There was a shout down the street. The boy on the tricycle had begun pedaling followed by the other who alternately propelled or jumped on the axle between the rear wheels. It was Yussie. They swerved, jounced off the curb onto the gutter, circled careening, zigzagged tipsily and bucked the curb again. With a feeling of jealousy he strained his ears to catch what Yussie was shouting between shrieks of laughter. He wouldn’t give Yussie a ride if he had a wheel. Never. He wouldn’t even stay in this block. No, he’d go far away. Where, far? He’d get lost again. The thought sent a shiver through him. Not this time though. His mother would write the address down for him and he’d carry it with him always, in his pocket. They wouldn’t fool him again. He’d ride away. Maybe after those telegraph poles, if you went way, way on, there was a place like a picture in the candy store. That lady who stood on a big box of cigarettes and wore a handkerchief under her eyes and funny fat pants without a dress and carried a round sword. A place where those houses were that she lived in, that all ended in sharp points. He had seen a man in a hat once like that, with a sharp point. He had a mustache and was in the Jewish paper his mother bought. The Tageblatt! When he went that night and — No! Lost the money — No! No! And — and! No!.. Houses, he was saying. Points. Points they had, yes, not corners on top like those across the street. Yellow and old wood corner. Brown and green corner. And the grey one with the little window in it that looked like the roof was going to be a star — went down and then didn’t go so down. Why?
He couldn’t answer it, and stared again at the two on the tricycle. Yussie had gotten off, and the owner, his feet removed from the whirling pedals was letting the other push him as fast as he could. The peaks of their caps were turned backwards. Tooting breathlessly they bounced swiftly over the pitted gutter toward David’s house. They were racing. He could tell by their caps. And as they drew near, the driver’s shrill, spurring, “We’re beatin’! We’re beatin’! Horry op!” sent the blood tingling through his own veins. They were almost in front of the house now. In another moment, they would pass beneath his window — when suddenly with a sharp scrape of sliding shoes, Yussie braked the flying wheels to a stop and gaped over the other’s shoulder. Wonderingly, David turned his head to the left to follow his gaze.
Only a few yards off, a tall, lean stranger approached, stooping slightly and bearing close to his dark coat, a white parcel, high, as though he meant to proffer it to the two boys before him. An instant David stared, and suddenly in the space of one stride, it was neither stranger nor parcel he saw, but his own father, and the right hand against his coat was hanging from a sling and swathed in bandages. He screamed.
“Papa! Papa!”
The slow head lifted, grim jaws, beaked nose and steady-glaring eyeballs. The two boys astride and beside the wheel sidled out of his way. David flung himself back from the window, fled screaming into the kitchen. His mother was already on the stair, frightened—
“David! What is it!”
“Papa’s coming! His hand! His hand! It’s all in”—He circled his own. “All in white! He’s coming!”
“Dear God! Hurt! He’s hurt?” She shook him. The starting brown eyes seemed to waken the pallor of her skin, the clutching hand among her hair its bronze. “Albert!” She flew to the door. “Albert!” Her voice in the hallway was hoarse. “Albert! Albert!”
To David, crouched back against the frontroom stairs, his father’s harsh, suppressed words snapped through the open doorway.
“Hush! Hush, I say! An end to your wailing! Get back!”
“Blood! Blood!”
Moaning, clawing at her cheek, his mother came in — backwards held at arm’s-thrust by his father. His face was grey, so grey the bluish stubble on his hard and bulging jaws stood out in separate dots. On the thick white bandage around his hand, a red spot glowered where the thumb should be.
“Yes! Blood!” He rapped out, slamming the door. “Have you never seen it? First that idiot barks from the window at my approach! Now you! Lament! Lament! Bring all your neighbors in here cackling!”
“Oh, Albert! Albert!” She swayed back and forth. “What is it? What’s happened?” The tears braided on her cheek-bones.
“You always were a fool!” he growled. “You see me alive! Will you stop it!”
“Tell me! Tell me!” Her voice dwindled with anguish. “Tell me—! What have you — done? I — alas! before I—”
“Done? Me?”
“What! Tell me!” She was breathing thickly “Hurry!”
“You’re not far from wrong!” he snarled. “You’ve almost guessed it! Yes! I would have done, but that cursed press ground me first! Anh! That press saved him! He doesn’t know it! I would have — What!”
With a whispered groan her head sank. She stumbled toward a chair, dropped into it, slumped, her limp arms hanging beside her. At the sight of her awful pallor David burst into tears.
“Bah!” his father scoffed angrily. “In God’s name I thought you had more wisdom.” He strode to the sink, filled up a glass of water, pried it between her lips. The water runneled her chin, spattered on her dress. “And you’re the one to faint!” he snorted bitterly.
“I’m all right!” she said weakly, lifting her head. “I’m all right, Albert. But — but you didn’t strike him!”
“No!” savagely. “I told you I didn’t! He escaped. Are you more worried about him than about me? Is that it?”
“No! No!”
“Then what are you fainting for? It’s only my thumb. The jaws of the press! I wasn’t quick enough! It jammed, that’s all. You didn’t take on this way when I caught the nail of that finger, did you?”
She hissed, wincing.
“I’ve still got it with me — my thumb — if that’s what’s troubling you. If you hadn’t deafened me with your clamor I could have told you sooner! Now help me off with my coat — or are you still too weak?”
She rose unsteadily, took hold of his coat-collar.
“Curse him!” he muttered squirming free slowly. “The treacherous dog! God’s flame make a candle of him! You don’t have any more privileges than any one else! That’s what he said to me before this — Unh!” He groaned between his teeth as the sleeve slid over his injured hand. “I shouldn’t have let — the jacket — go with it.”
“Is it so bad, Albert!” She put out her hand. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Stop coming at me that way, will you! I don’t need support!”
He stared at the bandage which now that his coat was off seemed to David’s tear-blurred eyes to have swollen to twice its bulk.
“He didn’t have to cover the fingers too, the fool!” He dropped into a chair, masked his eyes with his bony hand. It was heavily ink-blacked, unwashed. “Doctors! They’d rather use the whole ribbon than bother cutting it. And why not? They won’t have to carry it around.” His head dropped back.