Maggie the world

A very little boy stood upon a heap of gravel for the honor of Rum Alley.

He was throwing stones at howling urchins from Devil`s Row who were

circling madly about the heap and pelting at him.

His infantile countenance was livid with fury. His small body was

writhing in the delivery of great, crimson oaths.

" Run, Jimmie, run! Dey`ll get yehs," screamed a retreating Rum Alley

child.

" Naw," responded Jimmie with a valiant roar," dese micks can`t make

me run."

Howls of renewed wrath went up from Devil`s Row throats. Tattered

gamins on the right made a furious assault on the gravel heap. On their

small, convulsed faces there shone the grins of true assassins. As they

charged, they threw stones and cursed in shrill chorus.

The little champion of Rum Alley stumbled precipitately down 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 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