“Well, what’s to be done about it? I’ve no money to pay for plate-glass windows, and anyway, I think Clark’s the one to foot the bill—unless we bluff it out. Here comes the man, now.”
The gentleman who was coming quickly towards the group might have been excused for feeling that the limit of patience was reached in his case, since this was the third time that season that his windows had been broken by boys playing on the vacant lots. He was plainly very angry, as he began abruptly:—
“Which of you broke my window?”
For a second, nobody answered, and the man was about to express his opinion pretty freely, when Clark stepped forward.
“I am partly responsible for it, sir,” he said.
“Oh, you are—are you? Well, are you going to pay for it?”
“It shall certainly be paid for,” Clark replied, “but I can’t pay for it to-day.”
“Oh, yes, I understand that,” said the man. “You can’t pay it to-day, and if I let you off, you never will pay it. I’ll see your father about it. Where is he?”
Clark’s face grew suddenly white, and his clear eyes fell, while many of those rough boys felt a most unusual thrill of pity and sympathy for him. But he recovered himself quickly, and answered in a low voice:—
“I have no father to pay my bills, sir, but if you will not take my word for it, I will give you a note to the firm I work for, and they will see that you are paid.”