Towards evening Joe Kaplan and two boys smaller than himself were making
their way down Fifth Avenue. They had started out in the morning five
strong, but two of the kids had been lost somewhere. They had spent the
day in Central Park where they had seen the m’nag’rie, and the swan
boats and the rich kids riding in goat carriages on the Mall. Of the
latter Pat Crear had said: “Gawd! all dressed up in velvet and lace like
doll babies, and strapped down in them little wagons so’s they can’t
fall out; it’s a wonder they don’t get heart disease from the
excitement.” In order to find out if he was human, Pat had given the
long curls of one little boy a sharp tweak, and cut whooping across the
grass to the shrubbery.
They had had the luck to come across a boy selling lozenges in an out of
the way spot. They had swiped his box offen him, and after sampling some
of each flavor, had sold the rest in another part of the park, thus
providing the means for a more substantial feed. Afterwards they had
wandered away up to Harlem mere, and had lost themselves in the woods up
there. They built a fire, and made out they were hoboes, and Tony Lipper
had killed a squirrel with a stone. No kid he knew had ever done that
before, and he was bringing it home in his pocket to prove it.
On Fifth Avenue the elegant carriages rolled up and down, each drawn by
a pair of glossy horses stepping high, and each driven by one or two men
sitting up in front without moving, like the tin men on pavement toys.
On the sidewalk the tony guys were walking up and down, many of the
Johnnies wearing silk ties and swinging sticks, the dames with sleeves
as big as hams and little tails to their jackets sticking up like a
chippie’s. Joe and the other boys were pleased by the sense of their
incongruity in that company, and they accentuated it by slapping the
pavement with their broken shoes, spitting to the right and left, and
talking rough. They felt great when they succeeded in attracting the
scowls and the disgusted looks of the passers-by; or when a lady
daintily drew her skirts aside to avoid contact.
“Dare me to spit on the next one?” said Pat.
“If you do some Johnnie will crack yeh over the coco wit’ his stick,”
said Joe indifferently. “But yeh kin show yeh don’t give a damn for them
by makin’ snoots. They can’t do nottin’ to yeh for that.”
They came to two great square houses built of brownstone and joined
together in the middle by a bone like the Siamese twins, so imposing
that Pat was led to ask:
“What the hell buildings is them?”
“The Vanderbilts live there,” said Joe. “They’s the richest guys in the
world.”
“On’y one family in the whole goddam house?” said Pat. “Gee! it must be
lonely for them.”
They were not especially interested in this high-toned world; it didn’t
touch them anywhere. It was different though, when they caught sight of
a quartette of tough kids like themselves, moseying along on the other
side of the way looking innocent. Joe and his two instinctively sought
cover behind the swell guys, whence they watched the enemy warily.
“All harps,” said Joe. “Likely they belong to the Hell’s Kitchen gang
over by the North river. Say, that’s the worst neighborhood in town.
They’s a coupla murders done there ev’y day.”
“What they doin’ on Fift’ Avenoo?” asked Tony fearfully.
“Same as yourself,” said Joe with scorn. “If you was to go over on the
West side you’d get moralized by the Hell’s Kitcheners, wouldn’t yeh?
And the same on the East side by the Gas house gang or the Turtle Bays.
But you’re safe on Fift’ Avenoo ain’t yeh? All the fellas goes up Fift’
Avenoo cos that’s neutral ground, see?”
“They’s some bad gangs up-town, too,” Joe went on. “The Hundredth street
gang, and the Hundred and Tenth. I’ve heard tell how the Hundred and
Tenth Streeters come down Amsterdam Avenue by Bloomingdale Asylum,
spread across the street from curb to curb like skirmishers, and
carryin’ all before them. They’s on’y a few cops up there.”
The Hell’s Kitcheners passed out of sight, and were forgotten.
“Say, Joe,” asked Pat, “why don’t you never go with the East Houston
street gang or the Delancey Streeters?”
“Aah!” said Joe, “that’s childish to me, all that fightin’ for nottin’.
I play my own hand, see? When I go out, I go for somepin for myself.”
“You go wit’ us?”
“You go wit’ me, you mean. I ain’t no objection to havin’ a coupla
little suckers along to do what I tell ’em.”
When they reached Thirty-Fourth street it was growing dark, and they cut
through to Broadway where there was more life after nightfall. To the
smaller boys it seemed as if the people were dressed sweller over here,
but Joe said they were not so high-toned as the Avenue gang. The women
were mostly high-priced tarts, he said. Every block had its theatre; the
Standard, the Bijou, Palmer’s, Daly’s, the Imperial and the Fifth
Avenue. The Twenty-Eighth street crossing appeared to be the busiest and
brightest spot, and here they took up their stand.
“Lookit,” said Joe, “you two want to sit on that grating, see? as if you
was cold and was after the warm air comin’ up. You want to sit on the
front edge, see, so’s when anybody pitches you a nickel it won’t go
through the grating, see? You don’t have to do nottin’ but look poor the
way I showed yeh, and shiver, and squeeze up close for warmth. Pat looks
t’ best wit’ his fat’er’s coat on. Tony, if you let me tear your pants a
little more so’s the skin would show. . . .”
“Nottin’ doin’! It’s the on’y pair I got.”
“Oh, to hell wit’ it, then. You keep a little behind Pat. For God’s sake
don’t ast for anything, or hold out your hand, or you’ll give the whole
snap away. You don’t want to even look at the people. Look down on the
ground as if you was all in wit’ t’ hunger and cold, see? And don’t
forget to look surprised ev’y time you get a penny.”
Joe retired down the side street. Occasionally he strolled past the
huddling pair on the grating, surveying them out of the corner of his
eye with pride in the effect. Pennies and nickels fell at their feet. In
fact they were too successful, the ring of the coins on the flagstones
reached the sharp ears of the blind woman who sold matches at the door
of the Fifth Avenue Theatre adjoining. She came out in a rage, furiously
tapping; a fearsome figure with her big bonnet, her blue glasses, her
voluminous petticoats. Lashing out with her stick, she drove the boys
away with frightful curses.
“Gawd! what langwidge from a woman!” said Pat, a little awestruck, when
they collected their forces, down near Sixth Avenue.
However, they had already taken seventy cents. Joe took the money, but
laid out a part of it on a big feed of frankfurters, bolivars, and
sarsaparilla on Sixth. They filled their pockets with cigarettes. They
felt fine.
They drifted up-town again. Later they found themselves outside a big
new theatre by Fortieth street, called the Empire. They loitered on the
pavement just out of reach of the carriage man, watching the
four-wheelers and the hansoms trundle up and discharge their passengers.
There was one or two of these here horseless carriages among them, which
came drifting up to the curb as quietly as boats, the driver perched up
behind, steering with a handle. From all the vehicles ladies descended,
pointing a satin slipper to the ground. They wore velvet cloaks, red,
green or white, and no hats, which was strange, since they were not poor
women. The men wore big black capes; they had hats, tall ones, and it
was the boys’ chief interest to get a vantage point where they could see
the men press their hats against their hips as they walked through the
lobby, and smash them flat. A remarkable sight, which caused them to
laugh uproariously.
The stream of arrivals at the theatre door had about ceased, when two
Johnnies came along through Fortieth street, and paused, grinning at the
three boys. Joe was familiar with that grin. Young fellows who fancied
themselves, like to sass a street boy, and if you answered them back
smart, but not smart enough to put them out of face, very often there
was a dime in it, or a quarter if the fellow had an edge on. But these
two were not the real thing, Joe perceived; counter-jumpers. One of them
had two blue admission checks in his hand, and he said to his friend:
“Let’s give ’em to the little fellers.”
Joe, with a meek expression, instantly effaced himself. The other two,
not deceived by this maneuver, watched him anxiously. Joe strolled off
to the gallery door of the Empire, from which the two Johnnies must have
just issued. Presently Pat and Tony approached, each nipping a blue
ticket between his fingers. They stopped to consult in whispers. They
crossed the street, and stood kicking a hydrant and looking at Joe. Joe
looked up and down the street. Suddenly the two set off towards Sixth
avenue on the run. Joe was not to be drawn off. They came back on his
side of the street, each one trying to persuade the other to go first.
Then they decided to rush the theatre door together. Joe was not
confused by these tactics. He had picked out his victim from the
beginning. Tony Lipper was the smaller of the two. Joe snatched the
check out of Tony’s hand, and started up the stone stairway with Pat
beside him. As soon as Tony was eliminated, Pat sucked up to Joe.
“That dirty little guinney hadn’t oughta go into a swell house like
this. His pants is tore.”
They found themselves sitting towards the top of a steep bank of seats
looking almost straight down into an illuminated well; the stage. The
curtain was up. Joe had been to the London and the Thalia, but never to
a swell up-town t’eayter. At first he was confused by the play, which
was not like a play; it was just ordinary talking. He wondered if it was
a custom up-town for the actors to sit around on the stage and talk
before the play began. But from the close attention accorded by the
audience he judged that this must be the play; a newer, tonier kind of
play, he guessed, and applied his mind to it.
Well, the stage represented a room in a very fine house, such a room as
Joe had never been in; but he accepted that room; an instinct told him
it was the thing. A party was going on; the people were of the sort that
Joe had seen entering the theatre. There was a sour-faced woman in a
brown silk dress who was making a fuss. She said she was going home
because there was another woman in the house that she didn’t like, and
the others were all trying to smooth her down. Why the hell didn’t they
let her go, thought Joe.
There was a lot of talk about this other woman, and Joe’s curiosity was
excited about her. Then she came in, and the audience clapped; a little
thing with a proud nose. She put all the other women in the shade. She
wasn’t so pretty neither, but there was something about her . . . she
just walked in and took the place. Joe was struck by her flashing
glance, which could make out anything she wanted, without giving her
away. Gee! she’s smart! he thought. She knows how to work ’em! She was
wearing the prettiest white dress he had ever seen.
“Gee! this is a rotten show!” whispered Pat Crear.
“Well, it didn’t cost you nottin’!” said Joe.
“Ain’t nottin’ to it!”
“Not to an ign’rant little mutt like you.”
“Let’s go down to Fourteent’ street. Somepin doin’ there.”
“Go ahead.”
But Pat would not go alone.
There was a fresh-complected Johnny in the play who was stuck on the
little woman with the proud nose, and they were fixing to get married.
But all his folks were dead against it; for why, Joe could not
understand, since she was certainly the pick of the basket. There was a
lot of lahdy-dah talk he didn’t understand. He was interested in
studying the details of that house, and the looks and manners of its
high-toned inmates. He particularly admired the cool way the men handled
themselves; lighting their cigars and pouring their drinks. Actin’ as if
they owned the earth, he thought; and that’s the right way to act. It
takes the heart out of the poor boobs.
Finally there was a scene in what looked like a book-store; but Joe
picked up in the course of the action that it was called library, and
all the books belonged to the man who lived in that house. There was a
long talk in this room between a big guy who let on he was a lawyer—he
was the fresh-complected Johnnie’s uncle; and the little woman with the
proud nose, who was now wearing a grey dress even sweller than the white
one. Bit by bit the lawyer guy broke her down (But not really, because
all the time she was crying and carrying on, she was still looking
around with that unbeatable eye) and it all came out that she had had a
kid, and wasn’t married at all. This discovery rather dashed Joe; for he
had forgotten that it was a play, but this was just the same as the
plays on the Bowery. In real life for a girl to have a kid wasn’t
nothing. But maybe it was different in high society.
The noisy scene drew Pat Crear’s attention back to the stage. When the
curtain fell, he said: “Aah! I’d like to paste that fat slob! What he
wanta make t’ guyl cry fer?”
“Aah, you don’t know nottin’,” said Joe. “It’s on’y a play, like. I
don’t pay no attention to that.”
“You was takin’ it all in,” said Pat.
Joe’s close-set eyes seemed to draw closer together; he gnawed a finger
nail, scowling slightly. “I dunno . . .” he muttered. “It set me
thinkin’, like. . . . It was a chance to see how them rich folks lives
inside their houses. They lives nice. Plenty of room to spread
themselves. And t’ best of ev’yt’ing, see? That’s what appeals to me.
Soft stuffs like silks and velvets around yeh, and women fixed nice.
Servants to ac’ humble, and bring yeh ev’yt’ing yeh want. . . .”
“Maybe that was all made up, too,” suggested Pat.
“Shut up, you pore ign’rant mutt, and listen to what I’m tellin’ yeh!
. . . Look at the dirty way our folks live. What do folks call us?
gutter-snipes; street ayrabs, and such all. Well, them folks are no
better’n we are, on’y they got money, see? Well, I guess they’s more
money to be got the same way. . . . This is a free country and I’m as
good as anybody. . . . You don’t git money by wuykin’ your heart out,
neither. It ain’t wuykman as gits rich. It’s the smart guys. They wuyk
the boobs and suckers. . . . When you git older you begin sizin’ things
up. I’m near sixteen now. Well, I’m a smart feller. I’m gonna live soft
too, and have a servant that I can boot around. . . .”
“They didn’t boot their servants.”
“Shut up! They could if they wanted to.”
“Where you gonna git it?”
“I’ll git it all right. I allus gits what I wants. . . . I know what I
want now. I want a whole lot of money. . . . First-off I got to make a
good appearance. I’ll git me a nobby suit and a haircut . . .”
“Chrrrist!” said Pat, grinning derisively. Inside the theatre he knew he
was safe.
“Shut up, you mutt!” said Joe, without heat. “A mutt you was born, and a
mutt you’ll die!”