“Have I got to do any writing?” asked our hero, a little embarrassed.
“We want you to sign your name in this book,” and the old gentleman shoved round a large folio volume containing the names of depositors.
Dick surveyed the book with some awe.
“I ain’t much on writin’,” he said.
“Very well; write as well as you can.”
The pen was put into Dick’s hand, and, after dipping it in the inkstand, he succeeded after a hard effort, accompanied by many contortions of the face, in inscribing upon the book of the bank the name
Dick Hunter.
“Dick!—that means Richard, I suppose,” said the bank officer, who had some difficulty in making out the signature.
“No; Ragged Dick is what folks call me.”
“You don’t look very ragged.”
“No, I’ve left my rags to home. They might get wore out if I used ’em too common.”
“Well, my lad, I’ll make out a book in the name of Dick Hunter, since you seem to prefer Dick to Richard. I hope you will save up your money and deposit more with us.”
Our hero took his bankbook, and gazed on the entry “Five Dollars” with a new sense of importance. He had been accustomed to joke about Erie shares, but now, for the first time, he felt himself a capitalist; on a small scale, to be sure, but still it was no small thing for Dick to have five dollars which he could call his own. He firmly determined that he would lay by every cent he could spare from his earnings towards the fund he hoped to accumulate.
But Dick was too sensible not to know that there was something more than money needed to win a respectable position in the world. He felt that he was very ignorant. Of reading and writing he only knew the rudiments, and that, with a slight acquaintance with arithmetic, was all he did know of books. Dick knew he must study hard, and he dreaded it. He looked upon learning as attended with greater difficulties than it really possesses. But Dick had good pluck. He meant to learn, nevertheless, and resolved to buy a book with his first spare earnings.
When Dick went home at night he locked up his bankbook in one of the drawers of the bureau. It was wonderful how much more independent he felt whenever he reflected upon the contents of that drawer, and with what an important air of joint ownership he regarded the bank building in which his small savings were deposited.
XV
Dick Secures a Tutor
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
