"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?"