Fame and Fortune Part 5

"I congratulate you on your success," said Roswell, in the same disagreeable manner. "Of course that's all humbug. I suppose you've got a place."

"Yes," said d.i.c.k.

"Who are you with?"

"Rockwell & Cooper, on Pearl Street."

"How did you get it?" asked Roswell, appearing surprised. "Did they know you had been a boot-black?"

"Of course they did."

"I shouldn't think that they would have taken you."

"Why not?"

"There are not many firms that would hire a boot-black, when they could get plenty of boys from nice families."

"Perhaps they might have secured your services if they had applied,"

said d.i.c.k, good-humoredly.

"I've got a place," said Roswell, in rather an important manner. "I'm very glad I didn't go into Henderson's hat and cap store. I've got a better situation."

"Have you?" said d.i.c.k. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm always happy to hear that my friends are risin' in the world."

"You needn't cla.s.s me among your friends," said Roswell, superciliously.

"No, I won't," said d.i.c.k. "I'm goin' to be particular about my a.s.sociates, now that I'm gettin' up in the world."

"Do you mean to insult me?" demanded Roswell, haughtily.

"No," said d.i.c.k. "I wouldn't on any account. I should be afraid you'd want me to fight a duel, and that wouldn't be convenient, for I haven't made my will, and I'm afraid my heirs would quarrel over my extensive property."

"How much do you get a week?" asked Roswell, thinking it best to change the subject.

"Ten dollars," said d.i.c.k.

"Ten dollars!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Roswell. "That's a pretty large story."

"You needn't believe it if you don't want to," said d.i.c.k. "That won't make any difference to me as long as they pay me reg'lar."

"Ten dollars! Why, I never heard of such a thing," exclaimed Roswell, who only received four dollars a week himself, and thought he was doing well.

"Do you think I'd give up a loocrative business for less?" asked d.i.c.k.

"How much do you get?"

"That's my business," said Roswell, who, for reasons that may be guessed, didn't care to mention the price for which he was working.

Judging d.i.c.k by himself, he thought it would give him a chance to exult over him.

"I suppose it is," said d.i.c.k; "but as you was so partic'lar to find out how much I got, I thought I'd inquire."

"You're trying to deceive me; I don't believe you get more than three dollars a week."

"Don't you? Is that what you get?"

"I get a great deal more."

"I'm happy to hear it."

"I can find out how much you get, if I want to."

"You've found out already."

"I know what you say, but I've got a cousin in Rockwell & Cooper's."

"Have you?" asked d.i.c.k, a little surprised. "Who is it?"

"It is the book-keeper."

"Mr. Gilbert?"

"Yes; he has been there five years. I'll ask him about it."

"You'd better, as you're so anxious to find out. Mr. Gilbert is a friend of mine. He spoke only this morning of my valooable services."

Roswell looked incredulous. In fact he did not understand d.i.c.k at all; nor could he comprehend his imperturbable good-humor. There were several things that he had said which would have offended most boys; but d.i.c.k met them with a careless good-humor, and an evident indifference to Roswell's good opinion, which piqued and provoked that young man.

It must not be supposed that while this conversation was going on the boys were standing in the post-office. d.i.c.k understood his duty to his employers too well to delay unnecessarily while on an errand, especially when he was sent to get letters, some of which might be of an important and urgent nature.

The two boys had been walking up Na.s.sau Street together, and they had now reached Printing House Square.

"There are some of your old friends," said Roswell, pointing to a group of ragged boot-blacks, who were on the alert for customers, crying to each pa.s.ser, "Shine yer boots?"

"Yes," said d.i.c.k, "I know them all."

"No doubt," sneered Roswell. "They're friends to be proud of."

"I'm glad you think so," said d.i.c.k. "They're a rough set," he continued, more earnestly; "but there's one of them, at least, that's ten times better than you or I."

"Speak for yourself, if you please," said Roswell, haughtily.

"I'm speakin' for both of us," said d.i.c.k. "There's one boy there, only twelve years old, that's supported his sick mother and sister for more'n a year, and that's more good than ever you or I did.--How are you, Tom?"

he said, nodding to the boy of whom he had spoken.

"Tip-top, d.i.c.k," said a bright-looking boy, who kept as clean as his avocation would permit. "Have you given up business?"

"Yes, Tom. I'll tell you about it some other time. I must get back to Pearl Street with these letters. How's your mother?"

"She aint much better, d.i.c.k."