“It fits me too much,” soliloquized Jerry, as he surveyed himself after the exchange. “I could let out the half of it, and have enough left for meself. Anyhow, it's clane, and it came chape enough.”
He came out of the alley, leaving his old shirt behind him. Even if it had been worth carrying away, Jerry saw no use in possessing more than one shirt. It was his habit to wear one until it was ready to drop off from him, and then get another if he could. There is a practical convenience in this arrangement, though there are also objections which will readily occur to the reader.
On the whole, though the shirt fitted him too much, as he expressed it, he regarded himself complacently.
The superabundant material gave the impression of liberal expenditure and easy circumstances, since a large shirt naturally costs more than a small one. So Jerry, as he walked along the Bowery, assumed a jaunty air, precisely such as some of my readers may when they have a new suit to display. His new shirt was quite conspicuous, since he was encumbered neither with vest nor coat.
Mike, feeling sore over his defeat, met Jerry the next morning on Chatham street. His quick eye detected the improved state of his friend's apparel, and his indignation rose, as he reflected that Jerry had pocketed the profits while the hard knocks had been his.
“Jerry!” he called out.
Jerry did not see fit to heed the call. He was sensible that Mike had something to complain of, and he was in no hurry to meet his reproaches.
“Jerry McGaverty!” called Mike, coming near.
“Oh, it's you, Mike, is it?” answered Jerry, unable longer to keep up the pretense of not hearing.
“Yes, it's me,” said Mike. “What made you leave me for last night?”