He kept up pretty well, however, until, in turning a
street corner, he ran at full speed into a very stout gentleman,
whose scanty wind was quite knocked out of him by the collision.
He glared in anger at Paul, but could not at first obtain breath
enough to speak.
"I beg your pardon, sir," said Paul, who, in spite of his desire
to overtake Mike, felt it incumbent upon him to stop and offer an
apology.
"What do you mean, sir," exploded the fat man, at last, "by
tearing through the streets like a locomotive? You've nearly
killed me."
"I am very sorry, sir."
"You ought to be. Don't you know better than to run at such
speed? You ought to be indicted as a public nuisance.
"I was trying to catch a thief," said Paul.
"Trying to catch a thief? How's that?" asked the stout
gentleman, his indignation giving way to curiosity.
"I was selling packages in front of the post office when he and
another boy came up and stole my basket."
"Indeed! What were you selling?"
"Prize packages, sir."
"What was in them?"
"Candy."
"Could you make much that way?"
"About a dollar a day."
"I'd rather have given you a dollar than had you run against me
with such violence. I feel it yet.
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