“But he insulted you.”
“I suppose you mean about the patch. But never mind about that. You all know that my father is a poor man, and can’t afford to buy me expensive clothes. If I get my clothes torn, I can’t afford to throw them aside. I don’t like patches any better than anybody, but till I get richer I shall wear them.”
Harry spoke so manfully, that the boys heartily sympathized with him. It might have been supposed that James Turner would have been convinced of his meanness, and ashamed of it; but he was essentially a mean boy, and it may be added that a part of his meanness came to him from his father, who, though a rich man, was sordid and covetous, and never known to do a generous action. So James now could not refrain from a parting sneer.
“If Raymond wears patches because he is poor,” he said, “I’ll give him a pair of pants that I’ve got through wearing, any time when he’ll come up to the house.”
“You needn’t trouble yourself,” said Harry, angry at the insult. “When I want your cast-off clothes I’ll let you know. I’ll go in rags first.”
“Just as you choose,” said James, sneering. “There’s no accounting for tastes. Come along, Barton.”
The two boys walked away, not much regretted by those they left behind. If they had heard the remarks made about them after their departure, neither would have felt particularly complimented.
“The beggarly upstart!” said James to his companion. “He puts on airs enough for a pauper.”
“So he does,” said Barton. “He can’t speak half as well as you. But Mr. Tower’s prejudiced.”
“I don’t care for his miserable prizes,” said James. “They’re not worth thinking of.”