Chapter XVIII. A Venture
into Art
Chapter XVIII. A Venture
into Art
ONCE more we took up life in New Bedford, with the thunder of many mills in our ears, and the short year’s sojourn in the Connecticut village so dim a memory that it was almost out of mind immediately under the press of sterner, more disquieting things.
All the foulness of life seemed to be raked up at my feet since I had been in finer, sweeter air. I went back for a few nights to the Point Road Gang. It was composed of the same fellows save that a few of them had gone away from home, one to prison for larceny, another to an insane asylum through excessive cigarette indulgence, and those who were left had obtained some very wise notions from life.
Jakey was one of those who had gone away from home. One night he joined his old comrades. “Now, fellows,” he said, with somewhat of a swagger, “what’s the matter with being sports, eh?” “We are sporty,” announced Bunny.
“Ah, git off the earth, you!” derided Jakey. “Where’s the booze?”
“Uh, we ain’t skeered of that!” retorted Bunny, “are we, fellows?”
To show that they were not afraid of a drink, some of the gang fished up some pennies from their pockets and made a pot of fifteen cents.
“Get a can, somebody,” announced Jakey. “I’ll get the growler for you, with foam on it too.”
A large pail was procured, and Jakey carried it into one of the saloons. We waited for his return, a huddled group standing in a vacant lot where we should not be seen. This was to be the gang’s first official venture into inebriety. When Jakey returned with the can, it was passed around. We stood in a circle, the better to watch one another. There were ten in the circle. Only three of us did not take a drink, for which we were not only duly laughed at, but Jakey heaped all manner of filthy abuse on our heads. But we did not drink.