Ragged Dick - Street Life in New York with the Boot-Blacks

UP BROADWAY TO MADISON SQUARE

As the boys pursued their way up Broadway, Dick pointed out the prominent hotels and places of amusement.  Frank was particularly struck with the imposing fronts of the St. Nicholas and Metropolitan Hotels, the former of white marble, the latter of a subdued brown hue, but not less elegant in its internal appointments.  He was not surprised to be informed that each of these splendid structures cost with the furnishing not far from a million dollars.

At Eighth Street Dick turned to the right, and pointed out the Clinton Hall Building now occupied by the Mercantile Library, comprising at that time over fifty thousand volumes.

Now not far from one hundred thousand.

A little farther on they came to a large building standing by itself just at the opening of Third and Fourth Avenues, and with one side on each.

“What is that building?” asked Frank.

“That’s the Cooper Institute,” said Dick; “built by Mr. Cooper, a particular friend of mine.  Me and Peter Cooper used to go to school together.”

“What is there inside?” asked Frank.

“There’s a hall for public meetin’s and lectures in the basement, and a readin’ room and a picture gallery up above,” said Dick.

Directly opposite Cooper Institute, Frank saw a very large building of brick, covering about an acre of ground.

“Is that a hotel?” he asked.

“No,” said Dick; “that’s the Bible House.  It’s the place where they make Bibles.  I was in there once,—­saw a big pile of ’em.”

“Did you ever read the Bible?” asked Frank, who had some idea of the neglected state of Dick’s education.

“No,” said Dick; “I’ve heard it’s a good book, but I never read one.  I aint much on readin’.  It makes my head ache.”

“I suppose you can’t read very fast.”

“I can read the little words pretty well, but the big ones is what stick me.”

“If I lived in the city, you might come every evening to me, and I would teach you.”

“Would you take so much trouble about me?” asked Dick, earnestly.

“Certainly; I should like to see you getting on.  There isn’t much chance of that if you don’t know how to read and write.”

“You’re a good feller,” said Dick, gratefully.  “I wish you did live in New York.  I’d like to know somethin’.  Whereabouts do you live?”

“About fifty miles off, in a town on the left bank of the Hudson.  I wish you’d come up and see me sometime.  I would like to have you come and stop two or three days.”

“Honor bright?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Do you mean it?” asked Dick, incredulously.

“Of course I do.  Why shouldn’t I?”

“What would your folks say if they knowed you asked a boot-black to visit you?”

“You are none the worse for being a boot-black, Dick.”

“I aint used to genteel society,” said Dick.  “I shouldn’t know how to behave.”

“Then I could show you.  You won’t be a boot-black all your life, you know.”

“No,” said Dick; “I’m goin’ to knock off when I get to be ninety.”

“Before that, I hope,” said Frank, smiling.

“I really wish I could get somethin’ else to do,” said Dick, soberly.  “I’d like to be a office boy, and learn business, and grow up ’spectable.”

“Why don’t you try, and see if you can’t get a place, Dick?”

“Who’d take Ragged Dick?”

“But you aint ragged now, Dick.”

“No,” said Dick; “I look a little better than I did in my Washington coat and Louis Napoleon pants.  But if I got in a office, they wouldn’t give me more’n three dollars a week, and I couldn’t live ’spectable on that.”

“No, I suppose not,” said Frank, thoughtfully.  “But you would get more at the end of the first year.”

“Yes,” said Dick; “but by that time I’d be nothin’ but skin and bones.”

Frank laughed.  “That reminds me,” he said, “of the story of an Irishman, who, out of economy, thought he would teach his horse to feed on shavings.  So he provided the horse with a pair of green spectacles which made the shavings look eatable.  But unfortunately, just as the horse got learned, he up and died.”

“The hoss must have been a fine specimen of architectur’ by the time he got through,” remarked Dick.

“Whereabouts are we now?” asked Frank, as they emerged from Fourth Avenue into Union Square.

“That is Union Park,” said Dick, pointing to a beautiful enclosure, in the centre of which was a pond, with a fountain playing.

“Is that the statue of General Washington?” asked Frank, pointing to a bronze equestrian statue, on a granite pedestal.

“Yes,” said Dick; “he’s growed some since he was President.  If he’d been as tall as that when he fit in the Revolution, he’d have walloped the Britishers some, I reckon.”

Frank looked up at the statue, which is fourteen and a half feet high, and acknowledged the justice of Dick’s remark.

“How about the coat, Dick?” he asked.  “Would it fit you?”

“Well, it might be rather loose,” said Dick, “I aint much more’n ten feet high with my boots off.”

“No, I should think not,” said Frank, smiling.  “You’re a queer boy, Dick.”

“Well, I’ve been brought up queer.  Some boys is born with a silver spoon in their mouth.  Victoria’s boys is born with a gold spoon, set with di’monds; but gold and silver was scarce when I was born, and mine was pewter.”

“Perhaps the gold and silver will come by and by, Dick.  Did you ever hear of Dick Whittington?”

“Never did.  Was he a Ragged Dick?”

“I shouldn’t wonder if he was.  At any rate he was very poor when he was a boy, but he didn’t stay so.  Before he died, he became Lord Mayor of London.”

“Did he?” asked Dick, looking interested.  “How did he do it?”

“Why, you see, a rich merchant took pity on him, and gave him a home in his own house, where he used to stay with the servants, being employed in little errands.  One day the merchant noticed Dick picking up pins and needles that had been dropped, and asked him why he did it.  Dick told him he was going to sell them when he got enough.  The merchant was pleased with his saving disposition, and when soon after, he was going to send a vessel to foreign parts, he told Dick he might send anything he pleased in it, and it should be sold to his advantage.  Now Dick had nothing in the world but a kitten which had been given him a short time before.”

“How much taxes did he have to pay on it?” asked Dick.

“Not very high, probably.  But having only the kitten, he concluded to send it along.  After sailing a good many months, during which the kitten grew up to be a strong cat, the ship touched at an island never before known, which happened to be infested with rats and mice to such an extent that they worried everybody’s life out, and even ransacked the king’s palace.  To make a long story short, the captain, seeing how matters stood, brought Dick’s cat ashore, and she soon made the rats and mice scatter.  The king was highly delighted when he saw what havoc she made among the rats and mice, and resolved to have her at any price.  So he offered a great quantity of gold for her, which, of course, the captain was glad to accept.  It was faithfully carried back to Dick, and laid the foundation of his fortune.  He prospered as he grew up, and in time became a very rich merchant, respected by all, and before he died was elected Lord Mayor of London.”

“That’s a pretty good story” said Dick; “but I don’t believe all the cats in New York will ever make me mayor.”

“No, probably not, but you may rise in some other way.  A good many distinguished men have once been poor boys.  There’s hope for you, Dick, if you’ll try.”

“Nobody ever talked to me so before,” said Dick.  “They just called me Ragged Dick, and told me I’d grow up to be a vagabone (boys who are better educated need not be surprised at Dick’s blunders) and come to the gallows.”

“Telling you so won’t make it turn out so, Dick.  If you’ll try to be somebody, and grow up into a respectable member of society, you will.  You may not become rich,—­it isn’t everybody that becomes rich, you know—­but you can obtain a good position, and be respected.”

“I’ll try,” said Dick, earnestly.  “I needn’t have been Ragged Dick so long if I hadn’t spent my money in goin’ to the theatre, and treatin’ boys to oyster-stews, and bettin’ money on cards, and such like.”

“Have you lost money that way?”

“Lots of it.  One time I saved up five dollars to buy me a new rig-out, cos my best suit was all in rags, when Limpy Jim wanted me to play a game with him.”

“Limpy Jim?” said Frank, interrogatively.

“Yes, he’s lame; that’s what makes us call him Limpy Jim.”

“I suppose you lost?”

“Yes, I lost every penny, and had to sleep out, cos I hadn’t a cent to pay for lodgin’.  ’Twas a awful cold night, and I got most froze.”

“Wouldn’t Jim let you have any of the money he had won to pay for a lodging?”

“No; I axed him for five cents, but he wouldn’t let me have it.”

“Can you get lodging for five cents?” asked Frank, in surprise.

“Yes,” said Dick, “but not at the Fifth Avenue Hotel.  That’s it right out there.”