At lunchtime Jimmy consumed another collection of hot dogs. He continued to meander aimlessly through the city until schooltime ended, then he saw the streets and vacant lots fill with older children playing games with more pattern to them. It was a new world he watched, a world that had not been a part of his education. The information he owned was that of the school curriculum; it held nothing of the daily business of growing up. He knew the general rules of big-league baseball, but the kid-business of stickball did not register. He was at a complete loss. It was sheer chance and his own tremendous curiosity that led him to the edge of a small group that were busily engaged in the odd process of trying to jack up the front of a car. It wasn't a very good jack; it should have had the weight of a full adult against the handle. The kids strained and put their weight on the jack, but the handle wouldn't budge though their feet were off the ground. Here was the place where academic information would be useful--and the chance for an "in." Jimmy shoved himself into the small group and said, "Get a longer handle." They turned on him suspiciously. "Whatcha know about it?" demanded one, shoving his chin out. "Get a longer handle," repeated Jimmy. "Go ahead, get one." "G'wan--" "Wait, Moe. Maybe--" "Who's he?" "I'm Jimmy." "Jimmy who?" "Jimmy--James." Academic information came up again. "Jimmy. Like the jimmy you use on a window." "Jimmy James. Any relation to Jesse James?" James Quincy Holden now told his first whopper. "I," he said, "am his grandson." The one called Moe turned to one of the younger ones. "Get a longer handle," he said. While the younger one went for something to use as a longer handle, Moe invited Jimmy to sit on the curb. "Cigarette?" invited Moe. "I don't smoke," said Jimmy. "Sissy?" Adolescent-age information looking out through five-year-old eyes assayed Moe. Moe was about eight, maybe even nine; taller than Jimmy but no heavier. He had a longer reach, which was an advantage that Jimmy did not care to hazard. There was no sure way to establish physical superiority; Jimmy was uncertain whether any show of intellect would be welcome. "No," he said. "I'm no sissy. I don't like 'em." Moe lit a cigarette and smoked with much gesturing and flickings of ashes and spitting at a spot on the pavement. He was finished when the younger one came back with a length of water pipe that would fit over the handle of the jack. The car went up with ease. Then came the business of removing the hubcap and the struggle to loose the lugbolts. Jimmy again suggested the application of the length of pipe. The wheel came off. "C'mon, Jimmy," said Moe. "We'll cut you in."