“Anyway, you know too much to be blackin’ boots. Leave that to ignorant chaps like me.”
“You won’t be ignorant long, Dick.”
“You’d ought to get into some office or countin’-room.”
“I wish I could,” said Fosdick, earnestly. “I don’t succeed very well at blacking boots. You make a great deal more than I do.”
“That’s cause I aint troubled with bashfulness,” said Dick. “Bashfulness aint as natural to me as it is to you. I’m always on hand, as the cat said to the milk. You’d better give up shines, Fosdick, and give your ’tention to mercantile pursuits.”
“I’ve thought of trying to get a place,” said Fosdick; “but no one would take me with these clothes;” and he directed his glance to his well-worn suit, which he kept as neat as he could, but which, in spite of all his care, began to show decided marks of use. There was also here and there a stain of blacking upon it, which, though an advertisement of his profession, scarcely added to its good appearance.
“I almost wanted to stay at home from Sunday school last Sunday,” he continued, “because I thought everybody would notice how dirty and worn my clothes had got to be.”
“If my clothes wasn’t two sizes too big for you,” said Dick, generously, “I’d change. You’d look as if you’d got into your great-uncle’s suit by mistake.”
“You’re very kind, Dick, to think of changing,” said Fosdick, “for your suit is much better than mine; but I don’t think that mine would suit you very well. The pants would show a little more of your ankles than is the fashion, and you couldn’t eat a very hearty dinner without bursting the buttons off the vest.”
“That wouldn’t be very convenient,” said Dick. “I aint fond of lacin’ to show my elegant figger. But I say,” he added with a sudden thought, “how much money have we got in the savings’ bank?”