Mr. Greyson didn't understand Dick. Our ragged hero wasn't a model
boy in all respects. I am afraid he swore sometimes, and now and
then he played tricks upon unsophisticated boys from the country,
or gave a wrong direction to honest old gentlemen unused to the
city. A clergyman in search of the Cooper Institute he once directed
to the Tombs Prison, and, following him unobserved, was highly
delighted when the unsuspicious stranger walked up the front steps
of the great stone building on Centre Street, and tried to obtain
admission.

"I guess he wouldn't want to stay long if he did get in," thought
Ragged Dick, hitching up his pants. "Leastways I shouldn't. They're
so precious glad to see you that they won't let you go, but board
you gratooitous, and never send in no bills."

Another of Dick's faults was his extravagance. Being always
wide-awake and ready for business, he earned enough to have
supported him comfortably and respectably. There were not a few
young clerks who employed Dick from time to time in his professional
capacity, who scarcely earned as much as he, greatly as their style
and dress exceeded his. But Dick was careless of his earnings. Where
they went he could hardly have told himself. However much he managed
to earn during the day, all was generally spent before morning. He
was fond of going to the Old Bowery Theatre, and to Tony Pastor's,
and if he had any money left afterwards, he would invite some of
his friends in somewhere to have an oyster-stew; so it seldom
happened that he commenced the day with a penny.

Then I am sorry to add that Dick had formed the habit of smoking.