The circle of boys in the corner by the Family Entrance broke up. Joe Kaplan, the biggest boy, cuffed and booted smaller ones aside, and walked off towards Rivington street, indifferent to what became of the others. He slapped the flagstones with his spreading shoes, and whistled between his teeth. He was feeling good. A recollection of the white-faced boy flitted across his mind, buoying him up with scorn. Kid from up-town, he thought, sneakin’ around lookin’ for somepin bad. Gee! what rotten minds them kids has! But Joe could not put this kid out of his mind right away. What made him look at me so funny? he asked himself. At the Rivington street corner Joe lounged against a pillar with his shoulders hunched forward, making a stupid, sleepy look come in his face. Under his drooping eyelids gleamed a spark. This was his hunting ground. Every little stir in the crowd had its meaning for him. He marked the cop on the sidewalk to the left, leaning back with his elbows propped on a rail, surveying the crowd with good-humored contempt. Hogan; nothing to fear from him; a fat-head, always looking at the women. On the corner in the other direction was Mitchell; a terror if you tried to turn a trick on the storekeepers; but he despised the pushcart men; all the cops did. However, Joe had heard that the pushcart thefts had made so much talk, the captain of the precinct had sent out a couple of plain-clothes men to mix with the crowd. He was looking for them. Taking to the middle of the street, Joe shambled up to the corner and back, making out to be a low-down poor mutt, searching under the pushcarts for butts. Joe could let his mouth hang open, and a sort of film come over his eyes; you would swear he was half-crazed with drugged cigarettes. His tour assured him there was no plain-clothes men in that block. He could smell a cop out. He gradually narrowed his beat to and fro, his objective being the pushcart that was selling furs. Cold weather was coming on, and it was doing a brisk trade. Suddenly Joe perceived a thin-faced lad older than himself, standing about with a cagey eye. Bent upon the same business as himself of course. Joe grinned inwardly. He ain’t as smart as me, he thought. Watch me make him work for me. Joe’s only regret was, that there was nobody to see how clever he was. He unobtrusively fell back to the curb opposite the cart of furs, where he appeared to be looking at everything in sight except the thin-faced lad.