I didn't go to the bank this morning."
"All right. I'll take it, and pay you back next week."
"No, Dick; if you've given three dollars, you must let me give two."
"No, Fosdick, I'd rather give the whole. You know I've got more
money than you. No, I haven't, either," said Dick, the memory of his
loss flashing upon him. "I thought I was rich this morning, but now
I'm in destitoot circumstances."
"Cheer up, Dick; you'll get your money back."
"I hope so," said our hero, rather ruefully.
The fact was, that our friend Dick was beginning to feel what is
so often experienced by men who do business of a more important
character and on a larger scale than he, the bitterness of a reverse
of circumstances. With one hundred dollars and over carefully laid
away in the savings bank, he had felt quite independent. Wealth is
comparative, and Dick probably felt as rich as many men who are
worth a hundred thousand dollars. He was beginning to feel the
advantages of his steady self-denial, and to experience the
pleasures of property. Not that Dick was likely to be unduly
attached to money. Let it be said to his credit that it had never
given him so much satisfaction as when it enabled him to help Tom
Wilkins in his trouble.
Besides this, there was another thought that troubled him. When he
obtained a place he could not expect to receive as much as he was
now making from blacking boots,--probably not more than three
dollars a week,--while his expenses without clothing would amount to
four dollars.
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