When Dick entered his room on Mott Street, he discovered that some one else had been there before him, and two articles of wearing apparel had disappeared.
“By gracious!” he exclaimed; “somebody’s stole my Washington coat and Napoleon pants. Maybe it’s an agent of Barnum’s, who expects to make a fortun’ by exhibitin’ the valooable wardrobe of a gentleman of fashion.”
Dick did not shed many tears over his loss, as, in his present circumstances, he never expected to have any further use for the well-worn garments. It may be stated that he afterwards saw them adorning the figure of Micky Maguire; but whether that estimable young man stole them himself, he never ascertained. As to the loss, Dick was rather pleased that it had occurred. It seemed to cut him off from the old vagabond life which he hoped never to resume. Henceforward he meant to press onward, and rise as high as possible.
Although it was yet only noon, Dick did not go out again with his brush. He felt that it was time to retire from business. He would leave his share of the public patronage to other boys less fortunate than himself. That evening Dick and Fosdick had a long conversation. Fosdick rejoiced heartily in his friend’s success, and on his side had the pleasant news to communicate that his pay had been advanced to six dollars a week.
“I think we can afford to leave Mott Street now,” he continued. “This house isn’t as neat as it might be, and I shall like to live in a nicer quarter of the city.”
“All right,” said Dick. “We’ll hunt up a new room to-morrow. I shall have plenty of time, having retired from business. I’ll try to get my reg’lar customers to take Johnny Nolan in my place. That boy hasn’t any enterprise. He needs some body to look out for him.”
“You might give him your box and brush, too, Dick.”
“No,” said Dick; “I’ll give him some new ones, but mine I want to keep, to remind me of the hard times I’ve had, when I was an ignorant boot-black, and never expected to be anything better.”
“When, in short, you were ‘Ragged Dick.’ You must drop that name, and think of yourself now as”—
“Richard Hunter, Esq.,” said our hero, smiling.