but I had to
borrer the money to buy my clo'es."

"There used to be a boy around here that was called Dick. Did you know
him?"

"There be a good many Dicks. Which did you mean?"

"This boy was nearly your size. I believe they called him 'Ragged
Dick.'"

"I know'd him," said Micky, shortly, with a scowl.

"Was he a friend of yours?"

"No, he wasn't. I give him a lickin' once."

The fact happened to be the other way; but Micky was not very scrupulous
as to the strict truth of his statements.

"You don't like him, then? Where is he now?"

"He's in a store, and swells round with good clothes."

"Have you seen him lately?"

"No, an' I don't want to."

"He wears a gold watch now. I suppose he wouldn't have anything to say
to you."

"Maybe not," said Mickey.

"It would be a good joke if he should lose his place and have to go back
to boot-blacking again."

"I wish he would," said Micky, fervently. "It 'ould cure him of puttin'
on airs."

"If, for example, his employer should be convinced that he was a thief,
he would discharge him."

"Do you know him, mister?" asked Micky, looking up suddenly.

"Yes."

"Is he a friend of yours?"

"I like him about as well as you do," said Gilbert.

"Done!" said Micky, releasing the second foot.

"Suppose you brush the other boot again. I'll pay you double. I want to
talk to you a little."

"All right!" said Micky, and he resumed operations.

The conversation that followed we do not propose to chronicle. The
results will appear hereafter. Enough that Gilbert and Micky departed
mutually satisfied, the latter the richer by five times his usual fee.

CHAPTER XII.

DICK FALLS INTO A TRAP.

One evening, when Dick and Fosdick returned from their respective
stores, a surprise awaited them.

"The postman left some letters for you," said the servant, as she opened
the door to admit them.

"Maybe they're from the tax-collectors," said Dick. "That's the
misfortun' of being men of property. What was your tax last year,
Fosdick?"

"I don't remember such trifles," said Fosdick.

"I don't think they was taxes," said the girl, seriously; "they looked
as if they was from a young lady."

"Very likely they are from Fosdick's wife," said Dick. "She's
rusticatin' in the country for the benefit of her health."

"Maybe they're from yours, Mr. Hunter," said the girl, laughing.

"No," said Dick, gravely, "I'm a disconsolate widower, which accounts
for my low spir