f his adversary.
"He pitched into me for nothin'," said Mike, glaring at Paul, and
rubbing his bloody nose on the sleeve of his ragged coat.
"That isn't true," said Paul, excitedly. "He came up while I was selling
prize packages of candy in front of the post office, and pulled my hat
over my eyes, while another boy grabbed my basket."
"You lie!" said Mike. "I don't know nothin' of your basket."
"Why did you pull his hat over his eyes?" asked the policeman.
"Because he insulted me."
"How did he insult you?"
"He wouldn't trust me till to-morrow."
"I don't blame him much for that," said the policeman, who was aware
of Mike's shady reputation, having on a former occasion been under
the necessity of arresting him. Even without such acquaintance, Mike's
general appearance would hardly have recommended him to Officer Jones.
"I'll let you go this time," he said, "but if I catch you fighting again
on my beat I'll march you off to the station-house."
Mike was glad to escape, though he would almost have been willing to be
arrested if Paul could have been arrested also.
The officer walked away, and Mike started down the street.
Paul followed him.
That didn't suit Mike's ideas, as he was anxious to meet Jim and divide
the spoils with him.
"What are you follerin' me for?" he demanded, angrily.
"I have my reasons," said Paul.
"Then you'd better stay where you are. Your company ain't wanted."
"I know that," said Paul, "but I'm going to follow you till I find my
basket."
"What do I know of your basket?"
"That's what I want to find out."
Mike saw, by Paul's resolute tone, that he meant what he said. Desirous
of shaking him of, he started on a run.
CHAPTER VI
PAUL AS AN ARTIST
Paul was not slow in following Mike. He was a good runner, and would
have had no difficulty in keeping up with his enemy if the streets had
been empty. But to thread his way in and out among the numerous foot
passengers that thronged the sidewalks was not so easy. He kept up
pretty well, however, until, in turning a street corner, he ran at full
speed into a very stout gentleman, whose scanty wind was quite knocked
out of him by the collision. He glared in anger at Paul, but could not
at first obtain breath enough to speak.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Paul, who, in spite of his desire to
overtake Mike, felt it incumbent upon him to stop and offer an apology.
"What do you mean, sir," exploded the fat man
|