“You were certainly unlucky,” said Mr. Preston. “Did you know the boy you fought with?”
“Yes, sir; he once before stole my stock of candy, when I was in the prize-package business.”
“That was the day we got acquainted,” remarked Mr. Preston.
“Yes, sir.”
“He doesn't seem to be a very particular friend of yours.”
“No; he hates me, Mike does, though I don't know why. But I hope you won't be angry with me for losing the shirt?”
“No; it doesn't seem to be your fault, only your misfortune.”
“I was afraid you might think I had made up the story, and only wanted to get an extra shirt from you.”
“No, my young friend; I have some faith in physiognomy, and you have an honest face. I don't believe you would deceive me.”
“No, I wouldn't,” said Paul, promptly. “If you will trust me with another shirt, mother will make you an extra one to make up for the one I have lost.”