“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, at last, “by tearing through the streets like a locomotive? You've nearly killed me.”
“I am very sorry, sir.”