"You are quite an acquisition to our circle," said Miss Peyton, graciously. "Have you boarded in this neighborhood before?" "No," said Fosdick; "at another part of the city." He was afraid she would ask him in what street, but fortunately she forbore. In about half an hour the boys went up to their own room, where they lighted the gas, and, opening their trunks, placed the contents in the bureau-drawers. "Blessed if it don't seem strange," said Dick, "for a feller brought up as I have been to live in this style. I wonder what Miss Peyton would have said if she had known what I had been." "You haven't any cause to be ashamed of it, Dick. It wasn't a very desirable business, but it was honest. Now you can do something better. You must adapt yourself to your new circumstances." "So I mean to," said Dick. "I'm going in for respectability. When I get to be sixty years old, I'm goin' to wear gold spectacles and walk round this way, like the old gentlemen I see most every day on Wall Street." Dick threw his head back, and began to walk round the room with a pompous step and an air of great importance. "I hope we'll both rise, Dick; we've got well started now, and there've been other boys, worse off than we are, who have worked hard, and risen to FAME AND FORTUNE." "We can try," said Dick. "Now let us go out and have a walk." "All right," said Fosdick. They went downstairs, and out into the street. Accustomed to the lower part of the city, there was a novelty in the evening aspect of Broadway, with its shops and theatres glittering with light. They sauntered carelessly along, looking in at the shop-windows, feeling more and more pleased with their change of location. All at once Dick's attention was drawn to a gentleman accompanied by a boy of about his own size, who was walking a little in advance. "Stop a minute," he said to Fosdick, and hurrying forward placed his hand on the boy's arm. "How are you, Frank?" he said. Frank Whitney, for it was he, turned in some surprise and looked at Dick, but did not at first recognize in the neat, well-dressed boy of fifteen the ragged boot-black he had encountered a year before. "I don't think I remember you," he said, surveying Dick with a puzzled expression. "Perhaps you'd remember me better if I had on my Washington coat and Napoleon pants," said our hero, with a smile. He felt rather pleased to find he was not recognized, since it was a compliment to his improved appearance. "What!" exclaimed Frank, his face lighting up with pleasure, "is it possible that you are--" "Richard Hunter, at your service," said our hero; "but when you knew me I was Ragged Dick." CHAPTER II. INTRODUCTION TO MERCANTILE LIFE. Frank Whitney was indeed surprised to find the ragged boot-black of a year before so wonderfully changed. He grasped Dick's hand, and shook it heartily. "Uncle," he said, "this is Dick. Isn't he changed?"