Ragged Dick | Page 9

you don't know Dick?"
"Where'd you get all them clothes?" asked Johnny. "Have you been
stealin'?"
"Say that again, and I'll lick you. No, I've lent my clothes to a young
feller as was goin' to a party, and didn't have none fit to wear, and so I
put on my second-best for a change."
Without deigning any further explanation, Dick went off, followed by
the astonished gaze of Johnny Nolan, who could not quite make up his
mind whether the neat-looking boy he had been talking with was really
Ragged Dick or not.
In order to reach Chatham Street it was necessary to cross Broadway.
This was easier proposed than done. There is always such a throng of
omnibuses, drays, carriages, and vehicles of all kinds in the
neighborhood of the Astor House, that the crossing is formidable to one
who is not used to it. Dick made nothing of it, dodging in and out
among the horses and wagons with perfect self-possession. Reaching
the opposite sidewalk, he looked back, and found that Frank had
retreated in dismay, and that the width of the street was between them.
"Come across!" called out Dick.
"I don't see any chance," said Frank, looking anxiously at the prospect
before him. "I'm afraid of being run over."
"If you are, you can sue 'em for damages," said Dick.
Finally Frank got safely over after several narrow escapes, as he
considered them.
"Is it always so crowded?" he asked.
"A good deal worse sometimes," said Dick. "I knowed a young man
once who waited six hours for a chance to cross, and at last got run

over by an omnibus, leaving a widder and a large family of orphan
children. His widder, a beautiful young woman, was obliged to start a
peanut and apple stand. There she is now."
"Where?"
Dick pointed to a hideous old woman, of large proportions, wearing a
bonnet of immense size, who presided over an apple-stand close by.
Frank laughed.
"If that is the case," he said, "I think I will patronize her."
"Leave it to me," said Dick, winking.
He advanced gravely to the apple-stand, and said, "Old lady, have you
paid your taxes?"
The astonished woman opened her eyes.
"I'm a gov'ment officer," said Dick, "sent by the mayor to collect your
taxes. I'll take it in apples just to oblige. That big red one will about pay
what you're owin' to the gov'ment."
"I don't know nothing about no taxes," said the old woman, in
bewilderment.
"Then," said Dick, "I'll let you off this time. Give us two of your best
apples, and my friend here, the President of the Common Council, will
pay you."
Frank smiling, paid three cents apiece for the apples, and they
sauntered on, Dick remarking, "If these apples aint good, old lady, we'll
return 'em, and get our money back." This would have been rather
difficult in his case, as the apple was already half consumed.
Chatham Street, where they wished to go, being on the East side, the
two boys crossed the Park. This is an enclosure of about ten acres,
which years ago was covered with a green sward, but is now a great

thoroughfare for pedestrians and contains several important public
buildings. Dick pointed out the City Hall, the Hall of Records, and the
Rotunda. The former is a white building of large size, and surmounted
by a cupola.
"That's where the mayor's office is," said Dick. "Him and me are very
good friends. I once blacked his boots by partic'lar appointment. That's
the way I pay my city taxes."
CHAPTER V
CHATHAM STREET AND BROADWAY
They were soon in Chatham Street, walking between rows of
ready-made clothing shops, many of which had half their stock in trade
exposed on the sidewalk. The proprietors of these establishments stood
at the doors, watching attentively the passersby, extending urgent
invitations to any who even glanced at the goods to enter.
"Walk in, young gentlemen," said a stout man, at the entrance of one
shop.
"No, I thank you," replied Dick, "as the fly said to the spider."
"We're selling off at less than cost."
"Of course you be. That's where you makes your money," said Dick.
"There aint nobody of any enterprise that pretends to make any profit
on his goods."
The Chatham Street trader looked after our hero as if he didn't quite
comprehend him; but Dick, without waiting for a reply, passed on with
his companion.
In some of the shops auctions seemed to be going on.
"I am only offered two dollars, gentlemen, for this elegant pair of
doeskin pants, made of the very best of cloth. It's a frightful sacrifice.

Who'll give an eighth? Thank you, sir. Only seventeen shillings! Why
the cloth cost more by the yard!"
This