“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?”