Ragged Dick, Or, Street Life in New York with the Boot-Blacks. Alger Horatio Jr.
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that the Fifth Avenue Hotel?" asked Frank. "I've heard of it often. My Uncle William always stops there when he comes to New York."
"I once slept on the outside of it," said Dick. "They was very reasonable in their charges, and told me I might come again."
"Perhaps sometime you'll be able to sleep inside," said Frank.
"I guess that'll be when Queen Victoria goes to the Five Points to live."
"It looks like a palace," said Frank. "The queen needn't be ashamed to live in such a beautiful building as that."
Though Frank did not know it, one of the queen's palaces is far from being as fine a looking building as the Fifth Avenue Hotel. St. James' Palace is a very ugly-looking brick structure, and appears much more like a factory than like the home of royalty. There are few hotels in the world as fine-looking as this democratic institution.
At that moment a gentleman passed them on the sidewalk, who looked back at Dick, as if his face seemed familiar.
"I know that man," said Dick, after he had passed. "He's one of my customers."
"What is his name?"
"I don't know."
"He looked back as if he thought he knew you."
"He would have knowed me at once if it hadn't been for my new clothes," said Dick. "I don't look much like Ragged Dick now."
"I suppose your face looked familiar."
"All but the dirt," said Dick, laughing. "I don't always have the chance of washing my face and hands in the Astor House."
"You told me," said Frank, "that there was a place where you could get lodging for five cents. Where's that?"
"It's the News-boys' Lodgin' House, on Fulton Street," said Dick, "up over the 'Sun' office. It's a good place. I don't know what us boys would do without it. They give you supper for six cents, and a bed for five cents more."
"I suppose some boys don't even have the five cents to pay,—do they?"
"They'll trust the boys," said Dick. "But I don't like to get trusted. I'd be ashamed to get trusted for five cents, or ten either. One night I was comin' down Chatham Street, with fifty cents in my pocket. I was goin' to get a good oyster-stew, and then go to the lodgin' house; but somehow it slipped through a hole in my trowses-pocket, and I hadn't a cent left. If it had been summer I shouldn't have cared, but it's rather tough stayin' out winter nights."
Frank, who had always possessed a good home of his own, found it hard to realize that the boy who was walking at his side had actually walked the streets in the cold without a home, or money to procure the common comfort of a bed.
"What did you do?" he asked, his voice full of sympathy.
"I went to the 'Times' office. I knowed one of the pressmen, and he let me set down in a corner, where I was warm, and I soon got fast asleep."
"Why don't you get a room somewhere, and so always have a home to go to?"
"I dunno," said Dick. "I never thought of it. P'rhaps I may hire a furnished house on Madison Square."
"That's where Flora McFlimsey lived."
"I don't know her," said Dick, who had never read the popular poem of which she is the heroine.
While this conversation was going on, they had turned into Twenty-fifth Street, and had by this time reached Third Avenue.
Just before entering it, their attention was drawn to the rather singular conduct of an individual in front of them. Stopping suddenly, he appeared to pick up something from the sidewalk, and then looked about him in rather a confused way.
"I know his game," whispered Dick. "Come along and you'll see what it is."
He hurried Frank forward until they overtook the man, who had come to a stand-still.
"Have you found anything?" asked Dick.
"Yes," said the man, "I've found this."
He exhibited a wallet which seemed stuffed with bills, to judge from its plethoric appearance.
"Whew!" exclaimed Dick; "you're in luck."
"I suppose somebody has lost it," said the man, "and will offer a handsome reward."
"Which you'll get."
"Unfortunately I am obliged to take the next train to Boston. That's where I live. I haven't time to hunt up the owner."
"Then I suppose you'll take the pocket-book with you," said Dick, with assumed simplicity.
"I should like to leave it with some honest fellow who would see it returned to the owner," said the man, glancing at the boys.
"I'm honest," said Dick.
"I've no doubt of it," said the other. "Well, young man, I'll make you an offer. You take the pocket-book—"
"All right. Hand it over, then."
"Wait a minute. There must be a large sum inside. I shouldn't wonder if there might be a thousand dollars. The owner will probably give you a hundred dollars reward."
"Why don't you stay and get it?" asked Frank.
"I would, only there is sickness in my family, and I must get home as soon as possible. Just give me twenty dollars, and I'll hand you the pocket-book, and let you make whatever you can out of it. Come, that's a good offer. What do you say?"
Dick was well dressed, so that the other did not regard it as at all improbable that he might possess that sum. He was prepared, however, to let him have it for less, if necessary.
"Twenty dollars is a good deal of money," said Dick, appearing to hesitate.
"You'll get it back, and a good deal more," said the stranger, persuasively.
"I don't know but I shall. What would you do, Frank?"
"I don't know but I would," said Frank, "if you've got the money."
He was not a little surprised to think that Dick had so much by him.
"I don't know but I will," said Dick, after some irresolution. "I guess I won't lose much."
"You can't lose anything," said the stranger briskly. "Only be quick, for I must be on my way to the cars. I am afraid I shall miss them now."
Dick pulled out a bill from his pocket, and handed it to the stranger, receiving the pocket-book in return. At that moment a policeman turned the corner, and the stranger, hurriedly thrusting the bill into his pocket, without looking at it, made off with rapid steps.
"What is there in the pocket-book, Dick?" asked Frank in some excitement. "I hope there's enough to pay you for the money you gave him."
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