had worn at the commencement of the day, and the implements of his
business. These he stowed away in the bureau drawers, and by the
light of a flickering candle took off his clothes and went to
bed. Dick had a good digestion and a reasonably good conscience;
consequently he was a good sleeper. Perhaps, too, the soft feather
bed conduced to slumber. At any rate his eyes were soon closed,
and he did not awake until half-past six the next morning.

He lifted himself on his elbow, and stared around him in transient
bewilderment.

"Blest if I hadn't forgot where I was," he said to himself. "So this
is my room, is it? Well, it seems kind of 'spectable to have a room
and a bed to sleep in. I'd orter be able to afford seventy-five
cents a week. I've throwed away more money than that in one evenin'.
There aint no reason why I shouldn't live 'spectable. I wish I
knowed as much as Frank. He's a tip-top feller. Nobody ever cared
enough for me before to give me good advice. It was kicks, and
cuffs, and swearin' at me all the time. I'd like to show him I can
do something."

While Dick was indulging in these reflections, he had risen from
bed, and, finding an accession to the furniture of his room, in the
shape of an ancient wash-stand bearing a cracked bowl and broken
pitcher, indulged himself in the rather unusual ceremony of a good
wash. On the whole, Dick preferred to be clean, but it was not
always easy to gratify his desire. Lodging in the street as he had
been accustomed to do, he had had no opportunity to perform his
toilet in the customary manner. Even now he found himself unable to
arrange his dishevelled locks, having neither comb nor brush. He