Harbor (9781101565681) Read Online Free

painful time. But though Sam was two years older, he was barely any larger than I, and when he and his gang had gone off with my boat, as I stood there breathing hard, I was filled with a grim satisfaction. For once when he tried to wrench the boat from me I had hit him with it right on the face, and I had had a glimpse of a thick red mark across his cheek. I tasted something new in my mouth and spit it out. It was blood. I did this several times, slowly and impressively, till it made a good big spot on the railroad tie at my feet. Then I walked with dignity back across the tracks and up “the way of destruction” home. I walked slowly, planning as I went. At the gate I climbed up on it and swung. Then with a sudden loud cry I fell off and ran back into the garden crying, “I fell off the gate! I fell on my face!” So my cut and swollen lip was explained, and my trips were not discovered.
    I felt myself growing older fast. For I knew that I could both fight and tell lies, besides defying the Condor.
    In the next years, for weeks at a time my life was centered on Sam and his gang. How we became friends, how often we met, by just what means I evaded my nurse, all these details are vague to me now. I am not even sure I was never caught. But it seems to me that I was not. For as I grew to be eight years old, Belle turned her attention more and more to that impish little sister of mine who was always up to some mischief or other. There was the corner grocer, too, with whom I pretended to be staunch friends. “I’m going to see the grocer,” I would say, when I heard Sam’s cautious whistle in front of the house—and so presently I would join the gang. I followed Sam with a doglike devotion, giving up my weekly twenty-five cents instead of saving it for Christmas, and in return receiving from him all the world-old wisdom stored in that bullet-shaped head of his which sat so tight on his round little shoulders.
    And though I did not realize it then, in my tense crowded childhood, through Sam and his companions I learned something else that was to stand me in good stead years later on. I learned how to make friends with “the slums.” I discovered that by making friends with “Micks” and “Dockers” and the like, you find they are no fearful goblins, giants bursting savagely up among the flowers of your life, but people as human as yourself, or rather, much more human, because they live so close to the harbor, close to the deep rough tides of life.
    Into these tides I was now drawn down—and it did me some good and a great deal of harm. For I was too little those days for the harbor.
    Sam had the most wonderful life in the world. He could go wherever he liked and at any hour day or night. Once, he said, when a “feller” was drowned, he had stayed out on the docks all night. His mother always let him alone. An enormous woman with heavy eyes, I was in awe of her from the first. The place that she kept with Sam’s father was called “The Sailor’s Harbor.” It stood on a corner down by the docks, a long, low wooden building painted white, with twelve tight-shuttered, mysterious windows along the second story, and below them a “Ladies’ Entrance.” In front was a small blackboard with words in white which Sam could read. “Ten Cent Dinners” stood at the top. Below came, “Coffee and rolls.” Next, “Ham and eggs.” Then “Bacon and eggs.” And then, “To-day”—with a space underneath where Sam’s fat father wrote down every morning still more delicious eatables. You got whiffs of these things and they made your mouth water, they made your stomach fairly turn against your nursery supper.
    But most of our time we spent on the docks. All were roofed, and exploring the long dock sheds and climbing down into the dark holds of the square-rigged ships called “clippers,” we found logs