“No, it's on Nassau Street.”
“If you will show me the way there I'll give you ten cents.”
“All right! The walk'll do me good. Come on!”
“What's your name?” asked Phil, who had become interested in his new acquaintance.
“The boys call me Ragged Dick.”
It was indeed the lively young bootblack whose history was afterward given in a volume which is probably familiar to many of my readers. At this time he was only a bootblack, and had not yet begun to feel the spur of that ambition which led to his subsequent prosperity.
“That's a queer name,” said Phil.
“I try to live up to it,” said Dick, with a comical glance at his ragged coat, which had originally been worn by a man six feet in height.
He swung his box over his shoulder, and led the way to the old post-office.