“How did you do it?” he asked eagerly.
“I told him I’d exert my influence with the president to have him tried by habeas corpus,” said Dick.
“And of course that frightened him. But tell me, without joking, how you managed.”
Dick gave a truthful account of what occurred, and then said, “Now we’ll go back and carry the money.”
“Suppose we don’t find the poor countryman?”
“Then the p’lice will take care of it.”
They remained on board the boat, and in five minutes were again in New York. Going up Wall Street, they met the countryman a little distance from the Custom House. His face was marked with the traces of deep anguish; but in his case even grief could not subdue the cravings of appetite. He had purchased some cakes of one of the old women who spread out for the benefit of passersby an array of apples and seed-cakes, and was munching them with melancholy satisfaction.
“Hilloa!” said Dick. “Have you found your money?”
“No,” ejaculated the young man, with a convulsive gasp. “I shan’t ever see it again. The mean skunk’s cheated me out of it. Consarn his picter! It took me most six months to save it up. I was workin’ for Deacon Pinkham in our place. Oh, I wish I’d never come to New York! The deacon, he told me he’d keep it for me; but I wanted to put it in the bank, and now it’s all gone, boo hoo!”
And the miserable youth, having despatched his cakes, was so overcome by the thought of his loss that he burst into tears.
“I say,” said Dick, “dry up, and see what I’ve got here.”
The youth no sooner saw the roll of bills, and comprehended that it was indeed his lost treasure, than from the depths of anguish he was exalted to the most ecstatic joy. He seized Dick’s hand, and shook it with so much energy that our hero began to feel rather alarmed for its safety.
“ ’Pears to me you take my arm for a pump-handle,” said he. “Couldn’t you show your gratitood some other way? It’s just possible I may want to use my arm ag’in some time.”
The young man desisted, but invited Dick most cordially to come up and stop a week with him at his country home, assuring him that he wouldn’t charge him anything for board.
“All right!” said Dick. “If you don’t mind I’ll bring my wife along, too. She’s delicate, and the country air might do her good.”
Jonathan stared at him in amazement, uncertain whether to credit the fact of his marriage. Dick walked on with Frank, leaving him in an apparent state of stupefaction, and it is possible that he has not yet settled the affair to his satisfaction.
“Now,” said Frank, “I think I’ll go back to the Astor House. Uncle has probably got through his business and returned.”
“All right,” said Dick.
The two boys walked up to Broadway, just where the tall steeple of Trinity faces the street of bankers and brokers, and walked leisurely to the hotel. When they arrived at the Astor House, Dick said, “Goodbye, Frank.”
“Not yet,” said Frank; “I want you to come in with me.”
Dick followed his young patron up the steps. Frank went to the reading-room, where, as he had thought probable, he found his uncle already arrived, and reading a copy of The Evening Post, which he had just purchased outside.
“Well, boys,” he said, looking up, “have you had a pleasant jaunt?”
“Yes, sir,” said Frank. “Dick’s a capital guide.”
“So this is Dick,” said Mr. Whitney, surveying him with a smile. “Upon my word, I should hardly have known him. I must congratulate him on his improved appearance.”
“Frank’s been very kind to me,” said Dick, who, rough street-boy as he was, had a heart easily touched by kindness, of which he had never experienced much. “He’s a tip-top fellow.”
“I believe he is a good boy,” said Mr. Whitney. “I hope, my lad, you will prosper and rise in the world. You know in this free country poverty in early life is no bar to a man’s advancement. I haven’t risen very high myself,” he added, with a smile, “but have met with moderate success in life; yet there was a time when I was as poor as you.”
“Were you, sir,” asked Dick, eagerly.
“Yes, my boy, I have known the time I have been obliged to go without my dinner because I didn’t have enough money to pay for it.”
“How did you get up in the world,” asked Dick, anxiously.
“I entered a printing-office as an apprentice, and worked for some years. Then my eyes gave out and I was obliged to give that up. Not knowing what else to do, I went into the country, and worked on a farm. After a while I was lucky enough to invent a machine, which has brought me in a great deal of money. But there was one thing I got while I was in the printing-office which I value more than money.”
“What was that, sir?”
“A taste for reading and study. During my leisure hours I improved myself by study, and acquired a large part of the knowledge which I now possess. Indeed, it was one of my books that first put me on the track of the invention, which I afterwards made. So you see, my lad, that my studious habits paid me in money, as well as in another way.”
“I’m awful ignorant,” said Dick, soberly.
“But you are young, and, I judge, a smart boy. If you try to learn, you can, and if you ever expect to do anything in the world, you must know something of books.”
“I will,” said Dick, resolutely. “I ain’t always goin’ to black boots for a livin’.”
“All labor is respectable, my lad, and you have no cause to be ashamed of any honest business; yet when you can get something to do that promises better for your
