His confusion was increased, when, after taking
his seat, he saw sitting opposite him, a young man whose boots he
remembered to have blacked only a week before. Observing Dick's look,
Mrs. Browning proceeded to introduce him to the other.

"Mr. Clifton," she said, "let me introduce Mr. Hunter and his friend,
Mr. Fosdick,--two new members of our family."

Dick bowed rather awkwardly, and the young man said, "Glad to make your
acquaintance, Mr. Hunter. Your face looks quite familiar. I think I must
have seen you before."

"I think I've seen _you_ before," said Dick.

"It's strange I can't think where," said the young man, who had not the
least idea that the well-dressed boy before him was the boot-black who
had brushed his boots near the Park railings the Monday previous. Dick
did not think proper to enlighten him. He was not ashamed of his past
occupation; but it was past, and he wanted to be valued for what he
might become, not for what he had been.

"Are you in business, Mr. Hunter?" inquired Mr. Clifton.

It sounded strange to our hero to be called Mr. Hunter; but he rather
liked it. He felt that it sounded respectable.

"I am at Rockwell & Cooper's, on Pearl Street," said Dick.

"I know the place. It is a large firm."

Dick was glad to hear it, but did not say that he knew nothing about it.

The dinner was a good one, much better than the two boys were accustomed
to get at the eating-houses which in times past they had frequented.
Dick noticed carefully how the others did, and acquitted himself quite
creditably, so that no one probably suspected that he had not always
been used to as good a table.

When the boys rose from the table, Mrs. Browning said, "Won't you walk
into the parlor, young gentlemen? We generally have a little music after
dinner. Some of the young ladies are musical. Do either of you play?"

Dick said he sometimes played marbles; at which a young lady laughed,
and Dick, catching the infection, laughed too.

"Miss Peyton, Mr. Hunter," introduced Mrs. Browning.

Miss Peyton made a sweeping courtesy, to which Dick responded by a bow,
turning red with embarrassment.

"Don't you sing, Mr. Hunter?" asked the young lady.

"I aint much on warblin'," said Dick, forgetting for the moment where he
was.

This droll answer, which Miss Peyton supposed to be intentionally funny,
convulsed the young lady with merriment.

"Perhaps your friend sings?" she said.

Thereupon Fosdick was also intr