"You may see that it was built for a gentleman and that it fits a
gentleman, friend pork-barrel."

"You shuck it off and pass it over, that's what you do," yelped the
tramp. "It's my coat."

"It was perfectly apparent that it was not your coat when you tried it
on."

"I tell you I found it hanging on a fence-post just above here."

"That was merely by accident, and you should have passed on and left the
garments for one whose frame was fitted to wear them. You illustrate
the curse of modern society. Men are so filled with the greed of getting
that they grab misfits simply out of passion for possessing."

"I've stood your slurs ever since I got here, but I'll be jobeefed if
I'll stand for your swiping my property."

The man of the brown eyes smiled. His whole demeanor showed that he was
more than ever hugely enjoying his own verbosity--the florid language
which was both maddening and mystifying the tramp.

"Further evidence of your mean nature: a gentleman resents an insult
that steals away his character much more quickly than he resents an act
that steals mere property. In that little book which I have just laid
down Shakespeare speaks trenchantly on that matter: 'Who steals my purse
steals trash . . . but he that filches from me my good name robs me . . .
and makes me poor indeed.'"