"
"Shall I get the money changed, sir?"
"I can't wait; I've got to meet an appointment immediately. I'll
hand you twenty-five cents, and you can leave the change at my
office any time during the day."
"All right, sir. Where is it?"
"No. 125 Fulton Street. Shall you remember?"
"Yes, sir. What name?"
"Greyson,--office on second floor."
"All right, sir; I'll bring it."
"I wonder whether the little scamp will prove honest," said Mr.
Greyson to himself, as he walked away. "If he does, I'll give him
my custom regularly. If he don't as is most likely, I shan't mind
the loss of fifteen cents."
Mr. Greyson didn't understand Dick. Our ragged hero wasn't a model
boy in all respects. I am afraid he swore sometimes, and now and
then he played tricks upon unsophisticated boys from the country,
or gave a wrong direction to honest old gentlemen unused to the
city. A clergyman in search of the Cooper Institute he once directed
to the Tombs Prison, and, following him unobserved, was highly
delighted when the unsuspicious stranger walked up the front steps
of the great stone building on Centre Street, and tried to obtain
admission.
"I guess he wouldn't want to stay long if he did get in," thought
Ragged Dick, hitching up his pants. "Leastways I shouldn't. They're
so precious glad to see you that they won't let you go, but board
you gratooitous, and never send in no bills."
Another of Dick's faults was his extravagance.
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