He accordingly pulled off the
ragged shirt he wore and put on the article he had purloined from Paul.
The sleeves were too long, but he turned up the cuffs, and the ample
body he tucked inside his pants.
"It fits me too much," soliloquized Jerry, as he surveyed himself after
the exchange. "I could let out the half of it, and have enough left for
meself. Anyhow, it's clane, and it came chape enough."
He came out of the alley, leaving his old shirt behind him. Even if it
had been worth carrying away, Jerry saw no use in possessing more than
one shirt. It was his habit to wear one until it was ready to drop
off from him, and then get another if he could. There is a practical
convenience in this arrangement, though there are also objections which
will readily occur to the reader.
On the whole, though the shirt fitted him too much, as he expressed it,
he regarded himself complacently.
The superabundant material gave the impression of liberal expenditure
and easy circumstances, since a large shirt naturally costs more than
a small one. So Jerry, as he walked along the Bowery, assumed a jaunty
air, precisely such as some of my readers may when they have a new suit
to display. His new shirt was quite conspicuous, since he was encumbered
neither with vest nor coat.
Mike, feeling sore over his defeat, met Jerry the next morning on
Chatham street.
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