often right in
the middle of a game, I would suddenly forget where I was and would
think of Sam, of the cannibals that I had seen, of the man who had
jumped from the Great Bridge, or of that drunken woman. They would catch
me at it and call me queer. And I would grow hot and feel ashamed.

On the other hand, poor and queer as I felt at times, at others I would
swell with my wisdom and importance. For what did they know, these
respectable boys, about the docks and the gangs of "Micks" deep down
there below us all as we played about in our nice little gardens. When
they called me queer, sometimes I would retort with dark hints, all
games would stop, they would gather close, and then I would tell these
intense eager boys the things I had learned from the harbor. And I had
the more pleasure in the telling from the feeling of relief that now I
was safe away from it all.

"That's the real thing, that is," I would declare impressively. But how
good it felt to me to be free of such reality.

* * * * *

At such times we made "the Chips" stay over on their side of the yard.
"The Chips" were three small admiring girls. One was my young sister
Sue, who was then about nine years old, long-legged, skinny and quick as
a flash, her black hair always flying. The second, a plump freckled
girl, was the younger sister of the boys who lived here. And the third
was a quiet little thing who lived around the corner. We called them
"Chips" to annoy them. We got the term from the stout coachman in the
barn who used it with a fine sweeping contempt that included all his
lady friends. We ourselves had the most profound contempt for these
girls who kept poking into our games. At times we would stop everything
and take the utmost pains to explain to them that they were nothing
whatever but girls. And this would make Sue furious. She would screw up
her snapping black eyes and viciously stick out her tongue and stamp her
foot and say "darn!" to show she could swear like a regular kid. And
still they hung around us.

But as time wore on we grew more indulgent, we included them more and
more. And this was largely due to me. For I took a vague curious
interest in the one who lived around the corner.

Her name was Eleanore Dillon and her age was eight, and she had
attractions that slowly grew. To begin with, as I became gradually
aware, she was much the prettiest of the three. She had light curly hair
tied up in red r