Mike saw, by Paul's resolute tone, that he meant what he said. Desirous
of shaking him of, he started on a run.



CHAPTER VI

PAUL AS AN ARTIST

Paul was not slow in following Mike. He was a good runner, and would
have had no difficulty in keeping up with his enemy if the streets had
been empty. But to thread his way in and out among the numerous foot
passengers that thronged the sidewalks was not so easy. 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.