Roswell looked at the speaker, whom he recognized.
"I'm well," said he, in a stiff, ungracious manner.
Ashamed of the large bundle he was carrying, he would rather have been seen by any boy than Dick, under present circumstances. He did not fail to notice Dick's neat dress, and the gold chain displayed on his vest. Indeed there was nothing in Dick's appearance which would have been inconsistent with the idea that he lived on the avenue, and was, what Roswell claimed to be, a gentleman's son. It seemed to Roswell that Dick was immensely presumptuous in swaggering up Madison Avenue in such a style, as he mentally called it, and he formed the benevolent design of "taking down his pride," and making him feel uncomfortable, if possible.
"Have you lost your place?" he inquired.
"No," said Dick, "not yet. It's very kind of you to inquire."
"I suppose they pay you for walking the streets, then," he said, with a sneer.
"Yes," said Dick, composedly; "that's one of the things they pay me for."
"I suppose you like it better than blacking boots?" said Roswell, who, supposing that Dick was ashamed of his former occupation, felt a malicious pleasure in reminding him of it.
"Yes," said Dick, "I like it better on the whole; but then there's some advantages about boot-blackin'."
"Indeed!" said Roswell, superciliously. "As I was never in the business, I can't of course decide."