"I may read them, but I am getting them for my ward."
"Is he a boot-black?" sneered Roswell, who knew all about Dick's early career.
"No," said Richard, "he's a match boy; so if you've got any books that you can warrant to be just the thing for match boys, I should like to see them."
"We don't have many customers of that class," said Roswell, unpleasantly. "They generally go to cheaper establishments, when they are able to read."
"Do they?" said Dick. "I'm glad you've got into a place where you only meet the cream of society," and Dick glanced significantly at a red-nosed man who came in to buy a couple of sheets of notepaper.
Roswell colored.
"There are some exceptions," he said, and glanced pointedly at Richard Hunter himself.
"Well," said Dick, after looking over a collection of juvenile books, "I'll take these two."
He drew out his pocket-book, and handed Roswell a ten-dollar bill. Roswell changed it with a feeling of jealousy and envy. He was the "son of a gentleman," as he often boasted, but he never had a ten-dollar bill in his pocket. Indeed, he was now working for six dollars a week, and glad to get that, after having been out of a situation for several months.