He entered a
passing car, for it was too late to walk.
"I wish I had taken the car down," thought Paul. "Then I shouldn't have
lost the shirt."
But it was too late for regrets now. He must do the best that remained
to him.
It was nearly ten o'clock when Paul once more stood before the door of
Mr. Preston's boarding-place. He rang the bell and asked to see him.
"You have been here before this evening?" said the servant.
"Yes."
"Then you know the room. You can walk right up."
Paul went upstairs and knocked at Mr. Preston's room. He was bidden to
come in, and did so.
Mr. Preston looked up with surprise.
"I suppose you are surprised to see me," said Paul, rather awkwardly.
"Why, yes. I did not anticipate that pleasure quite so soon," said Mr.
Preston, smiling.
"I am afraid it won't be a pleasure, for I bring bad news."
"Bad news?" repeated the gentleman, rather startled.
"Yes; I have lost the shirt you gave me."
"Oh, is that all?" said Mr. Preston, looking relieved. "But how did you
lose it?"
"I was walking home down the Bowery, when two fellows met me. One of
them, Mike Donovan, forced me into a fight. I gave him a licking," added
Paul, with satisfaction; "but when it was all over, I found the other
fellow had run off with the shirt."
"I don't believe it will fit him," said Mr. Preston, laughing.
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