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Page 11
Miss Terry's lips curled with the cynical disgust which she had felt when
first witnessing this scene. But a sweet voice--and she knew it was the
Angel's--whispered in her ear, "Wait and see!"
She watched the two boys run through the streets until they came to a dark
corner. There the little fellow caught up with the other, and once more the
struggle began. It was a hard and bloody fight. But this time the victory
was with the smaller lad, who used his fists and feet like an enraged
animal, until the other howled for mercy and handed over the disputed toy.
"Whatcher want it fer, Sam?" he blubbered as he saw it go into the little
fellow's pocket.
"Mind yer own business! I just want it," answered Sam surlily.
"Betcher I know," taunted the bigger boy.
"Betcher yer don't."
"Do!"
"Don't!"
Another fight seemed imminent. But wisdom prevailed with Sammy. He would
not challenge fate a third time. "Come on, then, and see," he grunted.
And Ike followed. Off the two trudged, through the brilliantly lighted
streets, until they came to a part of the city where the ways were narrower
and dark.
"Huh! Knowed you was comin' here," commented Ike as they turned into a
grim, dirty alley.
Little Sam growled, "Didn't!" apparently as a matter of habit.
"Did!" reasserted Ike. "Just where I was comin' myself."
Sam turned to him with a grin.
"Was yer now? By--! Ain't that funny? I thought of it right off."
"Sure. Same here!"
They both burst into a guffaw and executed an impromptu double-shuffle of
delight. They were at the door of a tenement house with steep stairs
leading into darkness. Up three flights pounded the two pairs of heavy
boots, till they reached a half-open door, whence issued the clatter of a
sewing-machine and the voices of children. Sam stood on the threshold
grinning debonairly, with hands thrust into his pockets. Ike peered over
his shoulder, also grinning.
It was a meagre room into which they gazed, a room the chief furniture of
which seemed to be babies. Two little ones sprawled on the floor. A third
tiny tot lay in a broken-down carriage beside the door. A pale, ill-looking
woman was running the machine. On the cot bed was crumpled a fragile
little fellow of about five, and a small pair of crutches lay across the
foot of the bed.
When the two boys appeared in the doorway, the woman stopped her machine
and the children set up a howl of pleasure. "Sammy! Ikey!" cried the woman,
smiling a wan welcome, as the babies crept and toddled toward the
newcomers. "Where ye come from?"
"Been to see the shops and the lights in the swell houses," answered Sammy
with a grimace. "Gee! Ain't they wastin' candles to beat the cars!"
"Enough to last a family a whole year," muttered Ike with disgust.
The woman sighed. "Maybe they ain't wasted exactly," she said. "How I'd
like to see 'em! But I got to finish this job. I told the chil'ren they
mustn't expect anything this Christmas. But they are too little to know the
difference anyway; all but Joe. I wish I had something for Joe."
"I got something for Joe," said Sammy unexpectedly.
The face of the pale little cripple lighted.
"What is it?" he asked eagerly. "Oh, what is it? A real Christmas present
for me?"
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