Maggie | Page 2

his assailant, ran quickly off, shouting alarms. The entire
Devil's Row party followed him. They came to a stand a short distance
away and yelled taunting oaths at the boy with the chronic sneer. The
latter, momentarily, paid no attention to them.
"What deh hell, Jimmie?" he asked of the small champion.
Jimmie wiped his blood-wet features with his sleeve.
"Well, it was dis way, Pete, see! I was goin' teh lick dat Riley kid and
dey all pitched on me."
Some Rum Alley children now came forward. The party stood for a
moment exchanging vainglorious remarks with Devil's Row. A few
stones were thrown at long distances, and words of challenge passed
between small warriors. Then the Rum Alley contingent turned slowly
in the direction of their home street. They began to give, each to each,
distorted versions of the fight. Causes of retreat in particular cases were
magnified. Blows dealt in the fight were enlarged to catapultian power,
and stones thrown were alleged to have hurtled with infinite accuracy.
Valor grew strong again, and the little boys began to swear with great
spirit.
"Ah, we blokies kin lick deh hull damn Row," said a child, swaggering.
Little Jimmie was striving to stanch the flow of blood from his cut lips.
Scowling, he turned upon the speaker.
"Ah, where deh hell was yeh when I was doin' all deh fightin?" he
demanded. "Youse kids makes me tired."
"Ah, go ahn," replied the other argumentatively.
Jimmie replied with heavy contempt. "Ah, youse can't fight, Blue Billie!
I kin lick yeh wid one han'."

"Ah, go ahn," replied Billie again.
"Ah," said Jimmie threateningly.
"Ah," said the other in the same tone.
They struck at each other, clinched, and rolled over on the cobble
stones.
"Smash 'im, Jimmie, kick deh damn guts out of 'im," yelled Pete, the
lad with the chronic sneer, in tones of delight.
The small combatants pounded and kicked, scratched and tore. They
began to weep and their curses struggled in their throats with sobs. The
other little boys clasped their hands and wriggled their legs in
excitement. They formed a bobbing circle about the pair.
A tiny spectator was suddenly agitated.
"Cheese it, Jimmie, cheese it! Here comes yer fader," he yelled.
The circle of little boys instantly parted. They drew away and waited in
ecstatic awe for that which was about to happen. The two little boys
fighting in the modes of four thousand years ago, did not hear the
warning.
Up the avenue there plodded slowly a man with sullen eyes. He was
carrying a dinner pail and smoking an apple-wood pipe.
As he neared the spot where the little boys strove, he regarded them
listlessly. But suddenly he roared an oath and advanced upon the
rolling fighters.
"Here, you Jim, git up, now, while I belt yer life out, you damned
disorderly brat."
He began to kick into the chaotic mass on the ground. The boy Billie
felt a heavy boot strike his head. He made a furious effort and
disentangled himself from Jimmie. He tottered away, damning.

Jimmie arose painfully from the ground and confronting his father,
began to curse him. His parent kicked him. "Come home, now," he
cried, "an' stop yer jawin', er I'll lam the everlasting head off yehs."
They departed. The man paced placidly along with the apple- wood
emblem of serenity between his teeth. The boy followed a dozen feet in
the rear. He swore luridly, for he felt that it was degradation for one
who aimed to be some vague soldier, or a man of blood with a sort of
sublime license, to be taken home by a father.
Chapter II
Eventually they entered into a dark region where, from a careening
building, a dozen gruesome doorways gave up loads of babies to the
street and the gutter. A wind of early autumn raised yellow dust from
cobbles and swirled it against an hundred windows. Long streamers of
garments fluttered from fire-escapes. In all unhandy places there were
buckets, brooms, rags and bottles. In the street infants played or fought
with other infants or sat stupidly in the way of vehicles. Formidable
women, with uncombed hair and disordered dress, gossiped while
leaning on railings, or screamed in frantic quarrels. Withered persons,
in curious postures of submission to something, sat smoking pipes in
obscure corners. A thousand odors of cooking food came forth to the
street. The building quivered and creaked from the weight of humanity
stamping about in its bowels.
A small ragged girl dragged a red, bawling infant along the crowded
ways. He was hanging back, baby-like, bracing his wrinkled, bare legs.
The little girl cried out: "Ah, Tommie, come ahn. Dere's Jimmie and
fader. Don't be a-pullin' me back."
She jerked the baby's arm impatiently. He