Fame and Fortune; or, The Progress of Richard Hunter. Alger Horatio Jr.

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СКАЧАТЬ your services if they had applied," said Dick, 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 Dick. "I'm glad to hear it. I'm always happy to hear that my friends are risin' in the world."

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

      "No, I won't," said Dick. "I'm goin' to be particular about my associates, now that I'm gettin' up in the world."

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

      "No," said Dick. "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 Dick.

      "Ten dollars!" ejaculated Roswell. "That's a pretty large story."

      "You needn't believe it if you don't want to," said Dick. "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 Dick. "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 Dick by himself, he thought it would give him a chance to exult over him.

      "I suppose it is," said Dick; "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 Dick, 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 Dick 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 Dick 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. Dick 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 Nassau 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 passer, "Shine yer boots?"

      "Yes," said Dick, "I know them all."

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

      "I'm glad you think so," said Dick. "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 Dick. "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, Dick," 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, Dick."

      "Buy her some oranges. They'll do her good," and Dick slipped half a dollar into Tom's hand.

      "Thank you, Dick. She'll like them, I know, but you oughtn't to give so much."

      "What's half a dollar to a man of my fortune?" said Dick. "Take care of yourself, Tom. I must hurry back to the store."

      Roswell was already gone. His pride would not permit him to stand by while Dick was conversing with a boot-black. He felt that his position would be compromised. As for Dick, he was so well dressed that nobody would know that he had ever been in that business. The fact is, Roswell, like a great many other people, was troubled with a large share of pride, though it might have puzzled himself to explain what he had to be proud of. Had Dick been at all like him he would have shunned all his former acquaintances, and taken every precaution against having it discovered that he had ever occupied a similar position. But Dick was above such meanness. He could see that Tom, for instance, was far superior in all that constituted manliness to Roswell Crawford, and, boot-black though he was, he prepared to recognize him as a friend.

      When Dick reached the store, he did not immediately see Mr. Rockwell.

      He accordingly entered the counting-room where Gilbert, the book-keeper, was seated at a desk.

      "Here are the letters, Mr. Gilbert," said Dick.

      "Lay them down," said the book-keeper, sourly. "You've been gone long enough. How many did you drop on the way?"

      "I didn't know I was expected to drop any," said Dick. "If I had been told to do so, I would have obeyed orders cheerfully."

      Mr. Gilbert was about to remark that Dick was an impudent young rascal, when the sudden entrance of Mr. Rockwell compelled him to suppress the observation, and he was obliged to be content with muttering it to himself.

      "Back already, Richard?" said his employer, pleasantly. "Where are the letters?"

      "Here, sir," said Dick.

      "Very well, you may go to Mr. Murdock, and see what he can find for you to do."

      Mr. Rockwell sat down to read his letters, and Dick went as directed to the head clerk.

      "Mr. Rockwell sent me to you, Mr. Murdock," he said. "He says you will find something for me to do."

      "Oh, yes, we'll keep you busy," said the head clerk, with a manner very different from that of the book-keeper. СКАЧАТЬ