more'n once. He don't
know me in my new clothes. Guess he don't know his boot-black
patronizes the same establishment."

His supper over, Dick went up to the desk, and, presenting his
check, tendered in payment his five-dollar bill, as if it were one
of a large number which he possessed. Receiving back his change he
went out into the street.

Two questions now arose: How should he spend the evening, and where
should he pass the night? Yesterday, with such a sum of money in his
possession, he would have answered both questions readily. For the
evening, he would have passed it at the Old Bowery, and gone to
sleep in any out-of-the-way place that offered. But he had turned
over a new leaf, or resolved to do so. He meant to save his money
for some useful purpose,--to aid his advancement in the world. So he
could not afford the theatre. Besides, with his new clothes, he was
unwilling to pass the night out of doors.

"I should spile 'em," he thought, "and that wouldn't pay."

So he determined to hunt up a room which he could occupy regularly,
and consider as his own, where he could sleep nights, instead of
depending on boxes and old wagons for a chance shelter. This would
be the first step towards respectability, and Dick determined to
take it.

He accordingly passed through the City Hall Park, and walked
leisurely up Centre Street.

He decided that it would hardly be advisable for him to seek
lodgings in Fifth Avenue, although his present cash capital
consisted of nearly five dollars in money, besides the valuable
papers contained in his wallet. Besides, he had reason to doubt
whether any in his line of business lived on that aristocratic
street. He took his way to Mott Street, which is considerably less
pretentious, and halted in front of a shabby brick lodging-house
kept by a Mrs. Mooney, with whose son Tom, Dick was acquainted.

Dick rang the bell, which sent back a shrill metallic response.

The door was opened by a slatternly servant, who looked at him
inquiringly, and not without curiosity. It must be remembered that
Dick was well dressed, and that nothing in his appearance bespoke
his occupation. Being naturally a good-looking boy, he might readily
be mistaken for a gentleman's son.

"Well, Queen Victoria," said Dick, "is your missus at home?"

"My name's Bridget," said the girl.

"Oh, indeed!" said Dick. "You looked so much like the queen's picter
what she gave me last Christmas in exchange for mine,