“Blackin’ boots is good exercise,” continued Dick, answering the doubt in Phil’s face. “I do it for the benefit of my health, thus combinin’ profit with salubriousness.”
“I can’t understand such long words,” said Phil. “I don’t know much English.”
“I would talk to you in Italian,” said Dick, “only it makes my head ache. What’s come of your fiddle? You haven’t sold it, and bought Erie shares, have you?”
“A boy stole it from me, and broke it.”
“I’d like to lick him. Who was it?”
“I think his name was Tim Rafferty.”
“I know him,” said Dick. “I’ll give him a lickin’ next time I see him.”
“Can you?” asked Phil, doubtfully, for his enemy was as large as Dick.
“In course I can. My fists are like sledge-hammers. Jest feel my muscle.”
Dick straightened out his arm, and Phil felt of the muscle, which was hard and firm.