Was there ever such a hopeless young scamp?
“Whose shop did you take them from?” I asked.
“Trotter’s, aside of our court. Go and tell him!” replied he, scornfully.
“How would you like any one to steal away one of your brushes?”
“I’d give ’em a topper!”
“But that’s just what you’ve done to Trotter,” I argued.
“Well, why don’t you fetch him to give me a topper?” he replied.
I gave it up. There was no arguing with a boy like this. If there had been, there would have been no further opportunity that night, for as I stood by, puzzling in my mind what to say to bring home to the graceless youth a sense of his iniquity, he began picking up his brushes and shouldering his box.
“Where are you going so early?” I asked.
“Don’t you like to know?” retorted he.