the other side. His coat had been torn to shreds in a scuffle, and
his hat was gone. He had bruises on twenty parts of his body, and
blood was dripping from a cut in his head. His wan features wore
a look of a tiny, insane demon.

On the ground, children from Devil's Row closed in on their
antagonist. He crooked his left arm defensively about his head and
fought with cursing fury. The little boys ran to and fro, dodging,
hurling stones and swearing in barbaric trebles.

From a window of an apartment house that upreared its form
from amid squat, ignorant stables, there leaned a curious woman.
Some laborers, unloading a scow at a dock at the river, paused for
a moment and regarded the fight. The engineer of a passive tugboat
hung lazily to a railing and watched. Over on the Island, a worm
of yellow convicts came from the shadow of a building and crawled
slowly along the river's bank.

A stone had smashed into Jimmie's mouth. Blood was bubbling
over his chin and down upon his ragged shirt. Tears made furrows
on his dirt-stained cheeks. His thin legs had begun to tremble and
turn weak, causing his small body to reel. His roaring curses of
the first part of the fight had changed to a blasphemous chatter.

In the yells of the whirling mob of Devil's Row children
there were notes of joy like songs of triumphant savagery.
The little boys seemed to leer gloatingly at the blood upon
the other child's face.

Down the avenue came boastfully sauntering a lad of sixteen