“I wish there was a place in our store,” said Fosdick. “It would be pleasant for us to be together.”
“Never mind,” said Dick; “there’ll be plenty of other chances. P’r’aps A. T. Stewart might like a partner. I wouldn’t ask more’n a quarter of the profits.”
“Which would be a very liberal proposal on your part,” said Fosdick, smiling. “But perhaps Mr. Stewart might object to a partner living on Mott Street.”
“I’d just as lieves move to Fifth Avenoo,” said Dick. “I aint got no prejudices in favor of Mott Street.”
“Nor I,” said Fosdick, “and in fact I have been thinking it might be a good plan for us to move as soon as we could afford. Mrs. Mooney doesn’t keep the room quite so neat as she might.”
“No,” said Dick. “She aint got no prejudices against dirt. Look at that towel.”
Dick held up the article indicated, which had now seen service nearly a week, and hard service at that,—Dick’s avocation causing him to be rather hard on towels.
“Yes,” said Fosdick, “I’ve got about tired of it. I guess we can find some better place without having to pay much more. When we move, you must let me pay my share of the rent.”
“We’ll see about that,” said Dick. “Do you propose to move to Fifth Avenoo?”
“Not just at present, but to some more agreeable neighborhood than this. We’ll wait till you get a situation, and then we can decide.”