The circle of boys in the corner by the Family Entrance broke up. Joe Kaplan, the biggest boy, cuffed and booted smaller ones aside, and walked off towards Rivington street, indifferent to what became of the others. He slapped the flagstones with his spreading shoes, and whistled between his teeth. He was feeling good. A recollection of the white-faced boy flitted across his mind, buoying him up with scorn. Kid from up-town, he thought, sneakin’ around lookin’ for somepin bad. Gee! what rotten minds them kids has! But Joe could not put this kid out of his mind right away. What made him look at me so funny? he asked himself.
At the Rivington street corner Joe lounged against a pillar with his shoulders hunched forward, making a stupid, sleepy look come in his face. Under his drooping eyelids gleamed a spark. This was his hunting ground. Every little stir in the crowd had its meaning for him. He marked the cop on the sidewalk to the left, leaning back with his elbows propped on a rail, surveying the crowd with good-humored contempt. Hogan; nothing to fear from him; a fat-head, always looking at the women. On the corner in the other direction was Mitchell; a terror if you tried to turn a trick on the storekeepers; but he despised the pushcart men; all the cops did. However, Joe had heard that the pushcart thefts had made so much talk, the captain of the precinct had sent out a couple of plain-clothes men to mix with the crowd. He was looking for them.
Taking to the middle of the street, Joe shambled up to the corner and back, making out to be a low-down poor mutt, searching under the pushcarts for butts. Joe could let his mouth hang open, and a sort of film come over his eyes; you would swear he was half-crazed with drugged cigarettes. His tour assured him there was no plain-clothes men in that block. He could smell a cop out. He gradually narrowed his beat to and fro, his objective being the pushcart that was selling furs. Cold weather was coming on, and it was doing a brisk trade.
Suddenly Joe perceived a thin-faced lad older than himself, standing about with a cagey eye. Bent upon the same business as himself of course. Joe grinned inwardly. He ain’t as smart as me, he thought. Watch me make him work for me. Joe’s only regret was, that there was nobody to see how clever he was. He unobtrusively fell back to the curb opposite the cart of furs, where he appeared to be looking at everything in sight except the thin-faced lad.
This one edged up to the pushcart from behind. Occasionally he turned a white face over his shoulder with a faraway look. Clumsy work! thought Joe; if there was a cop within a hundred feet he’d get on to his face. The pushcart had a rack about three feet high built around three sides of it, the better to display its wares. This rack was lined with canvas; but the canvas, as Joe could see, was not securely fastened at the bottom. The canvas-covered rack concealed the thin-faced lad from the proprietor of the cart, who was in front.
When he saw the thin-faced lad throw away his cigarette, Joe crossed the road. The lad was watching the proprietor around the edge of the screen, and did not see Joe. Joe went around the opposite end of the cart, and stood, making his eyes goggle at the grand display of furs. In this position he could no longer see the thin-faced lad, but he saw what he was waiting for; the piece of fur disappear under the canvas with a jerk. Others saw it too, and cries were raised. Some took after the thief. Every eye was turned in that direction. The distracted proprietor flung himself over his stock with arms outspread.
Everybody was looking the other way! What a snap! Joe slipped his hand under the canvas at his end of the cart, and jerked a fur neckpiece out. Fur makes no sound. Nobody got on to him, and a second piece followed the first. Thrusting his prizes under his coat, he walked off, whistling between his teeth. Oh, I’m smart! I’m smart! I’m smart! he thought upon a swelling breast. The foretaste of a big meal made his mouth water.
Having disposed of his loot in the back room of a little dry goods store where he was known, Joe proceeded to a restaurant on Canal street. This was no hash house, but a regular bon-ton restaurant, with cloths on the tables, and waiters that didn’t dast give the customers no lip, so’s they had the price. Here you could get a big T-bone steak and coffee for thirty cents, with French fried and bread thrown in, and all the ketchup you wanted. Joe went in feeling big; it wasn’t often a kid of his age had the nerve to enter that joint.
Half an hour later he leaned back and picked his teeth. He felt out o’ sight inside. He liked that joint; in the middle of the night it was always warm and bright, and had a stir of life about it. You could hear the meat frying at the back, and smell the smoke of it. There were two men sitting opposite to each other, leaning forward until their heads almost touched, and whispering, whispering, each one rapidly stirring his coffee without ever looking toward the cup. Planning some job all right, thought Joe; bet they ain’t as smart as me, though. You can see they’re nervous. Across from the men sat a girl who was vainly trying to attract their attention. She was beginning to look bedraggled, and there was a look of terror in the bottom of her eyes that excited Joe’s scorn. She was on the toboggan all right. Been kicked out of the houses. A man would be a fool to take her.
His breast twanged with exultation. He was a smart feller; he was all there, you bet. A feller could have a good time in this world if he was smart enough. Everything waitin’ to be picked up. No danger of him gettin’ pinched. He was just a little too smart for them. Gee! it was great to bat around at night, and sleep in the day when the thick-heads was workin’! Let the thick-heads work! There was plenty of them. Workin’ never got you nowhere. Look at his old man. . . . Soon as he was old enough he’d have a woman to work for him. Funny how women would work for a man. Soft. Oh well, he’d have one of the best. When he wanted anything, he went out and got it. That was the sort of feller he was. He was smarter than anybody.