“I didn’t say, that I remember,” said Dick. “Your offer is very kind and obligin’, and as soon as I get time I’ll see about it.”
“I hope you will,” said the stranger. “Permit me to give you my card. `Samuel Snap, No.– Wall Street.’ I shall be most happy to receive a call from you, and exhibit the maps of our mine. I should be glad to have you mention the matter also to your friends. I am confident you could do no greater service than to induce them to embark in our enterprise.”
“Very good,” said Dick.
Here the stranger left the table, and walked up to the desk to settle his bill.
“You see what it is to be a man of fortun’, Frank,” said Dick, “and wear good clothes. I wonder what that chap’ll say when he sees me blackin’ boots to-morrow in the street?”
“Perhaps you earn your money more honorably than he does, after all,” said Frank. “Some of these mining companies are nothing but swindles, got up to cheat people out of their money ”
“He’s welcome to all he gets out of me,” said Dick.
[53] Mr. Stewart’s Tenth Street store was not open at the time Dick spoke. Since destroyed by fire, and rebuilt farther up Broadway, and again burned down in February. [58] Now the office of the Merchants’ Union Express Company.
CHAPTER VI
UP BROADWAY TO MADISON SQUARE
As the boys pursued their way up Broadway, Dick pointed out the prominent hotels and places of amusement. Frank was particularly struck with the imposing fronts of the St. Nicholas and Metropolitan Hotels, the former of white marble, the latter of a subdued brown hue, but not less elegant in its internal appointments. He was not surprised to be informed that each of these splendid structures cost with the furnishing not far from a million dollars.
At Eighth Street Dick turned to the right, and pointed out the Clinton Hall Building now occupied by the Mercantile Library, comprising at that time over fifty thousand volumes. [62]
A little farther on they came to a large building standing by itself just at the opening of Third and Fourth Avenues, and with one side on each.
“What is that building?” asked Frank.
“That’s the Cooper Institute,” said Dick; “built by Mr. Cooper, a particular friend of mine. Me and Peter Cooper used to go to school together.”
“What is there inside?” asked Frank.
“There’s a hall for public meetin’s and lectures in the basement, and a readin’ room and a picture gallery up above,” said Dick.
Directly opposite Cooper Institute, Frank saw a very large building of brick, covering about an acre of ground.
“Is that a hotel?” he asked.
“No,” said Dick; “that’s the Bible House. It’s the place where they make Bibles. I was in there once,–saw a big pile of ’em.”
“Did you ever read the Bible?” asked Frank, who had some idea of the neglected state of Dick’s education.
“No,” said Dick; “I’ve heard it’s a good book, but I never read one. I ain’t much on readin’. It makes my head ache.”
“I suppose you can’t read very fast.”
“I can read the little words pretty well, but the big ones is what stick me.”
“If I lived in the city, you might come every evening to me, and I would teach you.”
“Would you take so much trouble about me?” asked Dick, earnestly.
“Certainly; I should like to see you getting on. There isn’t much chance of that if you don’t know how to read and write.”
“You’re a good feller,” said Dick, gratefully. “I wish you did live in New York. I’d like to knows omethin’. Whereabouts do you live?”
“About fifty miles off, in a town on the left bank of the Hudson. I wish you’d come up and see me sometime. I would like to have you come and stop two or three days.”
“Honor bright?”
“I don’t understand.”
“Do you mean it?” asked Dick, incredulously.
“Of course I do. Why shouldn’t I?”
“What would your folks say if they knowed you asked a boot-black to visit you?”
“You are none the worse for being a boot-black, Dick.”