Dick felt in very good spirits.  He seemed to be emerging from the world in which he had hitherto lived, into a new atmosphere of respectability, and the change seemed very pleasant to him.

At six o’clock Dick went into a restaurant on Chatham Street, and got a comfortable supper.  He had been so successful during the day that, after paying for this, he still had ninety cents left.  While he was despatching his supper, another boy came in, smaller and slighter than Dick, and sat down beside him.  Dick recognized him as a boy who three months before had entered the ranks of the boot-blacks, but who, from a natural timidity, had not been able to earn much.  He was ill-fitted for the coarse companionship of the street boys, and shrank from the rude jokes of his present associates.  Dick had never troubled him; for our hero had a certain chivalrous feeling which would not allow him to bully or disturb a younger and weaker boy than himself.

“How are you, Fosdick?” said Dick, as the other seated himself.

“Pretty well,” said Fosdick.  “I suppose you’re all right.”

“Oh, yes, I’m right side up with care.  I’ve been havin’ a bully supper.  What are you goin’ to have?”

“Some bread and butter.”

“Why don’t you get a cup o’ coffee?”

“Why,” said Fosdick, reluctantly, “I haven’t got money enough to-night.”

“Never mind,” said Dick; “I’m in luck to-day, I’ll stand treat.”

“That’s kind in you,” said Fosdick, gratefully.

“Oh, never mind that,” said Dick.

Accordingly he ordered a cup of coffee, and a plate of beefsteak, and was gratified to see that his young companion partook of both with evident relish.  When the repast was over, the boys went out into the street together, Dick pausing at the desk to settle for both suppers.

“Where are you going to sleep to-night, Fosdick?” asked Dick, as they stood on the sidewalk.

“I don’t know,” said Fosdick, a little sadly.  “In some doorway, I expect.  But I’m afraid the police will find me out, and make me move on.”

“I’ll tell you what,” said Dick, “you must go home with me.  I guess my bed will hold two.”

“Have you got a room?” asked the other, in surprise.

“Yes,” said Dick, rather proudly, and with a little excusable exultation.  “I’ve got a room over in Mott Street; there I can receive my friends.  That’ll be better than sleepin’ in a door-way,—­won’t it?”

“Yes, indeed it will,” said Fosdick.  “How lucky I was to come across you!  It comes hard to me living as I do.  When my father was alive I had every comfort.”

“That’s more’n I ever had,” said Dick.  “But I’m goin’ to try to live comfortable now.  Is your father dead?”

“Yes,” said Fosdick, sadly.  “He was a printer; but he was drowned one dark night from a Fulton ferry-boat, and, as I had no relations in the city, and no money, I was obliged to go to work as quick as I could.  But I don’t get on very well.”