Mr. Rockwell surveyed it approvingly.

“How would you like to enter my counting-room as clerk, Richard?” he asked.

Dick was about to say “Bully,” when he recollected himself, and answered, “Very much.”

“I suppose you know something of arithmetic, do you not?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then you may consider yourself engaged at a salary of ten dollars a week.  You may come next Monday morning.”

“Ten dollars!” repeated Dick, thinking he must have misunderstood.

“Yes; will that be sufficient?”

“It’s more than I can earn,” said Dick, honestly.

“Perhaps it is at first,” said Mr. Rockwell, smiling; “but I am willing to pay you that.  I will besides advance you as fast as your progress will justify it.”

Dick was so elated that he hardly restrained himself from some demonstration which would have astonished the merchant; but he exercised self-control, and only said, “I’ll try to serve you so faithfully, sir, that you won’t repent having taken me into your service.”

“And I think you will succeed,” said Mr. Rockwell, encouragingly.  “I will not detain you any longer, for I have some important business to attend to.  I shall expect to see you on Monday morning.”

Dick left the counting-room, hardly knowing whether he stood on his head or his heels, so overjoyed was he at the sudden change in his fortunes.  Ten dollars a week was to him a fortune, and three times as much as he had expected to obtain at first.  Indeed he would have been glad, only the day before, to get a place at three dollars a week.  He reflected that with the stock of clothes which he had now on hand, he could save up at least half of it, and even then live better than he had been accustomed to do; so that his little fund in the savings bank, instead of being diminished, would be steadily increasing.  Then he was to be advanced if he deserved it.  It was indeed a bright prospect for a boy who, only a year before, could neither read nor write, and depended for a night’s lodging upon the chance hospitality of an alley-way or old wagon.  Dick’s great ambition to “grow up ’spectable” seemed likely to be accomplished after all.

“I wish Fosdick was as well off as I am,” he thought generously.  But he determined to help his less fortunate friend, and assist him up the ladder as he advanced himself.

When Dick entered his room on Mott Street, he discovered that some one else had been there before him, and two articles of wearing apparel had disappeared.

“By gracious!” he exclaimed; “somebody’s stole my Washington coat and Napoleon pants.  Maybe it’s an agent of Barnum’s, who expects to make a fortun’ by exhibitin’ the valooable wardrobe of a gentleman of fashion.”

Dick did not shed many tears over his loss, as, in his present circumstances, he never expected to have any further use for the well-worn garments.  It may be stated that he afterwards saw them adorning the figure of Micky Maguire; but whether that estimable young man stole them himself, he never ascertained.  As to the loss, Dick was rather pleased that it had occurred.  It seemed to cut him off from the old vagabond life which he hoped never to resume.  Henceforward he meant to press onward, and rise as high as possible.