid mother’ll get cold in her
arm.”
“Can’t you borrow the money somewhere?” asked Dick.
Tom shook his head despondingly.
“All the people I know are as poor as I am,” said he. “They’d help me
if they could, but it’s hard work for them to get along themselves.”
“I’ll tell you what, Tom,” said Dick, impulsively, “I’ll stand your
friend.”
“Have you got any money?” asked Tom, doubtfully.
“Got any money!” repeated Dick. “Don’t you know that I run a bank on my
own account? How much is it you need?”
“Four dollars,” said Tom. “If we don’t pay that before to-morrow night,
out we go. You haven’t got as much as that, have you?”
“Here are three dollars,” said Dick, drawing out his pocket-book. “I’ll
let you have the rest to-morrow, and maybe a little more.”
“You’re a right down good fellow, Dick,” said Tom; “but won’t you want
it yourself?”
“Oh, I’ve got some more,” said Dick.
“Maybe I’ll never be able to pay you.”
“S’pose you don’t,” said Dick; “I guess I won’t fail.”
“I won’t forget it, Dick. I hope I’ll be able to do somethin’ for you
sometime.”
“All right,” said Dick. “I’d ought to help you. I haven’t got no mother
to look out for. I wish I had.”
There was a tinge of sadness in his tone, as he pronounced the last
four words; but Dick’s temperament was sanguine, and he never gave way
to unavailing sadness. Accordingly he began to whistle as he turned
away, only adding, “I’ll see you to-morrow, Tom.”
The three dollars which Dick had handed to Tom Wilkins were his savings
for the present week. It was now Thursday afternoon. His rent, which
amounted to a dollar, he expected to save out of the earnings of Friday
and Saturday. In order to give Tom the additional assistance he had
promised, Dick would be obliged to have recourse to his bank-savings.
He would not have ventured to trench upon it for any other reason but
this. But he felt that it would be selfish to allow Tom and his mother
to suffer when he had it in his power to relieve them. But Dick was
destined to be surprised, and that in a disagreeable manner, when he
reached home.