When Dick was dressed in his new suit, he surveyed his figure with pardonable complacency. It was the best he had ever worn, and fitted him as well as if it had been made expressly for him.
“He’s done the handsome thing,” said Dick to himself; “but there wasn’t no ’casion for his givin’ me these clothes. My lucky stars are shinin’ pretty bright now. Jumpin’ into the water pays better than shinin’ boots; but I don’t think I’d like to try it more’n once a week.”
About eleven o’clock the next morning Dick repaired to Mr. Rockwell’s counting-room on Pearl Street. He found himself in front of a large and handsome warehouse. The counting-room was on the lower floor. Our hero entered, and found Mr. Rockwell sitting at a desk. No sooner did that gentleman see him than he arose, and, advancing, shook Dick by the hand in the most friendly manner.
“My young friend,” he said, “you have done me so great service that I wish to be of some service to you in return. Tell me about yourself, and what plans or wishes you have formed for the future.”
Dick frankly related his past history, and told Mr. Rockwell of his desire to get into a store or counting-room, and of the failure of all his applications thus far. The merchant listened attentively to Dick’s statement, and, when he had finished, placed a sheet of paper before him, and, handing him a pen, said, “Will you write your name on this piece of paper?”
Dick wrote in a free, bold hand, the name Richard Hunter. He had very much improved in his penmanship, as has already been mentioned, and now had no cause to be ashamed of it.
Mr. Rockwell surveyed it approvingly.
“How would you like to enter my counting-room as clerk, Richard?” he asked.
Dick was about to say “Bully,” when he recollected himself, and answered, “Very much.”
“I suppose you know something of arithmetic, do you not?”