gain.

He was aroused from his thoughts of home by a hand laid familiarly on
his shoulder. Turning, he saw a bootblack, whose adventures have
been chronicled in the volume called "Ragged Dick." They had become
acquainted some three months before, Dick having acted as a protector to
Phil against some rough boys of his own class.

"Been buyin' stocks?" asked Dick.

"I don't know what they are," said Phil, innocently.

"You're a green one," said Dick. "I shall have to take you into my
bankin' house and give you some training in business."

"Have you got a bankin' house?" asked Phil, in surprise.

"In course I have. Don't you see it?" pointing to an imposing-looking
structure in front of which they were just passing. "My clerks is all
hard to work in there, while I go out to take the air for the benefit of
my constitushun."

Phil looked puzzled, not quite understanding Dick's chaffing, and looked
rather inquiringly at the blacking box, finding it a little difficult to
understand why a banker on so large a scale should be blacking boots in
the street.

"Shine your boots, sir?" said Dick to a gentleman just passing.

"Not now; I'm in a hurry."

"Blackin' boots is good exercise," continued Dick, answering the doubt
in Phil's face. "I do it for the benefit of my health, thus combinin'
profit with salubriousness."

"I can't understand such long words," said Phil. "I don't know much
English."

"I would talk to you in Italian," said Dick, "only it makes my head
ache. What's come of your fiddle? You haven't sold it, and bought Erie
shares, have you?"

"A boy stole it from me, and broke it."

"I'd like to lick him. Who was it?"

"I think his name was Tim Rafferty."

"I know him," said Dick. "I'll give him a lickin' next time I see him."

"Can you?" asked Phil, doubtfully, for his enemy was as large as Dick.

"In course I can. My fists are like sledge-hammers. Jest feel my
muscle."

Dick straightened out his arm, and Phil felt of the muscle, which was
hard and firm.

"It's as tough as a ten-year-old chicken," said Dick. "It won't be
healthy for Tim to come round my way. What made him steal your fiddle?
He ain't goin' into the musical line, is he?"

"He was angry because I didn't want to lend it to him."

Just then Tim Rafferty himself turned the corner. There was a lull in
his business, and he was wandering along the street eating an apple.

"There he is," said Phil, suddenly espying his enemy.

Dick l