Part 21 (1/2)
But Micky evaded his grasp, and scudded rapidly through the park, pursued by the victim of misplaced confidence.
”Run, Micky; I'll bet on you!” cried Pat Nevins, encouragingly.
”Go it, long legs!” said another, who backed the opposite party. ”Give him a good lickin' when you catch him.”
”Maybe you'd have to wait too long for that,” said Pat.
”Leave yer cigar wid us, mister,” said another boy.
James Gilbert, for he was the young man in question, began to find that he was becoming rather ridiculous, and felt that he would rather let Micky go free than furnish a spectacle to the crowd of boot-blacks who were surveying the chase with eager interest. He accordingly stopped short, and, throwing down the ”stub,” prepared to leave the park.
”Don't give it up, mister! You'll catch him,” said his first backer.
”Micky can't run far. Ragged d.i.c.k give him a stretcher once.”
”Ragged d.i.c.k!” said Gilbert, turning abruptly at the sound of this name.
”Maybe you know him?”
”Does he black boots?”
”He used to, but he don't now.”
”What does he do?”
”Oh, he's a swell now, and wears good clothes.”
”How is that?”
”He's in a store, and gets good pay.”
”What's the name of the boy that ran away with my cigar?”
”Micky Maguire.”
”Was he a friend of Ragged d.i.c.k, as you call him?”
”Not much. They had two or three fights.”
”Which beat?”
”d.i.c.k. He can fight bully.”
Gilbert felt disappointed. He was in hopes our hero had met with a defeat. Somehow he seemed born for success.
”Then I suppose Maguire hates him?”
”I'll bet he does.”
”Humph!” thought Gilbert; ”I may turn his enmity to some account. Let me consider a little.”