Part 36 (2/2)
He felt that the book-keeper had acted meanly to him, and he meant to have his revenge if a good opportunity should ever offer. He was very much disappointed to think he must do without the watch which he had set his heart upon. He would have felt no particular scruples against stealing it, but that would be rather dangerous. He began to wish he had kept the pocket-book. Very probably it contained more than enough to buy the watch.
But, in spite of his disappointment, he had one satisfaction. He had avenged himself upon d.i.c.k, whom he had long disliked. He knew nothing of Tim Ryan's testimony, and supposed there was no doubt of d.i.c.k's conviction. He would like very well to have been present at the trial; but he had unpleasant a.s.sociations connected with the court-room at the Tombs, having figured there on several occasions in an important but not very enviable capacity.
As he was standing by the park railings, his particular friend and admirer, Limpy Jim, came up.
”Mornin', Jim,” said Micky. ”What luck?”
”None at all,” said Jim. ”I haven't had a s.h.i.+ne yet, and I'm precious hungry.”
”Come and take breakfast with me,” said Micky, in an unusual fit of generosity; for he was generally more willing to be treated than to treat.
”Have you got stamps enough?”
”Look at this,” and Micky displayed the bill which he had received from Gilbert.
”You're in luck, Micky. Did you make all that by s.h.i.+nes?”
”Never mind how I made it. I guess it's good. Come along if you're hungry.”
Limpy Jim followed Micky across Printing-House Square to a cheap restaurant on Na.s.sau Street, between Ann and Beekman Streets, and they were soon partaking with relish of a breakfast which, as they were not very fastidious, proved abundantly satisfactory.
”I've got some news,” said Micky, after he had drained his cup of coffee. ”You haven't forgot Ragged d.i.c.k, have ye?”
”He's set up for a gentleman. I saw him a week ago strutting round as if he lived on Fifth Avenue.”
”Well, he's set up for something else now.”
”What's that?”
”A pick-pocket.”
”What?” asked Jim, amazed.
”He stole an old chap's pocket-book yesterday afternoon, and I seed a policeman haulin' him off to the p'lice station.”
”That's where he gets his good clo'es from?” suggested Jim.
”Most likely. I expect he's on his way to the Island by this time.”
”Serve him right for puttin' on airs. He won't pretend to be so much better than the rest of us now.”
”Wonder what Tom Wilkins'll say? He's a great friend of d.i.c.k's.”
”He's a sneak,” said Micky.
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