Calvary Alley | Page 3

been a glorious game, but at the sight of the valiant
Dan lying helpless on his back, his mouth bloody from the blows of the
boy above him, the comedy changed suddenly to tragedy. With a swift
charge from the rear, she flung herself upon the victor, clapping her
mud-daubed hands about his eyes and dragging him backward with a
force that sent them both rolling in the gutter.

Blind with fury, the boy scrambled to his feet, and, seizing a rock,
hurled it with all his strength after the retreating Dan. The missile flew
wide of its mark and, whizzing high over the fence, crashed through the
great rose window that was the special pride of Calvary Cathedral.
The din of breaking glass, the simultaneous appearance of a cross-eyed
policeman, and of Mason, the outraged janitor, together with the
horrified realization of what had happened, brought the frenzied
combatants to their senses. Amid a clamor of accusations and denials,
the policeman seized upon two culprits and indicated a third.
"You let me go!" shrieked Mac. "My father'll make it all right! Tell him
who I am, Mason! Make him let me go!"
But Mason was bent upon bringing all the criminals to justice.
"I'm going to have you all up before the juvenile court, rich and poor!"
he declared excitedly. "You been deviling the life out of me long
enough! If the vestry had 'a' listened at me and had you up before now,
that window wouldn't be smashed. I told the bishop something was
going to happen, and he says, 'The next time there's trouble, you find
the leaders and swear out a warrant. Don't wait to ask anybody!'"
By this time every window in the tenement at the blind end of the alley
had been converted into a proscenium box, and suggestions, advice,
and incriminating evidence were being freely volunteered.
"Who started this here racket, anyhow?" asked the policeman, in the
bored tone of one who is rehearsing an oft-repeated scene.
"I did," declared Nance Molloy, with something of the feminine
gratification Helen of Troy must have felt when she "launched a
thousand ships and burnt the topless towers of Ilium."
"You Nance!" screamed a woman from a third-story window. "You
know you never done no such a thing! I was settin' here an' seen
ever'thing that happened; it was them there boys."

"So it was you, Dan Lewis, was it?" said the policeman, recognizing
one of his panting victims, the one whose ragged shirt had been torn
completely off, leaving his heaving chest and brown shoulders bare.
"An' it ain't surprised, I am. Who is this other little dude?"
"None of your business!" cried Mac furiously, trying to wrench himself
free. "I tell you my father will pay for the darned old window."
"Aisy there," said the policeman. "Does anybody know him?"
"It's Mr. Clarke's son, up at the bottle works," said Mason.
"You let me go," shrieked the now half-frantic boy. "My father 'll make
you pay for this. You see if he don't!"
"None o' your guff," said the policeman. "I ain't wantin' to keep you
now I got your name. Onny more out o' the boonch, Mr. Mason?"
Mason swept a gleaning eye over the group, and as he did so he spied
the footprint, in the concrete.
"Who did that?" he demanded in a fresh burst of wrath.
Those choir boys who had not fled the scene gave prompt and
incriminating testimony.
"No! she never!" shouted the woman from the third floor, now
suspended half-way out of the window. "Nance Molloy was up here
a-washin' dishes with me. Don't you listen at them pasty-faced cowards
a-puttin' it off on a innercent little girl!"
But the innocent little girl had no idea of seeking refuge in her sex.
Hers had been a glorious and determining part in the day's battle, and
the distinction of having her name taken down with those of the great
leaders was one not to be foregone.
"I did do it," she declared excitedly. "That there boy dared me to. Ketch
me takin' a dare offen a avenoo kid!"

"What's your name, Sis?" asked the policeman.
"Nance Molloy."
"Where do you live?"
"Up there at Snawdor's. That there was Mis' Snawdor a-yellin' at me."
"Is she yer mother?"
"Nope. She's me step."
"And yer father?"
"He's me step too. I'm a two-step," she added with an impudent toss of
the head to show her contempt for the servant of the law, a blue-coated,
brass-buttoned interloper who swooped down on you from around
corners, and reported you at all times and seasons.
By this time Mrs. Snawdor had gotten herself down the two flights of
stairs, and was emerging from the door of the tenement, taking down
her curl papers as she came.