The father was waiting on the wharf to receive his little boy, with what feelings of gratitude and joy can be easily understood. With a burst of happy tears he clasped him to his arms. Dick was about to withdraw modestly, but the gentleman perceived the movement, and, putting down the child, came forward, and, clasping his hand, said with emotion, “My brave boy, I owe you a debt I can never repay. But for your timely service I should now be plunged into an anguish which I cannot think of without a shudder.”
Our hero was ready enough to speak on most occasions, but always felt awkward when he was praised.
“It wasn’t any trouble,” he said, modestly. “I can swim like a top.”
“But not many boys would have risked their lives for a stranger,” said the gentleman. “But,” he added with a sudden thought, as his glance rested on Dick’s dripping garments, “both you and my little boy will take cold in wet clothes. Fortunately I have a friend living close at hand, at whose house you will have an opportunity of taking off your clothes, and having them dried.”
Dick protested that he never took cold; but Fosdick, who had now joined them, and who, it is needless to say, had been greatly alarmed at Dick’s danger, joined in urging compliance with the gentleman’s proposal, and in the end our hero had to yield. His new friend secured a hack, the driver of which agreed for extra recompense to receive the dripping boys into his carriage, and they were whirled rapidly to a pleasant house in a side street, where matters were quickly explained, and both boys were put to bed.
“I ain’t used to goin’ to bed quite so early,” thought Dick. “This is the queerest excursion I ever took.”
Like most active boys Dick did not enjoy the prospect of spending half a day in bed; but his confinement did not last as long as he anticipated.
In about an hour the door of his chamber was opened, and a servant appeared, bringing a new and handsome suit of clothes throughout.
“You are to put on these,” said the servant to Dick; “but you needn’t get up till you feel like it.”
“Whose clothes are they?” asked Dick.
“They are yours.”
“Mine! Where did they come from?”
“Mr. Rockwell sent out and bought them for you. They are the same size as your wet ones.”
“Is he here now?”
“No. He bought another suit for the little boy, and has gone back to New York. Here’s a note he asked me to give you.”
Dick opened the paper, and read as follows—
“Please accept this outfit of clothes as the first instalment of a debt which I can never repay. I have asked to have your wet suit dried, when you can reclaim it. Will you oblige me by calling tomorrow at my counting room, No. ⸻, Pearl Street.
XXVII
Conclusion
When Dick was dressed in his new suit, he surveyed his figure with pardonable complacency. It was the best he had ever worn, and fitted him as well as if it had been made expressly for him.
“He’s done the handsome thing,” said Dick to himself; “but there wasn’t no ’casion for his givin’ me these clothes. My lucky stars are shinin’ pretty bright now. Jumpin’ into the water pays better than shinin’ boots; but I don’t think I’d like to try it more’n once a week.”
About eleven o’clock the next morning Dick repaired to Mr. Rockwell’s counting room on Pearl Street. He found himself in front of a large and handsome warehouse. The counting room was on the lower floor. Our hero entered, and found Mr. Rockwell sitting at a desk. No sooner did that gentleman see him than he arose, and, advancing, shook Dick by the hand in the most friendly manner.
“My young friend,” he said, “you have done me so great service that I wish to be of some service to you in return. Tell me about yourself, and what plans or wishes you have formed for the future.”
Dick frankly related his past history, and told Mr. Rockwell of his desire to get into a store or counting room, and of the failure of all his applications thus far. The merchant listened attentively to Dick’s statement, and, when he had finished, placed a sheet of paper before him, and, handing him a pen, said, “Will you write your name on this piece of paper?”
Dick wrote in a free, bold hand, the name Richard Hunter. He had very much improved in his penmanship, as has already been mentioned, and now had no cause to be ashamed of it.
Mr. Rockwell surveyed it approvingly.
“How would you like to enter my counting room as clerk, Richard?” he asked.
Dick was about to say “Bully,” when he recollected himself, and answered, “Very much.”
“I suppose you know something of arithmetic, do you not?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you may consider yourself engaged at a salary of ten dollars a week. You may come next Monday morning.”
“Ten dollars!” repeated Dick, thinking he must have misunderstood.
“Yes; will that be sufficient?”
“It’s more than I can earn,” said Dick, honestly.
“Perhaps it is at first,” said Mr. Rockwell, smiling; “but I am willing to pay you that. I will besides advance you as fast as your progress will justify it.”
Dick was so elated that he hardly restrained himself from some demonstration which would have astonished the merchant; but he exercised self-control, and only said, “I’ll try to serve you so faithfully, sir, that you won’t repent having taken me into your service.”
“And I think you will succeed,” said Mr. Rockwell, encouragingly. “I will not detain you any longer, for I have some important business to attend to. I shall expect to see you
