Once more the door banged, and a slight, slim-built boy perhaps fifteen years old, a half-smoked cigarette hanging from one corner of his mouth, leaned in over the high footway. His pasty yellow complexion did not show well on a person of his years, and his look was a mixture of irresolution, bravado, and very cheap smartness. He was dressed in a cherrycoloured blazer, knickerbockers, red stockings, and bicycle shoes, with a red flannel cap at the back of the head. After whistling between his teeth, as he eyed the company, he said in a loud, high voice: ldquo;Say, its thick outside. You can hear the fish-boats squawking all around us. Say, wouldnt it be great if we ran down one?Shut the door, Harvey,rdquo; said the New Yorker. ldquo;Shut the door and stay outside. Youre not wanted here.Wholl stop me?rdquo; he answered, deliberately. ldquo;Did you pay for my passage, Mister Martin? lsquo;Guess Ive as good right here as the next man.He picked up some dice from a checkerboard and began throwing, right hand against left.
