never occurred to Herbie that the Almighty was going to unusual trouble to collect a nickel.
The Dubbing of General Garbage
C oncrete pressed roughly against one's nose is not enjoyable at best, and when the concrete is part of a schoolyard and has been baking in a May sun, it is hot and dirty enough to be positively unpleasant. So Herbie decided, as Lennie Krieger sat on his back twisting his left arm up behind him with one hand, thrusting his head against the ground with the other, and requesting the utterance of the word “uncle” before changing this state of things. With Lucille Glass standing a foot away looking on, this was not easy to do. “Uncle” is a code word understood by all children to mean “You're a better man than I am.” However, Lennie was much heavier and stronger; the lunch period had twenty minutes to go; and the concrete was very hard, hot, and dusty. So Herbie said, “Uncle,” adding under his breath, “in a pig's eye,” and the two boys rose, brushing themselves.
Lucille bent a lively glance at Lennie and said, “I think you're awful, picking on someone smaller than you.”
“Let him not be so smart, then,” said Lennie, carelessly tucking his flapping shirt back into his trousers.
It was the Thursday after the museum meeting. Herbie, not finding Lucille at the accustomed landing, had wandered around the school and finally come upon her eating lunch with Lennie in a shady comer of the boys' yard. He had cheerfully joined the conversation, hiding his jealous pangs. The topic had been Lennie's boastful plans for playing football in high school.
“What'll
you
do in high school?” he said to Herbie derisively. “Try out for the tiddlywinks team?”
Herbie looked foolish and was silent. Lennie went on, “I bet I play halfback in my first year. Maybe even fullback.”
“Maybe even left back,” chirped Herbie.
It was a good shot. Lennie had been left back twice in his school career. Lucille choked over a bite of her sandwich, coughed it out, and shrieked with merriment. A short scuffle between the boys followed, ending in the nose-to-concrete situation described above.
“Look out, Lucille,” said Herbie as he got up, ruefully rubbing the dirt off his nose and forehead. “He'll beat you up next. He's real brave.”
Instantly Lennie had him by his shirt front and tie, grasped in an upthrusting fist. “What's the matter, you want more?” he said, and when Herbie answered nothing he beat the fat boy's chest lightly with his other fist, in time to this chant:
“Three, six, nine,
A bottle of wine,
I can fight you any old time.”
This was a challenge which a Bronx boy was supposed to take up even if it meant getting all his bones broken. But Herbie had had enough pounding of his ribs and concrete in his face for one day, so he let it pass. A code that required him to take two successive lickings from the same bigger boy seemed to have a flaw in it somewhere. He did not miss the flicker of disappointment in Lucille's eyes as Lennie released him with a contemptuous little push.
“O.K., Herbie darling,” he said. “You can play jacks with Lucille now. So long.” He strode off.
A vender of water ices pushed his wooden cart past them on the other side of the steel webbing of the school fence. “How about ices, Lucille? I got four cents,” said Herbie humbly.
“No, thanks.” Then impulsively, “I'll be glad when I'm transferred to the Mosholu Parkway public school next term. I hate Lennie and I hate you!” She stamped her foot at him and ran to the girls' yard.
It is a sad thing to be beaten and humiliated in the presence of one's lady fair. Herbie moped around the yard without aim, and was so poor in spirits that it actually made him happy to hear the gong summoning him back to class. He pinned on his yellow armband, and took his privileged way up the stairs ahead of the other pupils, lonely and chopfallen. Even his imagination was chilled by Lucille's frostiness.
The Dubbing of General Garbage
C oncrete pressed roughly against one's nose is not enjoyable at best, and when the concrete is part of a schoolyard and has been baking in a May sun, it is hot and dirty enough to be positively unpleasant. So Herbie decided, as Lennie Krieger sat on his back twisting his left arm up behind him with one hand, thrusting his head against the ground with the other, and requesting the utterance of the word “uncle” before changing this state of things. With Lucille Glass standing a foot away looking on, this was not easy to do. “Uncle” is a code word understood by all children to mean “You're a better man than I am.” However, Lennie was much heavier and stronger; the lunch period had twenty minutes to go; and the concrete was very hard, hot, and dusty. So Herbie said, “Uncle,” adding under his breath, “in a pig's eye,” and the two boys rose, brushing themselves.
Lucille bent a lively glance at Lennie and said, “I think you're awful, picking on someone smaller than you.”
“Let him not be so smart, then,” said Lennie, carelessly tucking his flapping shirt back into his trousers.
It was the Thursday after the museum meeting. Herbie, not finding Lucille at the accustomed landing, had wandered around the school and finally come upon her eating lunch with Lennie in a shady comer of the boys' yard. He had cheerfully joined the conversation, hiding his jealous pangs. The topic had been Lennie's boastful plans for playing football in high school.
“What'll
you
do in high school?” he said to Herbie derisively. “Try out for the tiddlywinks team?”
Herbie looked foolish and was silent. Lennie went on, “I bet I play halfback in my first year. Maybe even fullback.”
“Maybe even left back,” chirped Herbie.
It was a good shot. Lennie had been left back twice in his school career. Lucille choked over a bite of her sandwich, coughed it out, and shrieked with merriment. A short scuffle between the boys followed, ending in the nose-to-concrete situation described above.
“Look out, Lucille,” said Herbie as he got up, ruefully rubbing the dirt off his nose and forehead. “He'll beat you up next. He's real brave.”
Instantly Lennie had him by his shirt front and tie, grasped in an upthrusting fist. “What's the matter, you want more?” he said, and when Herbie answered nothing he beat the fat boy's chest lightly with his other fist, in time to this chant:
“Three, six, nine,
A bottle of wine,
I can fight you any old time.”
This was a challenge which a Bronx boy was supposed to take up even if it meant getting all his bones broken. But Herbie had had enough pounding of his ribs and concrete in his face for one day, so he let it pass. A code that required him to take two successive lickings from the same bigger boy seemed to have a flaw in it somewhere. He did not miss the flicker of disappointment in Lucille's eyes as Lennie released him with a contemptuous little push.
“O.K., Herbie darling,” he said. “You can play jacks with Lucille now. So long.” He strode off.
A vender of water ices pushed his wooden cart past them on the other side of the steel webbing of the school fence. “How about ices, Lucille? I got four cents,” said Herbie humbly.
“No, thanks.” Then impulsively, “I'll be glad when I'm transferred to the Mosholu Parkway public school next term. I hate Lennie and I hate you!” She stamped her foot at him and ran to the girls' yard.
It is a sad thing to be beaten and humiliated in the presence of one's lady fair. Herbie moped around the yard without aim, and was so poor in spirits that it actually made him happy to hear the gong summoning him back to class. He pinned on his yellow armband, and took his privileged way up the stairs ahead of the other pupils, lonely and chopfallen. Even his imagination was chilled by Lucille's frostiness.
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