Towards evening Joe Kaplan and two boys smaller than himself were making their way down Fifth Avenue. They had started out in the morning five strong, but two of the kids had been lost somewhere. They had spent the day in Central Park where they had seen the m’nag’rie, and the swan boats and the rich kids riding in goat carriages on the Mall. Of the latter Pat Crear had said: “Gawd! all dressed up in velvet and lace like doll babies, and strapped down in them little wagons so’s they can’t fall out; it’s a wonder they don’t get heart disease from the excitement.” In order to find out if he was human, Pat had given the long curls of one little boy a sharp tweak, and cut whooping across the grass to the shrubbery. They had had the luck to come across a boy selling lozenges in an out of the way spot. They had swiped his box offen him, and after sampling some of each flavor, had sold the rest in another part of the park, thus providing the means for a more substantial feed. Afterwards they had wandered away up to Harlem mere, and had lost themselves in the woods up there. They built a fire, and made out they were hoboes, and Tony Lipper had killed a squirrel with a stone. No kid he knew had ever done that before, and he was bringing it home in his pocket to prove it. On Fifth Avenue the elegant carriages rolled up and down, each drawn by a pair of glossy horses stepping high, and each driven by one or two men sitting up in front without moving, like the tin men on pavement toys. On the sidewalk the tony guys were walking up and down, many of the Johnnies wearing silk ties and swinging sticks, the dames with sleeves as big as hams and little tails to their jackets sticking up like a chippie’s. Joe and the other boys were pleased by the sense of their incongruity in that company, and they accentuated it by slapping the pavement with their broken shoes, spitting to the right and left, and talking rough. They felt great when they succeeded in attracting the scowls and the disgusted looks of the passers-by; or when a lady daintily drew her skirts aside to avoid contact. “Dare me to spit on the next one?” said Pat. “If you do some Johnnie will crack yeh over the coco wit’ his stick,” said Joe indifferently. “But yeh kin show yeh don’t give a damn for them by makin’ snoots. They can’t do nottin’ to yeh for that.” They came to two great square houses built of brownstone and joined together in the middle by a bone like the Siamese twins, so imposing that Pat was led to ask: “What the hell buildings is them?” “The Vanderbilts live there,” said Joe. “They’s the richest guys in the world.” “On’y one family in the whole goddam house?” said Pat. “Gee! it must be lonely for them.”