s old, that's supported his sick mother and sister for more'n
a year, and that's more good than ever you or I did.--How are you, Tom?"
he said, nodding to the boy of whom he had spoken.

"Tip-top, Dick," said a bright-looking boy, who kept as clean as his
avocation would permit. "Have you given up business?"

"Yes, Tom. I'll tell you about it some other time. I must get back to
Pearl Street with these letters. How's your mother?"

"She aint much better, Dick."

"Buy her some oranges. They'll do her good," and Dick slipped half a
dollar into Tom's hand.

"Thank you, Dick. She'll like them, I know, but you oughtn't to give so
much."

"What's half a dollar to a man of my fortune?" said Dick. "Take care of
yourself, Tom. I must hurry back to the store."

Roswell was already gone. His pride would not permit him to stand by
while Dick was conversing with a boot-black. He felt that his position
would be compromised. As for Dick, he was so well dressed that nobody
would know that he had ever been in that business. The fact is, Roswell,
like a great many other people, was troubled with a large share of
pride, though it might have puzzled himself to explain what he had to be
proud of. Had Dick been at all like him he would have shunned all his
former acquaintances, and taken every precaution against having it
discovered that he had ever occupied a similar position. But Dick was
above such meanness. He could see that Tom, for instance, was far
superior in all that constituted manliness to Roswell Crawford, and,
boot-black though he was, he prepared to recognize him as a friend.

When Dick reached the store, he did not immediately see Mr. Rockwell.

He accordingly entered the counting-room where Gilbert, the book-keeper,
was seated at a desk.

"Here are the letters, Mr. Gilbert," said Dick.

"Lay them down," said the book-keeper, sourly. "You've been gone long
enough. How many did you drop on the way?"

"I didn't know I was expected to drop any," said Dick. "If I had been
told to do so, I would have obeyed orders cheerfully."

Mr. Gilbert was about to remark that Dick was an impudent young rascal,
when the sudden entrance of Mr. Rockwell compelled him to suppress the
observation, and he was obliged to be content with muttering it to
himself.

"Back already, Richard?" said his employer, pleasantly. "Where are the
letters?"

"Here, sir," said Dick.

"Very well, you may go to Mr. Murdock, and see what he can find f