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Vocational while she was still in grammar school。 Also he
worked at part…time jobs。 He grew up very suddenly and quit
hanging around the back and front yards with kids。 Sometimes
she could see him reading the paper in his bedroom or
undressing late at night。 In mathematics and history he was the
smartest boy at Vocational。 Often； now that she was in high
school too； they would meet each other on the way home and
walk together。 They were in the same shop class； and once the
teacher made them partners to assemble a motor。 He read
books and kept up with the newspapers every day。 World
politics were all the time on his mind。 He talked slow； and
sweat stood out on his forehead when he was very serious
about something。 And now she had made him mad with her。
'I wonder has Harry still got his gold piece；' Spareribs said。
'What gold piece？'
'When a Jew boy is born they put a gold piece in the bank for
him。 That's what Jews do。'
'Shucks。 You got it mixed up；' she said。 'It's Catholics you're
thinking about。 Catholics buy a pistol for a baby soon as it's
born。 Some day the Catholics mean to start a war and kill
everybody else。'
'Nuns give me a funny feeling；' Spareribs said。 'It scares me
when I see one on the street。'
She sat down on the steps and laid her head on her knees。 She
went into the inside room。 With her it was like there was two
places—the inside room and the outside room。 School and the
family and the things that happened every day were in the
outside room。 Mister Singer was in both rooms。 Foreign
countries and plans and music were in the inside room。 The
songs she thought about were there。 And the symphony。 When
she was by herself hi this inside room the music she had heard
that night after the party would come back to her。 This
symphony grew slow like a big flower in her mind。 During the
day sometimes； or when she had just waked up in the
morning； a new part of the symphony would suddenly come to
her。 Then she would have to go into the inside room and listen
to it many times and try to join it into the parts of the
symphony she remembered。 The inside room was a very pri
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vate place。 She could be in the middle of a house full of
people and still feel like she was locked up by herself。
Spareribs stuck his dirty hand up to her eyes because she had
been staring off at space。 She slapped him。
'What is a nun？' Bubber asked。
'A Catholic lady；' Spareribs said。 'A Catholic lady with a big
black dress that comes up over her head。'
She was tired of hanging around with the kids。 She would go
to the library and look at pictures in the National Geographic。
Photographs of all the foreign places in the world。 Paris；
France。 And big ice glaciers。 And the wild jungles in Africa。
'You kids see that Ralph don't get out in the street；' she said。
Bubber rested the big rifle on his shoulder。 'Bring me a
story back with you。'
It was like that kid had been born knowing how to read。 He
was only in the second grade but he loved to read stories by
himself—and he never asked anybody else to read to him。
'What kind you want this time？'
'Pick out some stories with something to eat in them。 I like
that one a whole lot about them German kids going out in the
forest and coming to this house made out of all different kinds
of candy and the witch。 I like a story with something to eat in
it。'
'I'll look for one；' said Mick。
'But I'm getting kinda tired of candy；' Bubber said。 'See if you
can't bring me a story with something like a barbecue
sandwich in it。 But if you can't find none of them I'd like a
cowboy story。'
She was ready to leave when suddenly she stopped and stared。
The kids stared too。 They all stood still and looked at Baby
Wilson coming down the steps of her house across the street。
'Ain't Baby cute！' said Bubber softly。
Maybe it was the sudden hot； sunny day after all those rainy
weeks。 Maybe it was because their dark winter clothes were
ugly to them on an afternoon like this one。 Anyway Baby
looked like a fairy or something in the picture show。 She had
on her last year's soiree costume—with a little pink…gauze
skirt that stuck out short and stiff； a pink body waist； pink
dancing shoes； and even a little pink140
pocketbook。 With her yellow hair she was all pink and white
and gold—and so small and clean that it almost hurt to watch
her。 She prissed across the street in a cute way； but would not
turn her face toward them。
'Come over here；' said Bubber。 'Lemme look at your little pink
pocketbook'
Baby passed them along the edge of the street with her head
held to one side。 She had made up her mind not to speak to
them。
There was a strip of grass between the sidewalk and the street；
and when Baby reached it she stood still for a second and then
turned a handspring。
'Don't pay no mind to her；' said Spareribs。 'She always tries to
show off。 She's going down to Mister Brannon's cafe to get
candy。 He's her uncle and she gets it free。'
Bubber rested the end of the rifle on the ground。 The big gun
was too heavy for him。 As he watched Baby walk off down
the street he kept pulling the straggly bangs of his hair。 'That
sure is a cute little pink pocketbook；' he said。
'Her Mama always talks about how talented she is；' said
Spareribs。 'She thinks she's gonna get Baby in the movies。'
It was too late to go look at the National Geographic。 Supper
was almost ready。 Ralph tuned up to cry and she took him off
the wagon and put him on the ground。 Now it was December；
and to a kid Bubber's age that was a long time from summer。
All last summer Baby had come out in that pink soiree
costume and danced in the middle of the street。 At first the
kids would flock around and watch her； but soon they got tired
of it。 Bubber was the only one who would watch her as she
came out to dance。 He would sit on the curb and yell to her
when he saw a car coming。 He had watched Baby do her
soiree dance a hundred times—but summer had been gone for
three months and now it seemed new to him again。
'I sure do wish I had a costume；' Bubber said。
'What kind do you want？'
'A real cool costume。 A real pretty one made out of all
different colors。 Like a butterfly。 That's what I want for
Christmas。 That and a bicycle！'
'Sissy；' said Spareribs。
Bubber hauled the big rifle up to his shoulder again and took
aim at a house across the street。 'I'd dance around in
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my costume if I had one。 I'd wear it every day to school。' Mick
sat on the front steps and kept her eyes on Ralph。 Bubber
wasn't a sissy like Spareribs said。 He just loved pretty things。
She'd better not let old Spareribs get away with that。
'A person's got to fight for every single thing they get；' she
said slowly。 'And I've noticed a lot of times that the farther
down a kid comes in the family the better the kid really is。
Younger kids are always the toughest。 I'm pretty hard 'cause
I've a lot of them on top of me。 Bubber —he looks sick； and
likes pretty things； but he's got guts underneath that。 If all this
is true Ralph sure ought to be a real strong one wh