"
Phil looked puzzled, not quite understanding Dick's chaffing, and
looked rather inquiringly at the blacking box, finding it a
little difficult to understand why a banker on so large a scale
should be blacking boots in the street.
"Shine your boots, sir?" said Dick to a gentleman just passing.
"Not now; I'm in a hurry."
"Blackin' boots is good exercise," continued Dick, answering the
doubt in Phil's face. "I do it for the benefit of my health,
thus combinin' profit with salubriousness."
"I can't understand such long words," said Phil. "I don't know
much English."
"I would talk to you in Italian," said Dick, "only it makes my
head ache. What's come of your fiddle? You haven't sold it, and
bought Erie shares, have you?"
"A boy stole it from me, and broke it."
"I'd like to lick him. Who was it?"
"I think his name was Tim Rafferty."
"I know him," said Dick. "I'll give him a lickin' next time I
see him."
"Can you?" asked Phil, doubtfully, for his enemy was as large as
Dick.
"In course I can. My fists are like sledge-hammers. Jest feel
my muscle."
Dick straightened out his arm, and Phil felt of the muscle, which
was hard and firm.
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