the rims of his
spectacles.

"I want you to keep that for me," said Dick, awkwardly emptying his
money out on the desk.

"How much is there?"

"Five dollars."

"Have you got an account here?"

"No, sir."

"Of course you can write?"

The "of course" was said on account of Dick's neat dress.

"Have I got to do any writing?" asked our hero, a little
embarrassed.

"We want you to sign your name in this book," and the old gentleman
shoved round a large folio volume containing the names of
depositors.

Dick surveyed the book with some awe.

"I aint much on writin'," he said.

"Very well; write as well as you can."

The pen was put into Dick's hand, and, after dipping it in the
inkstand, he succeeded after a hard effort, accompanied by many
contortions of the face, in inscribing upon the book of the bank
the name

DICK HUNTER.

"Dick!--that means Richard, I suppose," said the bank officer, who
had some difficulty in making out the signature.

"No; Ragged Dick is what folks call me."

"You don't look very ragged."

"No, I've left my rags to home. They might get wore out if I used
'em too common."

"Well, my lad, I'll make out a book in the name of Dick Hunter,
since you seem to prefer Dick to Richard. I hope you will save up
your money and deposit more with us."

Our hero took his bank-book, and gazed on the entry "Five Dollars"
with a new sense of importance. He had been accustomed to joke
about Erie shares, but now, for the first time, he felt himself a
capitalist; on a small scale, to be sure, but still it was no small
thing for Dick to have five dollars which he could call his own. He
firmly determined that he would lay by every cent he could spare
from his earnings towards the fund he hoped to accumulate.

But Dick was too sensible not to know that there was something more
than money needed to win a respectable position in the world. He
felt that he was very ignorant. Of reading and writing he only knew
the rudiments, and that, with a slight acquaintance with arithmetic,
was all he did know of books. Dick knew he must study hard, and
he dreaded it. He looked upon learning as attended with greater
difficulties than it really possesses. But Dick had good pluck. He
meant to learn, nevertheless, and resolved to buy a book with his
first spare earnings.

When Dick went home at night he locked up his bank-book in one
of the drawers of the bureau. It was wonderful how much more
independent he