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Ragged Dick

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<h2>CHAPTER XV. DICK SECURES A TUTOR</h2> The next morning Dick was unusually successful, having plenty to do, and receiving for one job twenty-five cents,—the gentleman refusing to take change. Then flashed upon Dick’s mind the thought that he had not yet returned the change due to the gentleman whose boots he had blacked on the morning of his introduction to the reader. “What’ll he think of me?” said Dick to himself. “I hope he won’t think I’m mean enough to keep the money.” Now Dick was scrupulously honest, and though the temptation to be otherwise had often been strong, he had always resisted it. He was not willing on any account to keep money which did not belong to him, and he immediately started for 125 Fulton Street (the address which had been given him) where he found Mr. Greyson’s name on the door of an office on the first floor. The door being open, Dick walked in. “Is Mr. Greyson in?” he asked of a clerk who sat on a high stool before a desk. “Not just now. He’ll be in soon. Will you wait?” “Yes,” said Dick. “Very well; take a seat then.” Dick sat down and took up the morning “Tribune,” but presently came to a word of four syllables, which he pronounced to himself a “sticker,” and laid it down. But he had not long to wait, for five minutes later Mr. Greyson entered. “Did you wish to speak to me, my lad?” said he to Dick, whom in his new clothes he did not recognize. “Yes, sir,” said Dick. “I owe you some money.” “Indeed!” said Mr. Greyson, pleasantly; “that’s an agreeable surprise. I didn’t know but you had come for some. So you are a debtor of mine, and not a creditor?” “I b’lieve that’s right,” said Dick, drawing fifteen cents from his pocket, and placing in Mr. Greyson’s hand. “Fifteen cents!” repeated he, in some surprise. “How do you happen to be indebted to me in that amount?” “You gave me a quarter for a-shinin’ your boots, yesterday mornin’, and couldn’t wait for the change. I meant to have brought it before, but I forgot all about it till this mornin’.” “It had quite slipped my mind also. But you don’t look like the boy I employed. If I remember rightly he wasn’t as well dressed as you.” “No,” said Dick. “I was dressed for a party, then, but the clo’es was too well ventilated to be comfortable in cold weather.” “You’re an honest boy,” said Mr. Greyson. “Who taught you to be honest?” “Nobody,” said Dick. “But it’s mean to cheat and steal. I’ve always knowed that.” “Then you’ve got ahead of some of our business men. Do you read the Bible?” “No,” said Dick. “I’ve heard it’s a good book, but I don’t know much about it.” “You ought to go to some Sunday School. Would you be willing?” “Yes,” said Dick, promptly. “I want to grow up ’spectable. But I don’t know where to go.” “Then I’ll tell you. The church I attend is at the corner of Fifth Avenue and Twenty-first Street.” “I’ve seen it,” said Dick. “I have a class in the Sunday School there. If you’ll come next Sunday, I’ll take you into my class, and do what I can to help you.” “Thank you,” said Dick, “but p’r’aps you’ll get tired of teaching me. I’m awful ignorant.” “No, my lad,” said Mr. Greyson, kindly. “You evidently have some good principles to start with, as you have shown by your scorn of dishonesty. I shall hope good things of you in the future.” “Well, Dick,” said our hero, apostrophizing himself, as he left the office; “you’re gettin’ up in the world. You’ve got money invested, and are goin’ to attend church, by partic’lar invitation, on Fifth Avenue. I shouldn’t wonder much if you should find cards, when you get home, from the Mayor, requestin’ the honor of your company to dinner, along with other distinguished guests.” Dick felt in very good spirits. He seemed to be emerging from the world in which he had hitherto lived, into a new atmosphere of respectability, and the change seemed very pleasant to him. At six o’clock Dick went into a restaurant on Chatham Street, and got a comfortable supper. He had been so successful during the day that, after paying for this, he still had ninety cents left. While he was despatching his supper, another boy came in, smaller and slighter than Dick, and sat down beside him. Dick recognized him as a boy who three months before had entered the ranks of the boot-blacks, but who, from a natural timidity, had not been able to earn much. He was ill-fitted for the coarse companionship of the street boys, and shrank from the rude jokes of his present associates. Dick had never troubled him; for our hero had a certain chivalrous feeling which would not allow him to bully or disturb a younger and weaker boy than himself. “How are you, Fosdick?” said Dick, as the other seated himself. “Pretty well,” said Fosdick. “I suppose you’re all right.” “Oh, yes, I’m right side up with care. I’ve been havin’ a bully supper. What are you goin’ to have?” “Some bread and butter.” “Why don’t you get a cup o’ coffee?” “Why,” said Fosdick, reluctantly, “I haven’t got money enough to-night.” “Never mind,” said Dick; “I’m in luck to-day, I’ll stand treat.” “That’s kind in you,” said Fosdick, gratefully. “Oh, never mind that,” said Dick. Accordingly he ordered a cup of coffee, and a plate of beefsteak, and was gratified to see that his young companion partook of both with evident relish. When the repast was over, the boys went out into the street together, Dick pausing at the desk to settle for both suppers. “Where are you going to sleep to-night, Fosdick?” asked Dick, as they stood on the sidewalk. “I don’t know,” said Fosdick, a little sadly. “In some doorway, I expect. But I’m afraid the police will find me out, and make me move on.” “I’ll tell you what,” said Dick, “you must go home with me. I guess my bed will hold two.” “Have you got a room?” asked the other, in surprise. “Yes,” said Dick, rather proudly, and with a little excusable exultation. “I’ve got a room over in Mott Street; there I can receive my friends. That’ll be better than sleepin’ in a door-way,—won’t it?” “Yes, indeed it will,” said Fosdick. “How lucky I was to come across you! It comes hard to me living as I do. When my father was alive I had every comfort.” “That’s more’n I ever had,” said Dick. “But I’m goin’ to try to live comfortable now. Is your father dead?” “Yes,” said Fosdick, sadly. “He was a printer; but he was drowned one dark night from a Fulton ferry-boat, and, as I had no relations in the city, and no money, I was obliged to go to work as quick as I could. But I don’t get on very well.” “Didn’t you have no brothers nor sisters?” asked Dick. “No,” said Fosdick; “father and I used to live alone. He was always so much company to me that I feel very lonesome without him. There’s a man out West somewhere that owes him two thousand dollars. He used to live in the city, and father lent him all his money to help him go into business; but he failed, or pretended to, and went off. If father hadn’t lost that money he would have left me well off; but no money would have made up his loss to me.” “What’s the man’s name that went off with your father’s money?” “His name is Hiram Bates.” “P’r’aps you’ll get the money again, sometime.” “There isn’t much chance of it,” said Fosdick. “I’d sell out my chances of that for five dollars.” “Maybe I’ll buy you out sometime,” said Dick. “Now, come round and see what sort of a room I’ve got. I used to go to the theatre evenings, when I had money; but now I’d rather go to bed early, and have a good sleep.” “I don’t care much about theatres,” said Fosdick. “Father didn’t use to let me go very often. He said it wasn’t good for boys.” “I like to go to the Old Bowery sometimes. They have tip-top plays there. Can you read and write well?” he asked, as a sudden thought came to him. “Yes,” said Fosdick. “Father always kept me at school when he was alive, and I stood pretty well in my classes. I was expecting to enter at the Free Academy* next year.” * Now the college of the city of New York. “Then I’ll tell you what,” said Dick; “I’ll make a bargain with you. I can’t read much more’n a pig; and my writin’ looks like hens’ tracks. I don’t want to grow up knowin’ no more’n a four-year-old boy. If you’ll teach me readin’ and writin’ evenin’s, you shall sleep in my room every night. That’ll be better’n door-steps or old boxes, where I’ve slept many a time.” “Are you in earnest?” said Fosdick, his face lighting up hopefully. “In course I am,” said Dick. “It’s fashionable for young gentlemen to have private tootors to introduct ’em into the flower-beds of literatoor and science, and why shouldn’t I foller the fashion? You shall be my perfessor; only you must promise not to be very hard if my writin’ looks like a rail-fence on a bender.” “I’ll try not to be too severe,” said Fosdick, laughing. “I shall be thankful for such a chance to get a place to sleep. Have you got anything to read out of?” “No,” said Dick. “My extensive and well-selected library was lost overboard in a storm, when I was sailin’ from the Sandwich Islands to the desert of Sahara. But I’ll buy a paper. That’ll do me a long time.” Accordingly Dick stopped at a paper-stand, and bought a copy of a weekly paper, filled with the usual variety of reading matter,—stories, sketches, poems, etc. They soon arrived at Dick’s lodging-house. Our hero, procuring a lamp from the landlady, led the way into his apartment, which he entered with the proud air of a proprietor. “Well, how do you like it, Fosdick?” he asked, complacently. The time was when Fosdick would have thought it untidy and not particularly attractive. But he had served a severe apprenticeship in the streets, and it was pleasant to feel himself under shelter, and he was not disposed to be critical. “It looks very comfortable, Dick,” he said. “The bed aint very large,” said Dick; “but I guess we can get along.” “Oh, yes,” said Fosdick, cheerfully. “I don’t take up much room.” “Then that’s all right. There’s two chairs, you see, one for you and one for me. In case the mayor comes in to spend the evenin’ socially, he can sit on the bed.” The boys seated themselves, and five minutes later, under the guidance of his young tutor, Dick had commenced his studies. <h2>CHAPTER XVI. THE FIRST LESSON</h2> Fortunately for Dick, his young tutor was well qualified to instruct him. Henry Fosdick, though only twelve years old, knew as much as many boys of fourteen. He had always been studious and ambitious to excel. His father, being a printer, employed in an office where books were printed, often brought home new books in sheets, which Henry was always glad to read. Mr. Fosdick had been, besides, a subscriber to the Mechanics’ Apprentices’ Library, which contains many thousands of well-selected and instructive books. Thus Henry had acquired an amount of general information, unusual in a boy of his age. Perhaps he had devoted too much time to study, for he was not naturally robust. All this, however, fitted him admirably for the office to which Dick had appointed him,—that of his private instructor. The two boys drew up their chairs to the rickety table, and spread out the paper before them. “The exercises generally Commence with ringin’ the bell,” said Dick; “but as I aint got none, we’ll have to do without.” “And the teacher is generally provided with a rod,” said Fosdick. “Isn’t there a poker handy, that I can use in case my scholar doesn’t behave well?” “’Taint lawful to use fire-arms,” said Dick. “Now, Dick,” said Fosdick, “before we begin, I must find out how much you already know. Can you read any?” “Not enough to hurt me,” said Dick. “All I know about readin’ you could put in a nutshell, and there’d be room left for a small family.” “I suppose you know your letters?” “Yes,” said Dick, “I know ’em all, but not intimately. I guess I can call ’em all by name.” “Where did you learn them? Did you ever go to school?” “Yes; I went two days.” “Why did you stop?” “It didn’t agree with my constitution.” “You don’t look very delicate,” said Fosdick. “No,” said Dick, “I aint troubled much that way; but I found lickins didn’t agree with me.” “Did you get punished?” “Awful,” said Dick. “What for?” “For indulgin’ in a little harmless amoosement,” said Dick. “You see the boy that was sittin’ next to me fell asleep, which I considered improper in school-time; so I thought I’d help the teacher a little by wakin’ him up. So I took a pin and stuck into him; but I guess it went a little too far, for he screeched awful. The teacher found out what it was that made him holler, and whipped me with a ruler till I was black and blue. I thought ’twas about time to take a vacation; so that’s the last time I went to school.” “You didn’t learn to read in that time, of course?” “No,” said Dick; “but I was a newsboy a little while; so I learned a little, just so’s to find out what the news was. Sometimes I didn’t read straight and called the wrong news. One mornin’ I asked another boy what the paper said, and he told me the King of Africa was dead. I thought it was all right till folks began to laugh.” “Well, Dick, if you’ll only study well, you won’t be liable to make such mistakes.” “I hope so,” said Dick. “My friend Horace Greeley told me the other day that he’d get me to take his place now and then when he was off makin’ speeches if my edication hadn’t been neglected.” “I must find a good piece for you to begin on,” said Fosdick, looking over the paper. “Find an easy one,” said Dick, “with words of one story.” Fosdick at length found a piece which he thought would answer. He discovered on trial that Dick had not exaggerated his deficiencies. Words of two syllables he seldom pronounced right, and was much surprised when he was told how “through” was sounded. “Seems to me it’s throwin’ away letters to use all them,” he said. “How would you spell it?” asked his young teacher. “T-h-r-u,” said Dick. “Well,” said Fosdick, “there’s a good many other words that are spelt with more letters than they need to have. But it’s the fashion, and we must follow it.” But if Dick was ignorant, he was quick, and had an excellent capacity. Moreover he had perseverance, and was not easily discouraged. He had made up his mind he must know more, and was not disposed to complain of the difficulty of his task. Fosdick had occasion to laugh more than once at his ludicrous mistakes; but Dick laughed too, and on the whole both were quite interested in the lesson. At the end of an hour and a half the boys stopped for the evening. “You’re learning fast, Dick,” said Fosdick. “At this rate you will soon learn to read well.” “Will I?” asked Dick with an expression of satisfaction. “I’m glad of that. I don’t want to be ignorant. I didn’t use to care, but I do now. I want to grow up ’spectable.” “So do I, Dick. We will both help each other, and I am sure we can accomplish something. But I am beginning to feel sleepy.” “So am I,” said Dick. “Them hard words make my head ache. I wonder who made ’em all?” “That’s more than I can tell. I suppose you’ve seen a dictionary.” “That’s another of ’em. No, I can’t say I have, though I may have seen him in the street without knowin’ him.” “A dictionary is a book containing all the words in the language.” “How many are there?” “I don’t rightly know; but I think there are about fifty thousand.” “It’s a pretty large family,” said Dick. “Have I got to learn ’em all?” “That will not be necessary. There are a large number which you would never find occasion to use.” “I’m glad of that,” said Dick; “for I don’t expect to live to be more’n a hundred, and by that time I wouldn’t be more’n half through.” By this time the flickering lamp gave a decided hint to the boys that unless they made haste they would have to undress in the dark. They accordingly drew off their clothes, and Dick jumped into bed. But Fosdick, before doing so, knelt down by the side of the bed, and said a short prayer. “What’s that for?” asked Dick, curiously. “I was saying my prayers,” said Fosdick, as he rose from his knees. “Don’t you ever do it?” “No,” said Dick. “Nobody ever taught me.” “Then I’ll teach you. Shall I?” “I don’t know,” said Dick, dubiously. “What’s the good?” Fosdick explained as well as he could, and perhaps his simple explanation was better adapted to Dick’s comprehension than one from an older person would have been. Dick felt more free to ask questions, and the example of his new friend, for whom he was beginning to feel a warm attachment, had considerable effect upon him. When, therefore, Fosdick asked again if he should teach him a prayer, Dick consented, and his young bedfellow did so. Dick was not naturally irreligious. If he had lived without a knowledge of God and of religious things, it was scarcely to be wondered at in a lad who, from an early age, had been thrown upon his own exertions for the means of living, with no one to care for him or give him good advice. But he was so far good that he could appreciate goodness in others, and this it was that had drawn him to Frank in the first place, and now to Henry Fosdick. He did not, therefore, attempt to ridicule his companion, as some boys better brought up might have done, but was willing to follow his example in what something told him was right. Our young hero had taken an important step toward securing that genuine respectability which he was ambitious to attain. Weary with the day’s work, and Dick perhaps still more fatigued by the unusual mental effort he had made, the boys soon sank into a deep and peaceful slumber, from which they did not awaken till six o’clock the next morning. Before going out Dick sought Mrs. Mooney, and spoke to her on the subject of taking Fosdick as a room-mate. He found that she had no objection, provided he would allow her twenty-five cents a week extra, in consideration of the extra trouble which his companion might be expected to make. To this Dick assented, and the arrangement was definitely concluded. This over, the two boys went out and took stations near each other. Dick had more of a business turn than Henry, and less shrinking from publicity, so that his earnings were greater. But he had undertaken to pay the entire expenses of the room, and needed to earn more. Sometimes, when two customers presented themselves at the same time, he was able to direct one to his friend. So at the end of the week both boys found themselves with surplus earnings. Dick had the satisfaction of adding two dollars and a half to his deposits in the Savings Bank, and Fosdick commenced an account by depositing seventy-five cents. On Sunday morning Dick bethought himself of his promise to Mr. Greyson to come to the church on Fifth Avenue. To tell the truth, Dick recalled it with some regret. He had never been inside a church since he could remember, and he was not much attracted by the invitation he had received. But Henry, finding him wavering, urged him to go, and offered to go with him. Dick gladly accepted the offer, feeling that he required someone to lend him countenance under such unusual circumstances. Dick dressed himself with scrupulous care, giving his shoes a “shine” so brilliant that it did him great credit in a professional point of view, and endeavored to clean his hands thoroughly; but, in spite of all he could do, they were not so white as if his business had been of a different character. Having fully completed his preparations, he descended into the street, and, with Henry by his side, crossed over to Broadway. The boys pursued their way up Broadway, which on Sunday presents a striking contrast in its quietness to the noise and confusion of ordinary week-days, as far as Union Square, then turned down Fourteenth Street, which brought them to Fifth Avenue. “Suppose we dine at Delmonico’s,” said Fosdick, looking towards that famous restaurant. “I’d have to sell some of my Erie shares,” said Dick. A short walk now brought them to the church of which mention has already been made. They stood outside, a little abashed, watching the fashionably attired people who were entering, and were feeling a little undecided as to whether they had better enter also, when Dick felt a light touch upon his shoulder. Turning round, he met the smiling glance of Mr. Greyson. “So, my young friend, you have kept your promise,” he said. “And whom have you brought with you?” “A friend of mine,” said Dick. “His name is Henry Fosdick.” “I am glad you have brought him. Now follow me, and I will give you seats.” <div style="break-after:column;"></div>

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