“You can leave them here till we come back,” said Frank. “They will be safe.”
“Hold on a minute,” said Dick, surveying Frank’s boots with a professional eye, “you ain’t got a good shine on them boots. I’ll make ’em shine so you can see your face in ’em.”
And he was as good as his word.
“Thank you,” said Frank; “now you had better brush your own shoes.”
This had not occurred to Dick, for in general the professional bootblack considers his blacking too valuable to expend on his own shoes or boots, if he is fortunate enough to possess a pair.
The two boys now went downstairs together. They met the same servant who had spoken to Dick a few minutes before, but there was no recognition.
“He don’t know me,” said Dick. “He thinks I’m a young swell like you.”
“What’s a swell?”
“Oh, a feller that wears nobby clothes like you.”
“And you, too, Dick.”
“Yes,” said Dick, “who’d ever have thought as I should have turned into a swell?”
They had now got out on Broadway, and were slowly walking along the west side by the Park, when who should Dick see in front of him, but Johnny Nolan?
Instantly Dick was seized with a fancy for witnessing Johnny’s amazement at his change in appearance. He stole up behind him, and struck him on the back.
“Hallo, Johnny, how many shines have you had?”
Johnny turned round expecting to see Dick, whose voice he recognized, but his astonished eyes rested on a nicely dressed boy (the hat alone excepted) who looked indeed like Dick, but so transformed in dress that it was difficult to be sure of his identity.
“What luck, Johnny?” repeated Dick.
Johnny surveyed him from head to foot in great bewilderment.
“Who be you?” he said.
“Well, that’s a good one,” laughed Dick; “so you don’t know Dick?”
“Where’d you get all them clothes?” asked Johnny. “Have you been stealin’?”
“Say that again, and I’ll lick you. No, I’ve lent my clothes to a young feller as was goin’ to a party, and didn’t have none fit to wear, and so I put on my second-best for a change.”
Without deigning any further explanation, Dick went off, followed by the astonished gaze of Johnny Nolan, who could not quite make up his mind whether the neat-looking boy he had been talking with was really Ragged Dick or not.
In order to reach Chatham Street it was necessary to cross Broadway. This was easier proposed than done. There is always such a throng of omnibuses, drays, carriages, and vehicles of all kinds in the neighborhood of the Astor House, that the crossing is formidable to one who is not used to it. Dick made nothing of it, dodging in and out among the horses and wagons with perfect self-possession. Reaching the opposite sidewalk, he looked back, and found that Frank had retreated in dismay, and that the width of the street was between them.
“Come across!” called out Dick.
“I don’t see any chance,” said Frank, looking anxiously at the prospect before him. “I’m afraid of being run over.”
“If you are, you can sue ’em for damages,” said Dick.
Finally Frank got safely over after several narrow escapes, as he considered them.
“Is it always so crowded?” he asked.
“A good deal worse sometimes,” said Dick. “I knowed a young man once who waited six hours for a chance to cross, and at last got run over by an omnibus, leaving a widder and a large family of orphan children. His widder, a beautiful young woman, was obliged to start a peanut and apple stand. There she is now.”
“Where?”
Dick pointed to a hideous old woman, of large proportions, wearing a bonnet of immense size, who presided over an apple-stand close by.
Frank laughed.
“If that is the case,” he said, “I think I will patronize her.”
“Leave it to me,” said Dick, winking.
He advanced gravely to the apple-stand, and said, “Old lady, have you paid your taxes?”
The astonished woman opened her eyes.
“I’m a gov’ment officer,” said Dick, “sent by the mayor to collect your taxes. I’ll take it in apples just to oblige. That big red one will about pay what you’re owin’ to the gov’ment.”
“I don’t know nothing about no taxes,” said the old woman, in bewilderment.
“Then,” said Dick, “I’ll let you off this time. Give us two of your best apples, and my friend here, the President of the Common Council, will pay you.”
Frank smiling, paid three cents apiece for the apples, and they sauntered on, Dick remarking, “If these apples ain’t good, old lady, we’ll return ’em, and get our money back.” This would have been rather difficult in his case, as the apple was already half consumed.
Chatham Street, where they wished to go, being on the East side, the two boys crossed the Park. This is an enclosure of about ten acres, which years ago was covered with a green sward, but is now a great thoroughfare for pedestrians and contains several important public buildings. Dick pointed out the City Hall, the Hall of Records, and the Rotunda. The former is a white building of large size, and surmounted by a cupola.
“That’s where the mayor’s office is,” said Dick. “Him and me are very good friends. I once blacked his boots by partic’lar appointment. That’s the way I pay my city taxes.”
V
Chatham Street and Broadway
They were soon in Chatham Street, walking between rows of ready-made clothing shops, many of which had half their stock in trade exposed on the sidewalk. The proprietors of these establishments stood at the doors, watching attentively the passersby, extending urgent invitations to any who even glanced at the goods to enter.
“Walk in, young gentlemen,” said a stout man, at the entrance of one shop.
“No, I thank you,” replied Dick, “as the fly said to the spider.”
“We’re selling off at less than cost.”
“Of course you be. That’s where you makes your money,” said Dick. “There ain’t nobody of any enterprise that pretends to make any profit on his goods.”
The Chatham Street trader looked after
