t dreaming that he would be brought face
to face with the true owner in the Lodge.

"What makes you think it is yours?" asked Mr. O'Connor.

"It is cut like mine," said Ben. "Besides I remember getting a large
spot of ink on one of the sleeves, which would not wash out. There it
is, on the left arm."

As Ben had said, there was a faint bluish spot on the sleeve of the
shirt. This made Ben's story a plausible one, though not conclusive. The
superintendent decided to inquire of Mike about the matter, and see what
explanation he could give.

"Mike Rafferty," he said, in a tone of authority, "come here; I want
you."

Mike came forward, but when he saw Ben, whom he recognized, he felt a
little taken aback. But he had not been brought up in the streets for
nothing. His embarrassment was only momentary. He determined to brazen
it out, and swear, if anything was said about the shirt, that it was his
own lawful property.

"I see you've got a new shirt on, Mike," said Mr. O'Connor.

"Yes, sir," said Mike.

"Where did you get it?"

"Where would I get it?" said Mike. "I bought it yesterday."

"Where did you buy it?"

"Round in Baxter Street," said Mike, confidently.

"It is a pretty good shirt for Baxter Street," remarked Mr. O'Connor.
"How much did you pay for it?"

"Fifty cents," answered Mike, glibly.

"This may all be true, Mike," said the superintendent; "but I am not
certain about it. This boy here says it is his shirt, and he thinks that
you stole it from him while he was lying asleep in City Hall Park
yesterday."

"It's a lie he's tellin', sir," said Mike. "I never seed him afore."

Here seemed to be a conflict of evidence. Of the two Ben seemed the more
likely to tell the truth. Still it was possible that he might be
mistaken, and Mike might be right after all.

"Have you any other proof that the shirt is yours?" asked Mr. O'Connor,
turning to Ben.

"Yes," said Ben, "my name is marked on the shirt, just below the waist."

"We can settle the matter quickly then. Mike, pull out the shirt, so
that we can see it."

Mike made some objection, which was quickly overruled. The shirt, being
examined, bore the name of "Benj. Brandon," just as Ben had said.

"The shirt is yours," said the superintendent to Ben.

"Now, Mike, what did you mean by telling me that lie? It was bad enough
to steal, without adding a lie besides."

"I bought the shirt in Baxter Street," persisted Mike, unblushingly.

"Then how