"
Dick was right. Micky Maguire was a bully, and like most bullies did
not fancy tackling boys whose strength was equal or superior to his
own. Although he hated Dick more than ever, because he thought our
hero was putting on airs, he had too lively a remembrance of his
strength and courage to venture upon another open attack. He
contented himself, therefore, whenever he met Dick, with scowling at
him. Dick took this very philosophically, remarking that, "if it was
soothin' to Micky's feelings, he might go ahead, as it didn't hurt
him much."
It will not be necessary to chronicle the events of the next few
weeks. A new life had commenced for Dick. He no longer haunted the
gallery of the Old Bowery; and even Tony Pastor's hospitable doors
had lost their old attractions. He spent two hours every evening in
study. His progress was astonishingly rapid. He was gifted with a
natural quickness; and he was stimulated by the desire to acquire a
fair education as a means of "growin' up 'spectable," as he termed
it. Much was due also to the patience and perseverance of Henry
Fosdick, who made a capital teacher.
"You're improving wonderfully, Dick," said his friend, one evening,
when Dick had read an entire paragraph without a mistake.
"Am I?" said Dick, with satisfaction.
"Yes. If you'll buy a writing-book to-morrow, we can begin writing
to-morrow evening."
"What else do you know, Henry?" asked Dick.
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