"I'm glad you think so, Dick," and the rough voice sounded gentler
than at first. "Have you got any money to buy your breakfast?"

"No, but I'll soon get some."

While this conversation had been going on, Dick had got up. His
bedchamber had been a wooden box half full of straw, on which the
young boot-black had reposed his weary limbs, and slept as soundly
as if it had been a bed of down. He dumped down into the straw
without taking the trouble of undressing.

Getting up too was an equally short process. He jumped out of the
box, shook himself, picked out one or two straws that had found
their way into rents in his clothes, and, drawing a well-worn cap
over his uncombed locks, he was all ready for the business of the
day.

Dick's appearance as he stood beside the box was rather peculiar.
His pants were torn in several places, and had apparently belonged
in the first instance to a boy two sizes larger than himself. He
wore a vest, all the buttons of which were gone except two, out of
which peeped a shirt which looked as if it had been worn a month.
To complete his costume he wore a coat too long for him, dating
back, if one might judge from its general appearance, to a remote
antiquity.

Washing the face and hands is usually considered proper in
commencing the day, but Dick was above such refinement. He had no
particular dislike to dirt, and did not think it necessary to remove
several dark streaks on his face and hands. But in spite of his dirt