and thought he was doing
well.

"Do you think I'd give up a loocrative business for less?" asked Dick.
"How much do you get?"

"That's my business," said Roswell, who, for reasons that may be
guessed, didn't care to mention the price for which he was working.
Judging Dick by himself, he thought it would give him a chance to exult
over him.

"I suppose it is," said Dick; "but as you was so partic'lar to find out
how much I got, I thought I'd inquire."

"You're trying to deceive me; I don't believe you get more than three
dollars a week."

"Don't you? Is that what you get?"

"I get a great deal more."

"I'm happy to hear it."

"I can find out how much you get, if I want to."

"You've found out already."

"I know what you say, but I've got a cousin in Rockwell & Cooper's."

"Have you?" asked Dick, a little surprised. "Who is it?"

"It is the book-keeper."

"Mr. Gilbert?"

"Yes; he has been there five years. I'll ask him about it."

"You'd better, as you're so anxious to find out. Mr. Gilbert is a friend
of mine. He spoke only this morning of my valooable services."

Roswell looked incredulous. In fact he did not understand Dick at all;
nor could he comprehend his imperturbable good-humor. There were several
things that he had said which would have offended most boys; but Dick
met them with a careless good-humor, and an evident indifference to
Roswell's good opinion, which piqued and provoked that young man.

It must not be supposed that while this conversation was going on the
boys were standing in the post-office. Dick understood his duty to his
employers too well to delay unnecessarily while on an errand, especially
when he was sent to get letters, some of which might be of an important
and urgent nature.

The two boys had been walking up Nassau Street together, and they had
now reached Printing House Square.

"There are some of your old friends," said Roswell, pointing to a group
of ragged boot-blacks, who were on the alert for customers, crying to
each passer, "Shine yer boots?"

"Yes," said Dick, "I know them all."

"No doubt," sneered Roswell. "They're friends to be proud of."

"I'm glad you think so," said Dick. "They're a rough set," he continued,
more earnestly; "but there's one of them, at least, that's ten times
better than you or I."

"Speak for yourself, if you please," said Roswell, haughtily.

"I'm speakin' for both of us," said Dick. "There's one boy there, only
twelve year