"You dry up, you little alley cat!" roared the boy.
"You're just a bastard!" screamed the child, while her playmates took up the cry.
Nucky lighted a fresh cigarette and moved hurriedly up toward MacDougal Street. Once having turned the corner, he slackened his gait and climbed into an empty chair in the bootblack stand that stood in front of the Café Roma. The bootblack had not finished the first shoe when a policeman hoisted himself into the other chair.
"How are you, Nucky?" he grunted.
"All right, thanks," replied the boy, an uneasy look softening his cold eyes for the moment.
"Didn't keep the job I got you, long," the officer said. "What was the rip this time?"
"Aw, I ain't goin' to hold down ho five-dollar-a-week job. What do you think I am?"
"I think you are a fool headed straight for the devil," answered the officer succinctly. "Now listen to me, Nucky. I've knowed you ever since you started into the school over there. I mind how the teacher told me she was glad to see one brat that looked like an old-fashioned American. And everything the teachers and us guys at the police station could do to keep you headed right, we've done. But you just won't have it. You've growed up with just the same ideas the young toughs have 'round here. All you know about earnin' money is by gambling." Nucky stirred, but the officer put out his hand.
"Hold on now, fer I'm servin' notice on you. You've turned down every job we got you. You want to keep on doing Luigi's dirty work for him. Very well! Go to it! And the next time we get the goods on you, you'll get the limit. So watch yourself!"
"Everybody's against a guy!" muttered the boy,