Stephen Crane - The Complete Works of Stephen Crane

When Kelcey went to borrow money from old Bleecker, Jones and the others, he discovered that he was below them in social position. Old Bleecker said gloomily that he did not see how he could loan money at that time. When Jones asked him to have a drink, his tone was careless.

O’Connor recited at length some bewildering financial troubles of his own. In them all he saw that something had been reversed. They remained silent upon many occasions when they might have grunted in sympathy for him.

As he passed along the street near his home he perceived Fidsey Corcoran and another of the gang. They made eloquent signs.

‘Are yeh wid us?’

He stopped and looked at them.

‘What’s wrong with yeh?’

‘Are yeh wid us er not?’ demanded Fidsey. ‘New barkeep’! Big can! We got it over in d’ lot. Big can, I tell yeh.’

He drew a picture in the air, so to speak, with his enthusiastic fingers.

Kelcey turned dejectedly homeward.

‘Oh, I guess not, this roun’.’

‘What’s d’ matter wi’che?’ said Fidsey. Yer gittin’ t’ be a reg’lar willie! Come ahn, I tell yeh! Youse gits one smoke at d’ can b’cause yeh b’longs t’ d’ gang, an’ yeh don’t wanta give it up widout er scrap! See? Some udder john ‘ll get yer smoke. Come ahn!’

When they arrived at the place among the boulders in the vacant lot, one of the band had a huge and battered tin can tilted afar up. His throat worked convulsively. He was watched keenly and anxiously by five or six others. Their eyes followed carefully each fraction of distance that the can was lifted. They were very silent.

Fidsey burst out violently as he perceived what was in progress:

‘Heh, Tim, yeh big sojer, let go d’ can! What ‘a yeh tink! Wese er in dis! Le’ go dat!’

He who was drinking made several angry protesting contortions of his throat. Then he put down the can and swore.

‘Who’s a big sojer? I ain’t gittin’ more’n me own smoke! Yer too bloomin’ swift I Ye’d tink yeh was d’ on’y mug what owned dis can! Close yer face while I gits me smoke!’

He took breath for a moment, and then returned the can to its tilted position.

Fidsey went to him and worried and clamoured. He interfered so seriously with the action of drinking that the other was obliged to release the can again for fear of choking.

Fidsey grabbed it, and glanced swiftly at the contents.

‘Dere! Dat’s what I was hollerin’ at! Lookut d’ beer! Not ‘nough t’ wet yer t’roat! Yehs can’t have notin’ on d’ level wid youse damn’ tanks! Youse was a reg’lar resevoiy, Tim Connigan! Look what yeh lei us! Ah, say, youse was a dandy! What ‘a yeh tink we ah? Willies? Don’ we want no smoke? Say, lookut dat can! It’s drier’n hell! What ‘a yeh tink?’

Tim glanced in at the beer. Then he said:

‘Well, d’ mug what come b’fore me, he on’y lef’ me dat much. Blue Billie, he done d’ swallerin’! I on’y had a tas’e!’

Blue Billie, from his seat near, called out in wrathful protest:

‘Yeh lie, Tim. I never had more’n a mouf-ful!’ An inspiration evidently came to him then, for his countenance suddenly brightened, and, arising, he went toward the can. ‘I ain’t had me reg’lar smoke yit! Guess I come in aheader Fidsey, don t I?’

Fidsey, with a sardonic smile, swung the can behind him.

‘I guess nit! Not dis minnet! Youse hadger smoke. If yeh ain’t, yeh don’t git none. See?’

Blue Billie confronted Fidsey determinedly.

‘D’ ‘ell I don’t!’

‘Nit,’ said Fidsey.

Billie sat down again.

Fidsey drank his portion. Then he manoeuvred skilfully before the crowd until Kelcey and the other youth took their shares.

‘Youse er a mob ‘a tanks,’ he told the gang. ‘Nobody ‘ud git not’in’ if dey wasn’t on t’ yehs!’

Blue Billie’s soul had been smouldering in hate against Fidsey.

‘Ah, shut up! Youse ain’t gota take care ‘a dose two mugs, dough. Youse badger smoke, ain’t yeh? Den yer tr’u. G’ home!’

‘Well, I hate t’ see er bloke use ‘imself for a tank,’ said Fidsey. ‘But youse don’t wanta go jollyin’ ‘round ‘bout d’ can, Blue, er youse’ll git done.’

‘Who’ll do me?’ demanded Blue Billie, casting his eye about him.

‘Kel’ will,’ said Fidsey bravely.

‘D’ ‘el he will!’

‘Dat’s what he will!’

Blue Billie made the gesture of a warrior.

‘He never saw d’ day ‘a his life dat he could do me little finger. If ‘e says much t’ me, I’ll push ‘is face all over d’ lot.’

Fidsey called to Kelcey.

‘Say, Kel, hear what dis mug is chewin’?’

Kelcey was apparently deep in other matters. His back was half-turned.

Blue Billie spoke to Fidsey in a battleful voice.

‘Did ‘e ever say ‘e could do me?’

Fidsey said:

‘Soitenly ‘e did. Youse is dead easy, ‘e says. He says he kin punch holes in you, Blue!’

‘When did ‘e say it?’

‘Oh—any time. Youse is a cinch, Kel’ says.’

Blue Billie walked over to Kelcey. The others of the band followed him, exchanging joyful glances.

‘Did youse say yeh could do me?’

Kelcey slowly turned, but he kept his eyes upon the ground. He heard Fidsey darting among the others, telling of his prowess, preparing them for the downfall of Blue Billie. He stood heavily on one foot and moved his hands nervously. Finally he said in a low growl: ‘Well, what if I did?’

The sentence sent a happy thrill through the band. It was a formidable question. Blue Billie braced himself. Upon him came the responsibility of the next step. The gang fell back a little upon all sides. They looked expectantly at Blue Billie.

He walked forward with a deliberate step until his face was close to Kelcey.

‘Well, if you did,’ he said, with a snarl between his teeth, ‘I’m goin’ t’ t’ump d’ life outa yeh right heh!’

A little boy, wild of eye and puffing, came down the slope as from an explosion. He burst out in a rapid treble:

‘Is dat Kelcey feller here? Say, yeh ol’ woman’s sick again. Dey want yeh! Yeh’s better run! She’s awful sick!’

The gang turned with loud growls. ‘Ah, git outa here!’ Fidsey threw a stone at the little boy and chased him a short distance, but he continued to clamour:

‘Youse better come, Kelcey feller! She’s awful sick! She was hollerin’! Dey been lookin’ for yeh over’n hour!’

In his eagerness he returned part way, regardless of Fidsey.

Kelcey had moved away from Blue Billie. He said:

‘I guess I’d better go.’ They howled at him. ‘Well,’ he continued, ‘I can’t—I don’t wanta—I don’t wanta leave me mother be—she—’

His words were drowned in the chorus of their derision. ‘Well, looka-here,’ he would begin, and at each time their cries and screams ascended. They dragged at Blue Billie. ‘Go for ‘im, Blue! Slug ‘im! Go ahn!’

Kelcey went slowly away while they were urging Blue Billie to do a decisive thing.

Billie stood fuming and blustering and explaining himself. When Kelcey had achieved a considerable distance from him, he stepped forward a few paces and hurled a terrible oath. Kelcey looked back darkly.

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When he entered the chamber of death he was brooding over the recent encounter and devising extravagant revenges upon Blue Billie and the others.

The little old woman was stretched upon her bed. Her face and hands were of the hue of the blankets. Her hair, seemingly of a new and wondrous grayness, hung over her temples in whips and tangles. She was sickeningly motionless, save for her eyes, which rolled and swayed in maniacal glances.