III
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!”