"I didn't sell it at all," said Ben. "Was that all you had taken?" "No," said Ben. "There was another shirt besides." "Do you know anything about it, Mike?" "No, I don't," said Mike. "I don't know whether you are telling the truth or not," said the superintendent; "but at any rate you must take this off, and give it to the right owner." "And will he pay me the fifty cents?" asked Mike. "I don't think you bought it at all; but if you did, you can prove it by the man you bought it of. If you can do that, I will see that the money is refunded to you." There was one strong reason for discrediting Mike's story. These Baxter-Street shops are often the receptacles of stolen goods. As their identification might bring the dealers into trouble, they are very careful, as soon as an article comes into their possession, to obliterate all the marks of former ownership. It was hardly likely that they would suffer a shirt to go out of their hands so plainly marked as was the case in the present instance. Mr. O'Connor, of course, knew this, and accordingly had very little fear that he was doing injustice to Mike in ordering him to make restitution to Ben. Mike was forced, considerably against his will, to take off the new shirt, and put on his old ragged one. But the former was no longer as clean as formerly. "Where can I get it washed?" asked Ben. "You can wash it yourself, in the wash-room, or you can carry it to a laundry, as some of the boys do, if you are willing to pay for it." "I think I would rather carry it to a laundry," said Ben, who doubted strongly his ability to wash the shirt so as to improve its appearance. The superintendent accordingly gave him the direction to one of these establishments. Opposite the room which he had entered was a smaller room used by the boys as a gymnasium. Ben looked into it, and determined to use it on some future occasion. He next went into the wash-room. Here he saw two or three boys, stripped to the waist, engaged in washing out their shirts. Being provided with but a single one each, they left them to dry over night while they were in bed, and could dispense with them. Ben wondered how they managed about ironing them; but he soon found that with these amateur laundresses ironing was not considered necessary. They are put on rough-dry in the morning, and so worn until they are considered dirty enough for another purification. Ben looked about him with interest. The boys were chatting in an animated manner, detailing their experiences during the day, or "chaffing" each other in a style peculiar to themselves. "Say, Jim," said one, "didn't I see you at the Grand Opera last night?" "Yes, of course you did," said Jim. "I was in a private box along with the mayor. I had a di'mond pin in the bosom of my shirt." "Yes, I seed you through my opera-glass. What have you done with your di'mond pin?" "Do you think I'd bring it here to be stole? No, I keep it in my safe, along of my other valooables."