“Wake up, you young vagabond!” said the man a little impatiently; “I suppose you’d lay there all day, if I hadn’t called you.” “What time is it?” asked Dick. “Seven o’clock.” “Seven o’clock! I oughter’ve been up an hour ago. I know what ’twas made me so precious sleepy. I went to the Old Bowery last night, and didn’t turn in till past twelve.” “You went to the Old Bowery? Where’d you get your money?” asked the man, who was a porter in the employ of a firm doing business on Spruce Street. “Made it by shines, in course. My guardian don’t allow me no money for theatres, so I have to earn it.” “Some boys get it easier than that,” said the porter significantly. “You don’t catch me stealin’, if that’s what you mean,” said Dick. “Don’t you ever steal, then?” “No, and I wouldn’t. Lots of boys does it, but I wouldn’t.” “Well, I’m glad to hear you say that. I believe there’s some good in you, Dick, after all.” “Oh, I’m a rough customer!” said Dick. “But I wouldn’t steal. It’s mean.” “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 and rags there was something about Dick that was attractive. It was easy to see that if he had been clean and well dressed he would have been decidedly good-looking. Some of his companions were sly, and their faces inspired distrust; but Dick had a frank, straight-forward manner that made him a favorite. Dick’s business hours had commenced. He had no office to open. His little blacking-box was ready for use, and he looked sharply in the faces of all who passed, addressing each with, “Shine yer boots, sir?”