“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 roommate. 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 weekdays, 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
