"Make it Dick, if you don't mind, Tim," suggested the millionaire's son. "I'm Dick and you're Tim," and the wealthy lad reached out and shook hands with the lad, whom he had once befriended as a "fresh-air kid," and who, later, he had set up in the newspaper business. Tim Muldoon, a typical New York newsboy, had accompanied Dick on a trip out west, to inspect a gold mine, and had been instrumental in aiding him. Our hero had not seen his protégé in some time, though he knew him at once when the auto so nearly ran him down.
"Well, well, Tim," went on Dick. "What have you been doing with yourself since last we met? You've have grown considerable. Is the paper business good?"
"Fine, thanks to the start you gave me, Mr. Ham—I mean Dick. I'm running three stands now, and I have two assistants. I get time to go to night school, now, and I'm studying bookkeeping."
Dick had noticed that Tim spoke better language than formerly, for the use of "dis," "dat," "youse" and kindred expressions was almost entirely eliminated from his conversation.
"Where are you going now, Tim?" asked Dick, when they had exchanged some remarks.
"Home. I've just finished work. Have to get ready for the early morning papers soon, though, so I'm bound for home."
"No, you're not!" exclaimed the rich youth. "You're coming to have something to eat with me. It's lonesome dining alone. Come on, hop in and we'll be there in no time. Then I'll run you up home in this buzz-wagon."
"But, Dick, I haven't any decent clothes on. I've been working and——"
"Nonsense! What do I care about clothes? Get in. We'll hire a private room if you're so afraid some one will see you."
"It isn't that, only you——"