Fosdick was still at the hat-store, having succeeded in giving perfect satisfaction to Mr. Henderson.  His wages had just been raised to five dollars a week.  He and Dick still kept house together at Mrs. Mooney’s lodging-house, and lived very frugally, so that both were able to save up money.  Dick had been unusually successful in business.  He had several regular patrons, who had been drawn to him by his ready wit, and quick humor, and from two of them he had received presents of clothing, which had saved him any expense on that score.  His income had averaged quite seven dollars a week in addition to this.  Of this amount he was now obliged to pay one dollar weekly for the room which he and Fosdick occupied, but he was still able to save one half the remainder.  At the end of nine months therefore, or thirty-nine weeks, it will be seen that he had accumulated no less a sum than one hundred and seventeen dollars.  Dick may be excused for feeling like a capitalist when he looked at the long row of deposits in his little bank-book.  There were other boys in the same business who had earned as much money, but they had had little care for the future, and spent as they went along, so that few could boast a bank-account, however small.

“You’ll be a rich man some time, Dick,” said Henry Fosdick, one evening.

“And live on Fifth Avenoo,” said Dick.

“Perhaps so.  Stranger things have happened.”

“Well,” said Dick, “if such a misfortin’ should come upon me I should bear it like a man.  When you see a Fifth Avenoo manshun for sale for a hundred and seventeen dollars, just let me know and I’ll buy it as an investment.”

“Two hundred and fifty years ago you might have bought one for that price, probably.  Real estate wasn’t very high among the Indians.”

“Just my luck,” said Dick; “I was born too late.  I’d orter have been an Indian, and lived in splendor on my present capital.”

“I’m afraid you’d have found your present business rather unprofitable at that time.”

But Dick had gained something more valuable than money.  He had studied regularly every evening, and his improvement had been marvellous.  He could now read well, write a fair hand, and had studied arithmetic as far as Interest.  Besides this he had obtained some knowledge of grammar and geography.  If some of my boy readers, who have been studying for years, and got no farther than this, should think it incredible that Dick, in less than a year, and studying evenings only, should have accomplished it, they must remember that our hero was very much in earnest in his desire to improve.  He knew that, in order to grow up respectable, he must be well advanced, and he was willing to work.  But then the reader must not forget that Dick was naturally a smart boy.  His street education had sharpened his faculties, and taught him to rely upon himself.  He knew that it would take him a long time to reach the goal which he had set before him, and he had patience to keep on trying.  He knew that he had only himself to depend upon, and he determined to make the most of himself,—­a resolution which is the secret of success in nine cases out of ten.