DICK FALLS INTO A TRAP.
One evening, when Dick and Fosdick returned from their respective
stores, a surprise awaited them.
"The postman left some letters for you," said the servant, as she opened
the door to admit them.
"Maybe they're from the tax-collectors," said Dick. "That's the
misfortun' of being men of property. What was your tax last year,
Fosdick?"
"I don't remember such trifles," said Fosdick.
"I don't think they was taxes," said the girl, seriously; "they looked
as if they was from a young lady."
"Very likely they are from Fosdick's wife," said Dick. "She's
rusticatin' in the country for the benefit of her health."
"Maybe they're from yours, Mr. Hunter," said the girl, laughing.
"No," said Dick, gravely, "I'm a disconsolate widower, which accounts
for my low spirits most of the time, and my poor appetite. Where are the
letters?"
"I left them on the bureau in your room," said the servant. "They come
this afternoon at three o'clock."
Both Fosdick and Dick felt not a little curious as to who could have
written them letters, and hastened upstairs. Entering their chamber,
they saw two very neat little notes, in perfumed French envelopes, and
with the initial G in colors on the back. On opening them they read the
following in a neat, feminine, fine handwriting. As both were alike, it
will be sufficient to give Dick's.
"Miss Ida Greyson presents her compliments to Mr. Richard Hunter,
and solicits the pleasure of his company on Thursday evening next,
at a little birthday party.
"_No._ -- _West Twenty-Fourth Street._"
"We're getting fashionable," said Dick. "I didn't use to attend many
parties when we lived in Mott Street and blacked boots for a livin'. I'm
afraid I shan't know how to behave."
"I shall feel a little bashful," said Fosdick; "but I suppose we've got
to begin some time."
"Of course," said Dick. "The important position we hold in society makes
it necessary. How'll I be able to hold levees when I'm mayor, if I don't
go into society now?"
"Very true," said Fosdick; "I don't expect to occupy any such position;
but we ought to go in acknowledgment of Mr. Greyson's kindness."
Mr. Greyson was the teacher of the Sunday-school class of which both
Dick and Fosdick were members. His recommendation had procured Fosdick
his present place, and he had manifested his kindness in various ways.
Those who have read "Ragged Dick" will remember that he had a very
sprightly and engaging daughter of ten years of age, who seemed to have
taken an especial fancy to Dick. Being wealthy, his kindness had been of
great service to both boys, inspiring them with self-respect, and
encouraging them to persevere in their efforts to raise themselves to a
higher position.
The dinner-bell rang just as the boys had finished their discussion, and
they went down and took places at the table.
Soon Miss Peyton came sailing in, shaking her ringlets coquettishly. She
was proud of these ringlets, and was never tired of trying their
fascinations upon gentlemen. But somehow they had not succeeded in
winning a husband.
"Good-evening, Mr. Hunter," said she. "You look as if you had had good
news."
"Do I?" said Dick. "Perhaps you can tell what it is."
"I know how it came," said Miss Peyton, significantly.
"Then I hope you won't keep me in suspense any longer than you can
help."
"Perhaps you'd rather I wouldn't mention before company."
"Never mind," said Dick. "Don't have any regard to my feelin's. They're
tough, and can stand a good deal."
"How do you like the letter G?" asked Miss Peyton, slyly.
"Very much," said Dick, "as long as it behaves itself. What is your
favorite letter?"
"Don't think I'm going to tell you, Mr. Hunter. That was a pretty little
note, and in a young lady's hand too."
"Yes," said Dick. "Perhaps you'd like to see it."
"You wouldn't show it to me on any account, I know."
"You may see it if you like," said Dick.
"May I, really? I should like to very much; but would the young lady
like it?"
"I don't think she'd mind. She's written one to my friend Fosdick just
like it."
Dick passed the invitation across the table.
"It's very pretty indeed," said Miss Peyton. "And is Miss Ida Greyson
very handsome?"
"I'm no judge of beauty," said Dick.
"So she lives in West Twenty-Fourth Street. Is her father rich?"
"I don't know how rich," said Dick; "but my impression is that his taxes
last year were more than mine."
"I know now what your favorite letters are," said Miss Peyton. "They are
I. G."
"I. G. are very well as long as you don't put P. before them," said
Dick. "Thank you for another cup of tea, Mrs. Browning."
"I should think you'd need some tea after such a brilliant effort,
Hunter," said Mr. Clifton, from across the table.
"Yes," said Dick. "I find my brain gets exhausted every now and then by
my intellectual efforts. Aint you troubled that way?"
"Can't say I am. Don't you want to go out and try a game of billiards
this evening?"
"No, thank you. I've got to study."
"I expect to see you a college professor some of these days."
"I haven't made up my mind yet," said Dick. "I'm open to an offer, as
the oyster remarked when he was placed on the table. If I can serve my
fellow-men best by bein' a college professor, and gettin' a big salary,
I'm willin' to sacrifice my private feelin's for the public good."
"Do you agree with your friend, Mr. Fosdick?" said Miss Peyton. "Won't
you favor us with your views?"
"I have none worth mentioning," said Fosdick. "I leave my friend to do
the talking, while I attend to the eating."
"Mr. Hunter's remarks are very entertaining," said Miss Peyton.
"Thank you," said Dick; "but my friend prefers a different kind of
entertainment."
The boys rose from the table, and went up to their room to look over the
evening's lessons. They were quite pleased with their new teacher, whom
they found not only competent for his task, but interested in promoting
their progress. He was able to help them readily out of their
difficulties, and encouraged them to persevere. So they came to look
forward to their evening lessons not as tasks, but as pleasant
exercises.
"It's strange," said Dick, one evening after the teacher had left them;
"I used to enjoy goin' to the Old Bowery so much. I went two or three
times a week sometimes. Now I would a good deal rather stay at home and
study."
"Then you didn't have a home, and the lighted theatre must have been
much pleasanter than the cold and cheerless streets."
"Yes, that was it. I used to get so tired sometimes of having no home to
go to, and nobody to speak to that I cared about."
"You'd hardly like to go back to the old life, Dick?"
"No, it would come pretty hard to me now. I didn't seem to mind it so
much then."
"Because you had never known anything better."
"No. It was a lucky day when I met you, Fosdick. I'd never have had the
patience to learn. Readin', or tryin' to read, always gave me the
headache."
"You always leave off the last letter in such words as 'reading,' Dick.
You should be more careful, now that you associate with educated
persons."
"I know it, Fosdick, but I'm so used to droppin'--I mean dropping--the g
that it comes natural. I will try to remember it. But about this
party,--shall we have to get new clothes?"
"No, we have each a nice suit, and we shan't be expected to dress in the
height of the fashion."
"I wish it was over. I dread it."
"So do I a little; but I think we shall enjoy it. Ida is a nice girl."
"That's so. If I had a sister I'd like her to be like Ida."
"Perhaps she'd like a brother like you. I notice she seems to fancy your
company."
"I hope you're not jealous, Fosdick. You can be a brother to Miss
Peyton, you know."
Fosdick laughed. "There's no chance for me there either," he said. "She
evidently prefers you."
"I'll adopt her for my aunt if it'll be gratifying to her feelings,"
said Dick; "but I aint partial to ringlets as a general thing."
It is well perhaps that Miss Peyton did not hear these remarks, as she
cherished the idea that both Fosdick and Dick were particularly pleased
with her.
A day or two afterwards Dick was walking leisurely through Chatham
Street, about half past one o'clock. He was allowed an hour, about noon,
to go out and get some lunch, and he was now on his way from the
restaurant which he usually frequented. As it was yet early, he paused
before a window to look at something which attracted his attention.
While standing here he became conscious of a commotion in his immediate
neighborhood. Then he felt a hand thrust into the side-pocket of his
coat, and instantly withdrawn. Looking up, he saw Micky Maguire dodging
round the corner. He put his hand into his pocket mechanically, and drew
out a pocket-book.
Just then a stout, red-faced man came up puffing, and evidently in no
little excitement.
"Seize that boy!" he gasped, pointing to Dick. "He's got my
pocket-book."
Contrary to the usual rule in such cases, a policeman did happen to be
about, and, following directions, stepped up, and laid his hand on
Dick's shoulder.
"You must go with me, my fine fellow," he said "Hand over that
pocket-book, if you please."
"What's all this about?" said Dick. "Here's the pocket-book, if it is
yours. I'm sure I don't want it."
"You're a cool hand," said the guardian of the public peace. "If you
don't want it, what made you steal it from this gentleman's pocket?"
"I didn't take it," said Dick, shortly.
"Is this the boy that stole your pocket-book?" demanded the policeman of
the red-faced man, who had now recovered his breath.
"It's the very young rascal. Does he pretend to deny it?"
"Of course he does. They always do."
"When it was found on him too! I never knew such barefaced impudence."
"Stop a minute," said Dick, "while I explain. I was standing looking in
at that window, when I felt something thrust into my pocket. I took it
out and found it to be that pocket-book. Just then that gentleman came
up, and charged me with the theft."
"That's a likely story," said the officer. "If any one put the
pocket-book into your pocket, it shows you were a confederate of his.
You'll have to come with me."
And poor Dick, for the first time in his life, was marched to the
station-house, followed by his accuser, and a gang of boys. Among these
last, but managing to keep at a respectful distance, was Micky Maguire.