“You’re gettin’ mighty fine!” said Micky Maguire, surveying Dick’s new clothes with a scornful air.
There was something in his words and tone, which Dick, who was disposed to stand up for his dignity, did not at all relish.
“Well, what’s the odds if I am?” he retorted. “Does it hurt you any?”
“See him put on airs, Jim,” said Micky, turning to his companion. “Where’d you get them clo’es?”
“Never mind where I got ’em. Maybe the Prince of Wales gave ’em to me.”
“Hear him, now, Jim,” said Micky. “Most likely he stole ’em.”
“Stealin’ aint in my line.”
It might have been unconscious the emphasis which Dick placed on the word “my.” At any rate Micky chose to take offence.
“Do you mean to say I steal?” he demanded, doubling up his fist, and advancing towards Dick in a threatening manner.
“I don’t say anything about it,” answered Dick, by no means alarmed at this hostile demonstration. “I know you’ve been to the Island twice. P’r’aps ’twas to make a visit along of the Mayor and Aldermen. Maybe you was a innocent victim of oppression. I aint a goin’ to say.”