s paid me in money, as well as in another
way."

"I'm awful ignorant," said Dick, soberly.

"But you are young, and, I judge, a smart boy. If you try to learn,
you can, and if you ever expect to do anything in the world, you
must know something of books."

"I will," said Dick, resolutely. "I aint always goin' to black boots
for a livin'."

"All labor is respectable, my lad, and you have no cause to be
ashamed of any honest business; yet when you can get something to do
that promises better for your future prospects, I advise you to do
so. Till then earn your living in the way you are accustomed to,
avoid extravagance, and save up a little money if you can."

"Thank you for your advice," said our hero. "There aint many that
takes an interest in Ragged Dick."

"So that's your name," said Mr. Whitney. "If I judge you rightly,
it won't be long before you change it. Save your money, my lad,
buy books, and determine to be somebody, and you may yet fill an
honorable position."

"I'll try," said Dick. "Good-night, sir."

"Wait a minute, Dick," said Frank. "Your blacking-box and old
clothes are upstairs. You may want them."

"In course," said Dick. "I couldn't get along without my best
clothes, and my stock in trade."

"You may go up to the room with him, Frank," said Mr. Whitney. "The
clerk will give you the key. I want to see you, Dick, before you
go."

"Yes, sir," said Dick.

"Where are you going to sleep to-night, Dick?" asked Frank, as they
went upstairs together.

"P'r'aps at the Fifth Avenue Hotel--on the outside," said Dick.

"Haven't you any place to sleep, then?"

"I slept in a box, last night."

"In a box?"

"Yes, on Spruce Street."

"Poor fellow!" said Frank, compassionately.

"Oh, 'twas a bully bed--full of straw! I slept like a top."

"Don't you earn enough to pay for a room, Dick?"

"Yes," said Dick; "only I spend my money foolish, goin' to the Old
Bowery, and Tony Pastor's, and sometimes gamblin' in Baxter Street."

"You won't gamble any more,--will you, Dick?" said Frank, laying his
hand persuasively on his companion's shoulder.

"No, I won't," said Dick.

"You'll promise?"

"Yes, and I'll keep it. You're a good feller. I wish you was goin'
to be in New York."

"I am going to a boarding-school in Connecticut. The name of the
town is Barnton. Will you write to me, Dick?"

"My writing would look like hens' tracks," said our hero.

"Never mind. I want you to write. When you w