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RAGGED DICK SERIES
FAME AND FORTUNE;
OR,
THE PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER.
BY HORATIO ALGER, Jr.
AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK," "FRANK'S CAMPAIGN," "PAUL PRESCOTT'S
CHARGE," "CHARLIE CODMAN'S CRUISE," ETC.
LORING, Publisher.
Cor. Bromfield and Washington Streets.
BOSTON.
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1868, by
A. K. LORING, In the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the
District of Massachusetts.
To
MY FATHER,
FROM WHOM I HAVE NEVER FAILED TO RECEIVE
LITERARY SYMPATHY AND ENCOURAGEMENT,
This Volume
IS DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
"FAME AND FORTUNE," like its predecessor, "Ragged Dick," was
contributed as a serial story to the "Schoolmate," a popular juvenile
magazine published in Boston. The generous commendations of the first
volume by the Press, and by private correspondents whose position makes
their approval of value, have confirmed the author in his purpose to
write a series of stories intended to illustrate the life and experiences
of the friendless and vagrant children to be found in all our cities,
numbering in New York alone over twelve thousand.
In the preparation of the different volumes, the requisite information
will be gathered from personal observation mainly, supplemented,
however, by facts communicated by those who have been brought into
practical relations with the class of children whose lives are
portrayed.
The volumes might readily be made more matter-of-fact, but the author
has sought to depict the inner life and represent the feelings and
emotions of these little waifs of city life, and hopes thus to excite a
deeper and more widespread sympathy in the public mind, as well as to
exert a salutary influence upon the class of whom he is writing, by
setting before them inspiring examples of what energy, ambition, and an
honest purpose may achieve, even in their case.
In order to reach as large a number of these boys as possible, the
publisher is authorized, on application, to send a gratuitous copy of
the two volumes of the "Ragged Dick Series" already issued, to any
regularly organized Newsboys' Lodge within the United States.
NEW YORK, _December_, 1868.
FAME AND FORTUNE;
OR, THE
PROGRESS OF RICHARD HUNTER.
CHAPTER I.
A BOARDING-HOUSE IN BLEECKER STREET.
"Well, Fosdick, this is a little better than our old room in Mott
Street," said Richard Hunter, looking complacently about him.
"You're right, Dick," said his friend. "This carpet's rather nicer than
the ragged one Mrs. Mooney supplied us with. The beds are neat and
comfortable, and I feel better satisfied, even if we do have to pay
twice as much for it."
The room which yielded so much satisfaction to the two boys was on the
fourth floor of a boarding-house in Bleecker Street. No doubt many of my
young readers, who are accustomed to elegant homes, would think it very
plain; but neither Richard nor his friend had been used to anything as
good. They had been thrown upon their own exertions at an early age, and
had a hard battle to fight with poverty and ignorance. Those of my
readers who are familiar with Richard Hunter's experiences when he was
"Ragged Dick," will easily understand what a great rise in the world it
was for him to have a really respectable home. For years he had led a
vagabond life about the streets, as a boot-black, sleeping in old
wagons, or boxes, or wherever he could find a lodging gratis. It was
only twelve months since a chance meeting with an intelligent boy caused
him to form the resolution to grow up respectable. By diligent evening
study with Henry Fosdick, whose advantages had been much greater than
his own, assisted by a natural quickness and an unusual aptitude for
learning, he had, in a year, learned to read and write well, and had,
besides, made considerable progress in arithmetic. Still he would have
found it difficult to obtain a situation if he had not been the means of
saving from drowning the young child of Mr. James Rockwell, a wealthy
merchant in business on Pearl Street, who at once, out of gratitude for
the service rendered, engaged our hero in his employ at the unusual
compensation, for a beginner, of ten dollars a week. His friend, Henry
Fosdick, was in a hat store on Broadway, but thus far only received six
dollars a week.
Feeling that it was time to change their quarters to a more respectable
portion of the city, they one morning rang the bell of Mrs. Browning's
boarding-house, on Bleecker Street.
They were shown into the parlor, and soon a tall lady, with flaxen
ringlets and a thin face, came in.
"Well, young gentleman, what can I do for you?" she said, regarding them
attentively.
"My friend and I are looking for a boarding-place," said Henry Fosdick.
"Have you any rooms vacant?"
"What sort of a room would you like?" asked Mrs. Browning.
"We cannot afford to pay a high price. We should be satisfied with a
small room."
"You will room together, I suppose?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"I have a room vacant on the third floor, quite a good-sized one, for
which I should charge you seven dollars apiece. There is a room on the
fourth floor, not so large, which you can have for five dollars each."
"I think we'll look at that," said Richard Hunter.
"Very well, then follow me."
Mrs. Browning preceded the boys to the fourth floor, where she opened
the door of a neat room, provided with two single beds, a good-sized
mirror, a bureau, a warm woollen carpet, a washstand, and an empty
bookcase for books. There was a closet also, the door of which she
opened, showing a row of pegs for clothing.
"How do you like it?" asked Fosdick, in a low voice, turning to his
companion.
"It's bully," said Dick, in admiring accents.
I may as well say here, what the reader will find out as we proceed,
that our hero, in spite of his advance in learning, had not got entirely
rid of some street phrases, which he had caught from the companions with
whom he had for years associated.
"Five dollars is rather a steep price," said Fosdick, in a low voice.
"You know I don't get but six in all."
"I'll tell you what, Fosdick," said Dick; "it'll be ten dollars for the
two of us. I'll pay six, and you shall pay four. That'll be fair,--won't
it?"
"No, Dick, I ought to pay my half."
"You can make it up by helpin' me when I run against a snag, in my
studies."
"You know as much as I do now, Dick."
"No, I don't. I haven't any more ideas of grammar than a broomstick. You
know I called 'cat' a conjunction the other day. Now, you shall help me
in grammar, for I'm blessed if I know whether I'm a noun or an
adjective, and I'll pay a dollar towards your board."
"But, Dick, I'm willing to help you for nothing. It isn't fair to charge
you a dollar a week for my help."
"Why isn't it? Aint I to get ten dollars a week, and shan't I have four
dollars over, while you will only have two? I think I ought to give you
one more, and then we'd be even."
"No, Dick; I wouldn't agree to that. If you insist upon it, we'll do as
you propose; but, if ever I am able, I will make it up to you."
"Well, young gentleman, what have you decided?" asked Mrs. Browning.
"We'll take the room," said Dick, promptly.
"When do you wish to commence?"
"To-day. We'll come this evening."
"Very well. I suppose you can furnish me with references. You're in
business, I suppose?"
"I am in Henderson's hat and cap store, No. ---- Broadway," said Henry
Fosdick.
"And I am going into Rockwell & Cooper's, on Pearl Street, next Monday,"
said Dick, with a sense of importance. He felt that this was very
different from saying, "I black boots in Chatham Square."
"You look like good boys," said Mrs. Browning, "and I've no doubt you're
honest; but I'm a widow, dependent on my boarders, and I have to be
particular. Only last week a young man went off, owing me four weeks'
board, and I don't suppose he'll ever show his face again. He got a good
salary, too; but he spent most of it on cigars and billiards. Now, how
can I be sure you will pay me your board regular?"
"We'll pay it every week in advance," said Dick, promptly. "Them's our
best references," and he produced his bank-book, showing a deposit of
over one hundred dollars to his credit in the savings bank, motioning at
the same time to Fosdick to show his.
"You don't mean to say you've saved all that from your earnings?" said
Mrs. Browning, surprised.
"Yes," said Dick, "and I might have saved more if I'd begun sooner."
"How long has it taken you to save it up?"
"About nine months. My friend hasn't saved so much, because his salary
has been smaller."
"I won't require you to pay in advance," said Mrs. Browning, graciously.
"I am sure I can trust you. Boys who have formed so good a habit of
saving can be depended upon. I will get the room ready for you, and you
may bring your trunks when you please. My hours are, breakfast at seven,
lunch at half-past twelve, and dinner at six."
"We shan't be able to come to lunch," said Fosdick. "Our stores are too
far off."
"Then I will make half a dollar difference with each of you, making nine
dollars a week instead of ten."
The boys went downstairs, well pleased with the arrangement they had
made. Dick insisted upon paying five dollars and a half of the joint
weekly expense, leaving three and a half to Fosdick. This would leave
the latter two dollars and a half out of his salary, while Dick would
have left four and a half. With economy, both thought they could
continue to lay up something.
There was one little embarrassment which suggested itself to the boys.
Neither of them had a trunk, having been able to stow away all their
wardrobe without difficulty in the drawers of the bureau with which
their room in Mott Street was provided.
"Why are you like an elephant, Fosdick?" asked Dick, jocosely, as they
emerged into the street.
"I don't know, I'm sure."
"Because you haven't got any trunk except what you carry round with
you."
"We'll have to get trunks, or perhaps carpet-bags would do."
"No," said Dick, decisively, "it aint 'spectable to be without a trunk,
and we're going to be 'spectable now."
"_Re_spectable, Dick."
"All right,--respectable, then. Let's go and buy each a trunk."
This advice seemed reasonable, and Fosdick made no objection. The boys
succeeded in getting two decent trunks at three dollars apiece, and
ordered them sent to their room in Mott Street. It must be remembered by
my readers, who may regard the prices given as too low, that the events
here recorded took place several years before the war, when one dollar
was equal to two at the present day.
At the close of the afternoon Fosdick got away from the store an hour
earlier, and the boys, preceded by an expressman bearing their trunks,
went to their new home. They had just time to wash and comb their hair,
when the bell rang for dinner, and they went down to the dining-room.
Nearly all the boarders were assembled, and were sitting around a long
table spread with a variety of dishes. Mrs. Browning was a good manager,
and was wise enough to set a table to which her boarders could not
object.
"This way, if you please, young gentlemen," she said, pointing to two
adjoining seats on the opposite side of the table.
Our hero, it must be confessed, felt a little awkward, not being used to
the formality of a boarding-house, and feeling that the eyes of twenty
boarders were upon him. His confusion was increased, when, after taking
his seat, he saw sitting opposite him, a young man whose boots he
remembered to have blacked only a week before. Observing Dick's look,
Mrs. Browning proceeded to introduce him to the other.
"Mr. Clifton," she said, "let me introduce Mr. Hunter and his friend,
Mr. Fosdick,--two new members of our family."
Dick bowed rather awkwardly, and the young man said, "Glad to make your
acquaintance, Mr. Hunter. Your face looks quite familiar. I think I must
have seen you before."
"I think I've seen _you_ before," said Dick.
"It's strange I can't think where," said the young man, who had not the
least idea that the well-dressed boy before him was the boot-black who
had brushed his boots near the Park railings the Monday previous. Dick
did not think proper to enlighten him. He was not ashamed of his past
occupation; but it was past, and he wanted to be valued for what he
might become, not for what he had been.
"Are you in business, Mr. Hunter?" inquired Mr. Clifton.
It sounded strange to our hero to be called Mr. Hunter; but he rather
liked it. He felt that it sounded respectable.
"I am at Rockwell & Cooper's, on Pearl Street," said Dick.
"I know the place. It is a large firm."
Dick was glad to hear it, but did not say that he knew nothing about it.
The dinner was a good one, much better than the two boys were accustomed
to get at the eating-houses which in times past they had frequented.
Dick noticed carefully how the others did, and acquitted himself quite
creditably, so that no one probably suspected that he had not always
been used to as good a table.
When the boys rose from the table, Mrs. Browning said, "Won't you walk
into the parlor, young gentlemen? We generally have a little music after
dinner. Some of the young ladies are musical. Do either of you play?"
Dick said he sometimes played marbles; at which a young lady laughed,
and Dick, catching the infection, laughed too.
"Miss Peyton, Mr. Hunter," introduced Mrs. Browning.
Miss Peyton made a sweeping courtesy, to which Dick responded by a bow,
turning red with embarrassment.
"Don't you sing, Mr. Hunter?" asked the young lady.
"I aint much on warblin'," said Dick, forgetting for the moment where he
was.
This droll answer, which Miss Peyton supposed to be intentionally funny,
convulsed the young lady with merriment.
"Perhaps your friend sings?" she said.
Thereupon Fosdick was also introduced. To Dick's astonishment, he
answered that he did a little. It was accordingly proposed that they
should enter the next room, where there was a piano. The young lady
played some well-known melodies, and Fosdick accompanied her with his
voice, which proved to be quite sweet and melodious.
"You are quite an acquisition to our circle," said Miss Peyton,
graciously. "Have you boarded in this neighborhood before?"
"No," said Fosdick; "at another part of the city."
He was afraid she would ask him in what street, but fortunately she
forbore.
In about half an hour the boys went up to their own room, where they
lighted the gas, and, opening their trunks, placed the contents in the
bureau-drawers.
"Blessed if it don't seem strange," said Dick, "for a feller brought up
as I have been to live in this style. I wonder what Miss Peyton would
have said if she had known what I had been."
"You haven't any cause to be ashamed of it, Dick. It wasn't a very
desirable business, but it was honest. Now you can do something better.
You must adapt yourself to your new circumstances."
"So I mean to," said Dick. "I'm going in for respectability. When I get
to be sixty years old, I'm goin' to wear gold spectacles and walk round
this way, like the old gentlemen I see most every day on Wall Street."
Dick threw his head back, and began to walk round the room with a
pompous step and an air of great importance.
"I hope we'll both rise, Dick; we've got well started now, and there've
been other boys, worse off than we are, who have worked hard, and risen
to FAME AND FORTUNE."
"We can try," said Dick. "Now let us go out and have a walk."
"All right," said Fosdick.
They went downstairs, and out into the street. Accustomed to the lower
part of the city, there was a novelty in the evening aspect of Broadway,
with its shops and theatres glittering with light. They sauntered
carelessly along, looking in at the shop-windows, feeling more and more
pleased with their change of location. All at once Dick's attention was
drawn to a gentleman accompanied by a boy of about his own size, who was
walking a little in advance.
"Stop a minute," he said to Fosdick, and hurrying forward placed his
hand on the boy's arm.
"How are you, Frank?" he said.
Frank Whitney, for it was he, turned in some surprise and looked at
Dick, but did not at first recognize in the neat, well-dressed boy of
fifteen the ragged boot-black he had encountered a year before.
"I don't think I remember you," he said, surveying Dick with a puzzled
expression.
"Perhaps you'd remember me better if I had on my Washington coat and
Napoleon pants," said our hero, with a smile. He felt rather pleased to
find he was not recognized, since it was a compliment to his improved
appearance.
"What!" exclaimed Frank, his face lighting up with pleasure, "is it
possible that you are--"
"Richard Hunter, at your service," said our hero; "but when you knew me
I was Ragged Dick."