The little girl broke into a silvery laugh.
"What a funny boy you are!" she said.
"I didn't mean it," said Dick, stammering. "I meant it's a tip-top
name."
Here Ida laughed again, and Dick wished himself back in Mott Street.
"How old are you?" inquired Ida, continuing her examination.
"I'm fourteen,--goin' on fifteen," said Dick.
"You're a big boy of your age," said Ida. "My cousin Dick is a year
older than you, but he isn't as large."
Dick looked pleased. Boys generally like to be told that they are
large of their age.
"How old be you?" asked Dick, beginning to feel more at his ease.
"I'm nine years old," said Ida. "I go to Miss Jarvis's school. I've
just begun to learn French. Do you know French?"
"Not enough to hurt me," said Dick.
Ida laughed again, and told him that he was a droll boy.
"Do you like it?" asked Dick.
"I like it pretty well, except the verbs. I can't remember them
well. Do you go to school?"
"I'm studying with a private tutor," said Dick.
"Are you? So is my cousin Dick. He's going to college this year. Are
you going to college?"
"Not this year."
"Because, if you did, you know you'd be in the same class with my
cousin. It would be funny to have two Dicks in one class."
They turned down Twenty-fourth Street, passing the Fifth Avenue
Hotel on the left, and stopped before an elegant house with a brown
stone front. The bell was rung, and the door being opened, the boys,
somewhat abashed, followed Mr.
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