A plucky street boy who smokes, gambles, and speaks ungrammatically, Dick is also honest and hardworking. A quintessential novel of adventure, romance, and coming-of-age, it is also an exhilarating tale of one boy's metamorphosis from dirty street urchin to gentleman.
Ragged Dick, Or, Street Life in New York with the Boot-Bl...
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About the Author
Horatio Alger, Jr. was born in Chelsea, Massachusetts in 1832, the son of a Unitarian minister. He received a strict upbringing and was educated for a life in the church, graduating from Harvard in 1852.
After leaving Harvard, Alger, to his father's disappointment, took a job as a historian in Middlesex County, Massachusetts and later worked as a teacher at a boys' boarding school in East Greenwich, Rhode Island. He traveled in Europe for a year, and then returned to the United States in 1857 to complete his studies at the Cambridge Divinity School.
In 1864 Alger was ordained a minister at the First Parish Unitarian Church of Brewster on Cape Cod. Sixteen months later, however, he was dismissed from the pulpit after being accused of engaging in homosexual relations with two boys. After his dismissal, Alger began to focus on his writing career, which spanned more than three decades and 110 books. He wrote mainly children's books about boys and girls who rise from rags to riches through hard work and faith in the American dream. His first major success came with the publication of his eighth novel, Ragged Dick in 1868. Other popular novels include Luck and Pluck (1869), Tattered Tom (1871), and Strive and Succeed (1872). Alger also wrote several adult novels, including A Fancy of Her's (first publihsed as The New Schoolma'am in 1877) and The Disagreeable Woman (1895).
Alger, who never married, spent the last decades of his life living at his family home in South Natick, Massachusetts, where he died in 1899.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Chapter I
Ragged Dick Is Introduced to the Reader
“Wake up there, youngster,” said a rough voice.
Ragged Dick opened his eyes slowly, and stared stupidly in the face of the speaker, but did not offer to get up.
“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?”
“How much?” asked a gentleman on his way to his office.
“Ten cents,” said Dick, dropping his box, and sinking upon his knees on the sidewalk, flourishing his brush with the air of one skilled in his profession.
“Ten cents! Isn’t that a little steep?”
“Well, you know ’taint all clear profit,” said Dick, who had already set to work. “There’s the blacking costs something, and I have to get a new brush pretty often.”
“And you have a large rent too,” said the gentleman quizzically, with a glance at a large hole in Dick’s coat.
“Yes, sir,” said Dick, always ready to joke; “I have to pay such a big rent for my manshun up on Fifth Avenoo, that I can’t afford to take less than ten cents a shine. I’ll give you a bully shine, sir.”
“Be quick about it, for I am in a hurry. So your house is on Fifth Avenue, is it?”
“It isn’t anywhere else,” said Dick, and Dick spoke the truth there.
“What tailor do you patronize?” asked the gentleman, surveying Dick’s attire.
“Would you like to go to the same one?” asked Dick, shrewdly.
“Well, no; it strikes me that he didn’t give you a very good fit.”
“This coat once belonged to General Washington,” said Dick, comically. “He wore it all through the Revolution, and it got torn some, ’cause he fit so hard. When he died he told his widder to give it to some smart young feller that hadn’t got none of his own; so she gave it to me. But if you’d like it, sir, to remember General Washington by, I’ll let you have it reasonable.”
“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to deprive you of it. And did your pants come from General Washington too?”
“No, they was a gift from Lewis Napoleon. Lewis had outgrown ’em and sent ’em to me,—he’s bigger than me, and that’s why they don’t fit.”
“It seems you have distinguished friends. Now, my lad, I suppose you would like your money.”
“I shouldn’t have any objection,” said Dick.
“I believe,” said the gentleman, examining his pocket-book, “I haven’t got anything short of twenty-five cents. Have you got any change?”
“Not a cent,” said Dick. “All my money’s invested in the Erie Railroad.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Shall I get the money changed, sir?”
“I can’t wait; I’ve got to meet an appointment immediately. I’ll hand you twenty-five cents, and you can leave the change at my office any time during the day.”
“All right, sir. Where is it?”
“No. 125 Fulton Street. Shall you remember?”
“Yes, sir. What name?”
“Greyson,—office on second floor.”
“All right, sir; I’ll bring it.”
“I wonder whether the little scamp will prove honest,” said Mr. Greyson to himself, as he walked away. “If he does, I’ll give him my custom regularly. If he don’t, as is most likely, I shan’t mind the loss of fifteen cents.”
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. This cost him considerable, for Dick was rather fastidious about his cigars, and wouldn’t smoke the cheapest. Besides, having a liberal nature, he was generally ready to treat his companions. But of course the expense was the smallest objection. No boy of fourteen can smoke without being affected injuriously. Men are frequently injured by smoking, and boys always. But large numbers of the newsboys and boot-blacks form the habit. Exposed to the cold and wet they find that it warms them up, and the self-indulgence grows upon them. It is not uncommon to see a little boy, too young to be out of his mother’s sight, smoking with all the apparent satisfaction of a veteran smoker.
There was another way in which Dick sometimes lost money. There was a noted gambling-house on Baxter Street, which in the evening was sometimes crowded with these juvenile gamesters, who staked their hard earnings, generally losing of course, and refreshing themselves from time to time with a vile mixture of liquor at two cents a glass. Sometimes Dick strayed in h... --This text refers to the Paperback edition.
Ragged Dick Is Introduced to the Reader
“Wake up there, youngster,” said a rough voice.
Ragged Dick opened his eyes slowly, and stared stupidly in the face of the speaker, but did not offer to get up.
“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?”
“How much?” asked a gentleman on his way to his office.
“Ten cents,” said Dick, dropping his box, and sinking upon his knees on the sidewalk, flourishing his brush with the air of one skilled in his profession.
“Ten cents! Isn’t that a little steep?”
“Well, you know ’taint all clear profit,” said Dick, who had already set to work. “There’s the blacking costs something, and I have to get a new brush pretty often.”
“And you have a large rent too,” said the gentleman quizzically, with a glance at a large hole in Dick’s coat.
“Yes, sir,” said Dick, always ready to joke; “I have to pay such a big rent for my manshun up on Fifth Avenoo, that I can’t afford to take less than ten cents a shine. I’ll give you a bully shine, sir.”
“Be quick about it, for I am in a hurry. So your house is on Fifth Avenue, is it?”
“It isn’t anywhere else,” said Dick, and Dick spoke the truth there.
“What tailor do you patronize?” asked the gentleman, surveying Dick’s attire.
“Would you like to go to the same one?” asked Dick, shrewdly.
“Well, no; it strikes me that he didn’t give you a very good fit.”
“This coat once belonged to General Washington,” said Dick, comically. “He wore it all through the Revolution, and it got torn some, ’cause he fit so hard. When he died he told his widder to give it to some smart young feller that hadn’t got none of his own; so she gave it to me. But if you’d like it, sir, to remember General Washington by, I’ll let you have it reasonable.”
“Thank you, but I wouldn’t want to deprive you of it. And did your pants come from General Washington too?”
“No, they was a gift from Lewis Napoleon. Lewis had outgrown ’em and sent ’em to me,—he’s bigger than me, and that’s why they don’t fit.”
“It seems you have distinguished friends. Now, my lad, I suppose you would like your money.”
“I shouldn’t have any objection,” said Dick.
“I believe,” said the gentleman, examining his pocket-book, “I haven’t got anything short of twenty-five cents. Have you got any change?”
“Not a cent,” said Dick. “All my money’s invested in the Erie Railroad.”
“That’s unfortunate.”
“Shall I get the money changed, sir?”
“I can’t wait; I’ve got to meet an appointment immediately. I’ll hand you twenty-five cents, and you can leave the change at my office any time during the day.”
“All right, sir. Where is it?”
“No. 125 Fulton Street. Shall you remember?”
“Yes, sir. What name?”
“Greyson,—office on second floor.”
“All right, sir; I’ll bring it.”
“I wonder whether the little scamp will prove honest,” said Mr. Greyson to himself, as he walked away. “If he does, I’ll give him my custom regularly. If he don’t, as is most likely, I shan’t mind the loss of fifteen cents.”
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. This cost him considerable, for Dick was rather fastidious about his cigars, and wouldn’t smoke the cheapest. Besides, having a liberal nature, he was generally ready to treat his companions. But of course the expense was the smallest objection. No boy of fourteen can smoke without being affected injuriously. Men are frequently injured by smoking, and boys always. But large numbers of the newsboys and boot-blacks form the habit. Exposed to the cold and wet they find that it warms them up, and the self-indulgence grows upon them. It is not uncommon to see a little boy, too young to be out of his mother’s sight, smoking with all the apparent satisfaction of a veteran smoker.
There was another way in which Dick sometimes lost money. There was a noted gambling-house on Baxter Street, which in the evening was sometimes crowded with these juvenile gamesters, who staked their hard earnings, generally losing of course, and refreshing themselves from time to time with a vile mixture of liquor at two cents a glass. Sometimes Dick strayed in h... --This text refers to the Paperback edition.
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Most Helpful Customer Reviews
9 of 9 people found the following review helpful:
4.0 out of 5 stars
Ragged Dick... (Our Hero),
By andrew (Manchester, NH United States) - See all my reviews
This review is from: Ragged Dick Or, Street Life in New York with the Boot-Blacks (Signet Classics) (Paperback)
"Ragged Dick," a story about a young, poor, boot-black boy from New York City, is a Classic American novel. Written by Horatio Alger, in the late 1800's, hit upon the most important topic in America at the time; the "American Dream." The "American Dream," being the idea that everyone, from all walks of life, can come to America and be successful, in any way in which they want to, so long as they have hard work and determination to do so. Ragged Dick for filled this "Dream" by making his way up in society, and eventually making a wealthy man of himself.I enjoyed reading "Ragged Dick." The story, though it was short, covered some very important topics of life back in the 1800's. The first was that fact that noone should give up. Through all of the hardships Dick was put through, including the loss of his parents, the mis-fortune of receiving no education, and the fact that he lived on his own for most of his life. Another important topic that was covered, was that hard work pays off. In Dick's case, he worked hard at a boot-black, treated people with respect, and finally caught a break for his hard work, by receiving a high paying job. The kind of people that would enjoy this story would be people of all ages. No matter what age, or what level of education one may be, this story teaches lessons that anyone can benefit from. It doesn't matter if a twelve year old boy, or a fifty year old woman picked up "Ragged Dick," because they will both benefit from what the story speaks about.
12 of 13 people found the following review helpful:
5.0 out of 5 stars
Good values and good history,
By
This review is from: Ragged Dick Or, Street Life in New York with the Boot-Blacks (Signet Classics) (Paperback)
RAGGED DICK is a wonderful example of the late 19th century optimism in between the major depressions that plagued America during those years. I agree that this is an inspirational story for children and early adolescents. The values it imparts--loyalty, work, cooperation, persistence--are certainly ones that we would want our youth exposed to. But it holds something for adults too: and that is a first-hand glimpse of post-Civil War New York City. The struggle of the orphans, the advantages of the privileged class, the thieves, the confidence men, the unforgiving hardness of poverty in the pre-Jacob Riis days are all there. And that's what makes this book a double winner: it has something for the young and something for the older.
10 of 11 people found the following review helpful:
3.0 out of 5 stars
Rags to Riches,
By Ralph Ross (Iowa) - See all my reviews
This review is from: Ragged Dick Or, Street Life in New York with the Boot-Blacks (Signet Classics) (Paperback)
We all like a good story about underdogs and this is no exception. From the start of the story, we see the true nature of Ragged Dick. Uneducated, but honest. Ultimately, those are the two parralels in Dick's life. The inner battle to keep his honesty (i.e. not stealing) while at the same time surviving. The concept of the story is great. The reason it only earned 3 stars from me is because of some unanswered questions. The biggest one: Where the heck did Dick learn to swim? If he's grown up on the streets of New York his entire life, where could he have gotten his "expert" ability to swim? And why would Mr. Whitney let his son Frank go with Ragged Dick in a strange town? Also, there was way too much luck involved. The author accounts for this by implying that to be successful you have to create your own luck. Is that true? Who knows. All in all though, this was a good read and I recommend it to others interested in 19th century capitolism and becoming "'spectable".
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First Sentence:
HORATIO ALGER, JR., wrote more than one hundred books for boys during the last third of the nineteenth century until his death in 1899. Read the first page Key Phrases - Capitalized Phrases (CAPs): (learn more)
New York, Ragged Dick, Mott Street, Astor House, Micky Maguire, Fifth Avenue, Henry Fosdick, Horatio Alger, Johnny Nolan, Old Bowery, Dick Hunter, Jim Travis, Tom Wilkins, Chatham Street, City Hall, Limpy Jim, Spruce Street, Central Park, Fifth Avenoo, Third Avenue, Tony Pastor, Wall Street, Fulton Street, Roswell Crawford, Baxter Street New!
Concordance | Text Stats Browse Sample Pages:
Front Cover | Table of Contents | First Pages | Back Cover | Surprise Me!
HORATIO ALGER, JR., wrote more than one hundred books for boys during the last third of the nineteenth century until his death in 1899. Read the first page Key Phrases - Capitalized Phrases (CAPs): (learn more)
New York, Ragged Dick, Mott Street, Astor House, Micky Maguire, Fifth Avenue, Henry Fosdick, Horatio Alger, Johnny Nolan, Old Bowery, Dick Hunter, Jim Travis, Tom Wilkins, Chatham Street, City Hall, Limpy Jim, Spruce Street, Central Park, Fifth Avenoo, Third Avenue, Tony Pastor, Wall Street, Fulton Street, Roswell Crawford, Baxter Street New!
Concordance | Text Stats Browse Sample Pages:
Front Cover | Table of Contents | First Pages | Back Cover | Surprise Me!
Citations (learn more)
This book cites 36
books:
See all 36 books this book cites
- Ragged Dick by Horatio Alger Jr. on 7 pages
- Selected Writings (Crofts Classics) by Henry David Thoreau in Front Matter, and Back Matter
- Tattered Tom: Or, the Story of a Street Arab (Works of Horatio Alger) by Horatio Alger in Front Matter, and page 7
- Struggling Upward by Alger Jr. Horatio in Front Matter, and page 6
- Making His Mark (Polyglot Press Alger) by Horatio, Jr. Alger on page 6
See all 36 books this book cites
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