“Ten cents,” said Dick, dropping his box, and sinking upon his knees on the sidewalk, flourishing his brush with the air of one skilled in his profession.
“Ten cents! Isn’t that a little steep?”
“Well, you know ’taint all clear profit,” said Dick, who had already set to work. “There’s the blacking costs something, and I have to get a new brush pretty often.”
“And you have a large rent, too,” said the gentleman, quizzically, with a glance at a large hole in Dick’s coat.
“Yes, sir,” said Dick, always ready for a joke; “I have to pay such a big rent for my manshun up on Fifth Avenue that I can’t afford to take less than ten cents a shine. I’ll give you a bully shine, sir.”
“Be quick about it then, for I am in a hurry. So your house is on Fifth Avenue, is it?”
“It isn’t anywhere else,” said Dick, and Dick spoke the truth there.
“What tailor do you patronize?” asked the gentleman, surveying Dick’s attire.
“Would you like to go to the same one?” asked Dick, shrewdly.
“Well, no; it strikes me that he didn’t give you a very good fit.”