Calvary Alley

Calvary Alley [with accents]

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Calvary Alley, by Alice Hegan Rice
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Title: Calvary Alley
Author: Alice Hegan Rice
Release Date: January, 2006 [EBook #9794] [Yes, we are more than
one year ahead of schedule] [This file was first posted on October 17,
2003]
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Language: English

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CALVARY ALLEY
BY ALICE HEGAN RICE
1917
Author of "MRS. WIGGS OF THE CABBAGE PATCH," "LOVEY
MARY," "SANDY," ETC.
ILLUSTRATED BY WALTER BIGGS
THIS STORY IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED TO THE
SMALL BAND OF KENTUCKY WRITERS WITH WHOM IT HAS
BEEN MY HAPPY FORTUNE TO MAKE THE LITERARY
PILGRIMAGE

CONTENTS

CHAPTER
I THE FIGHT II THE SNAWDORS AT HOME III THE CLARKES
AT HOME IV JUVENILE COURT V ON PROBATION VI
BUTTERNUT LANE VII AN EVICTION VIII AMBITION STIRS IX
BUTTONS X THE PRINCESS COMES TO GRIEF XI THE STATE
TAKES A HAND XII CLARKE'S XIII EIGHT TO SIX XIV
IDLENESS XV MARKING TIME XVI MISS BOBINET'S XVII
BEHIND THE TWINKLING LIGHTS XVIII THE FIRST NIGHT
XIX PREPARATIONS FOR FLIGHT XX WILD OATS XXI DAN
XXII IN THE SIGNAL TOWER XXIII CALVARY CATHEDRAL
XXIV BACK AT CLARKE'S XXV MAC XXVI BETWEEN TWO
FIRES XXVII FATE TAKES A HAND XXVIII THE PRICE OF
ENLIGHTENMENT XXIX IN TRAINING XXX HER FIRST CASE
XXXI MR. DEMRY XXXII THE NEW FOREMAN XXXIII NANCE
COMES INTO HER OWN

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS
"The boy is infatuated with that girl"
"Her tense muscles relaxed; she forgot to cry"
"Don't call a policeman!" she implored wildly

CALVARY ALLEY

CHAPTER I
THE FIGHT
You never would guess in visiting Cathedral Court, with its people's
hall and its public baths, its clean, paved street and general air of smug
propriety, that it harbors a notorious past. But those who knew it by its
maiden name, before it was married to respectability, recall Calvary
Alley as a region of swarming tenements, stale beer dives, and frequent
police raids. The sole remaining trace of those unregenerate days is the
print of a child's foot in the concrete walk just where it leaves the court
and turns into the cathedral yard.
All the tired feet that once plodded home from factory and foundry, all
the unsteady feet that staggered in from saloon and dance-hall, all the
fleeing feet that sought a hiding place, have long since passed away and
left no record of their passing. Only that one small footprint, with its
perfect outline, still pauses on its way out of the alley into the great
world beyond.
At the time Nance Molloy stepped into that soft concrete and thus set in
motion the series of events that was to influence her future career, she
had never been told that her inalienable rights were life, liberty, and the
pursuit of happiness. Nevertheless she had claimed them intuitively.
When at the age of one she had crawled out of the soap-box that served
as a cradle, and had eaten half a box of stove polish, she was acting in
strict accord with the Constitution.
By the time she reached the sophisticated age of eleven her ideals had

changed, but her principles remained firm. She did not stoop to beg for
her rights, but struck out for them boldly with her small bare fists. She
was a glorious survival of that primitive Kentucky type that stood side
by side with man in the early battles and fought valiantly for herself.
On the hot August day upon which she began to make history, she
stood in the gutter amid a crowd of yelling boys, her feet far apart, her
hands full of mud, waiting tensely to chastise the next sleek head that
dared show itself above the cathedral fence. She wore a boy's shirt and
a ragged brown skirt that flapped about her sturdy bare legs.