But the voice, so cracked and wheezy. And the eyes, shining like sparks of light under his heavy brows. And the thin, parchment-like, claw-like hands. He rasped irritatingly with his throat whenever he talked, before and after each word or sentence--“eck--eck--eck--I don’t go out to buy stuff--eck--eck--eck. I only buy what’s brought here--eck--eck--eck. I don’t want any old rags--eck--eck--eck--I have more than I can sell now--eck--eck--eck.” Then he fell to munching again. “Those look like savage dogs,” I ventured, hoping to lure him into a conversation. It was not to be. “Eck--eck--eck--they need to be--eck--eck--eck.” That was all. He fell silent and would say no more. I went out, curious as to what sort of a business this was, anyhow, and leaving him to himself. But one morning, months later, turning a corner near there, a region of empty lots and some old sealed and untenanted storehouses, I found a crowd of boys following and stoning an old man who, on my coming near and then running to his rescue, I found to be this old dealer. He was attempting to hide behind a signboard which adjoined one of the storehouses. His face and hands were already cut by stones and bleeding. He was breathless and very much exhausted and frightened, but still angry and savage. “They stoned me, the little devils--eck--eck--eck. They hit me with rocks--eck--eck--eck. I’ll have the law on ’em, I will--eck--eck--eck. I’ll get the police after ’em--eck--eck--eck. They’re always trying to break into my place and I won’t let ’em--eck--eck--eck.” I wondered who could break into that place with those dogs loose, who would attempt it. But that, as I found out later in conversation with boys of the vicinity, was just the trouble. At various times they had sought to enter to recover a tossed ball, possibly to steal something, and he had set the dogs (which were always unchained in his absence) on them; or, they had been attacked by the dogs and in turn had attempted to work him and them some injury. Yet for a period of three years after this, to my knowledge, he continued to live there in that solitary place, harassed no doubt in this way. If he ever did any business I did not see it. The gates were nearly always closed, himself rarely to be seen. Then one day a really terrible thing happened. Some children--not these same wicked boys but others less familiar with the neighborhood, I believe--were playing ball in an open space adjoining, and a fly being struck, the ball fell into the junk-yard. Three of the more courageous ones, as the papers stated afterwards, mounted the fence to see if they could get the ball, and one of them, more courageous than the others, actually leaped into the yard and was literally torn to bits by these same dogs, all but eaten alive. And there was no one to save him before he was dead. Old Clampitt was not there.