Paul the Peddler; Or, The Fortunes of a Young Street Merchant

They sauntered along, and Mike pressed in close by Paul.

“What do you want?” asked Paul, not liking the vicinity.

“What’s that to you?” demanded Mike.

“Quit crowdin’ me.”

“I ain’t crowdin’. I’ve got as much right to be here as you.”

“Here’s your prize packages!” exclaimed Paul, in a businesslike tone.

“Maybe I’ll buy one if you’ll give me credit till to-morrow,” said Mike.

“Your credit isn’t good with me,” said Paul. “You must pay cash down.”

“Then you won’t trust me?” said Mike, pressing a little closer.

“No, I won’t,” said Paul, decidedly.

“Then, take that, you spalpeen!” said Mike, suddenly pulling Paul’s hat over his eyes.

At the same time Jim, to whom he had tipped a wink, snatched the basket, which Paul held loosely in his hand, and disappeared round the corner.

The attack was so sudden and unexpected that Paul was at first bewildered. But he quickly recovered his presence of mind, and saw into the trick. He raised his hat, and darted in pursuit of Mike, not knowing in what direction his basket had gone.

“That’s a mean trick!” he exclaimed, indignantly. “Give me back my basket, you thief!”

“I ain’t got no basket,” said Mike, facing round.

“Then you know where it is.”

“I don’t know nothin’ of your basket.”

“You pulled my hat over my eyes on purpose to steal my basket.”

“No, I didn’t. You insulted me, that’s why I did it.”

“Tell me where my basket is, or I’ll lick you,” said Paul, incensed.

“I ain’t nothin’ to do with your basket.”

“Take that, then, for pulling my hat over my eyes,” and Paul, suiting the action to the word, dealt Mike a staggering blow in the face.

“I’ll murder you!” shouted Mike, furiously, dashing at Paul with a blow which might have leveled him, if he had not fended it off.

Paul was not quarrelsome, but he knew how to fight, and he was prepared now to fight in earnest, indignant as he was at the robbery which entailed upon him a loss he could ill sustain.

“I’ll give you all you want,” he said, resolutely, eyeing Mike warily, and watching a chance to give him another blow.

The contest was brief, being terminated by the sudden and unwelcome arrival of a policeman.

“What’s this?” he asked authoritatively, surveying the combatants; Paul, with his flushed face, and Mike, whose nose was bleeding freely from a successful blow of his adversary.

“He pitched into me for nothin’,” said Mike, glaring at Paul, and rubbing his bloody nose on the sleeve of his ragged coat.

“That isn’t true,” said Paul, excitedly. “He came up while I was selling prize packages of candy in front of the post office, and pulled my hat over my eyes, while another boy grabbed my basket.”

“You lie!” said Mike. “I don’t know nothin’ of your basket.”

“Why did you pull his hat over his eyes?” asked the policeman.

“Because he insulted me.”

“How did he insult you?”

“He wouldn’t trust me till to-morrow.”

“I don’t blame him much for that,” said the policeman, who was aware of Mike’s shady reputation, having on a former occasion been under the necessity of arresting him. Even without such acquaintance, Mike’s general appearance would hardly have recommended him to Officer Jones.

“I’ll let you go this time,” he said, “but if I catch you fighting again on my beat I’ll march you off to the station-house.”

Mike was glad to escape, though he would almost have been willing to be arrested if Paul could have been arrested also.

The officer walked away, and Mike started down the street.

Paul followed him.

That didn’t suit Mike’s ideas, as he was anxious to meet Jim and divide the spoils with him.

“What are you follerin’ me for?” he demanded, angrily.

“I have my reasons,” said Paul.

“Then you’d better stay where you are. Your company ain’t wanted.”

“I know that,” said Paul, “but I’m going to follow you till I find my basket.”

“What do I know of your basket?”

“That’s what I want to find out.”

Mike saw, by Paul’s resolute tone, that he meant what he said. Desirous of shaking him of, he started on a run.

CHAPTER VI

PAUL AS AN ARTIST

Paul was not slow in following Mike. He was a good runner, and would have had no difficulty in keeping up with his enemy if the streets had been empty. But to thread his way in and out among the numerous foot passengers that thronged the sidewalks was not so easy. He kept up pretty well, however, until, in turning a street corner, he ran at full speed into a very stout gentleman, whose scanty wind was quite knocked out of him by the collision. He glared in anger at Paul, but could not at first obtain breath enough to speak.