“Don’t you earn enough to pay for a room, Dick?”
“Yes,” said Dick; “only I spend my money foolish, goin’ to the Old Bowery, and Tony Pastor’s, and sometimes gamblin’ in Baxter Street.”
“You won’t gamble any more,—will you, Dick?” said Frank, laying his hand persuasively on his companion’s shoulder.
“No, I won’t,” said Dick.
“You’ll promise?”
“Yes, and I’ll keep it. You’re a good feller. I wish you was goin’ to be in New York.”
“I am going to a boarding-school in Connecticut. The name of the town is Barnton. Will you write to me, Dick?”
“My writing would look like hens’ tracks,” said our hero.
“Never mind. I want you to write. When you write you can tell me how to direct, and I will send you a letter.”
“I wish you would,” said Dick. “I wish I was more like you.”