Thus it was that at nine o’clock or thereabouts, Keekie Joe realized that he was hungry and that four cigarettes stood between him and home, effectually barring the way.  He measured the licking that he would get against the supper that he would get, and he decided to go fishing.  No doubt his choice was well considered for the supper that he would get might not be a good one whereas the licking that he would get would be nothing short of magnificent.

Keekie Joe had not the slightest idea how to cook a fish and he could not think so far ahead as that.  But food he must have.  So he had dug some worms and put them in one of his trick cans and then proceeded to untangle the line.  Having secured an unknotted length of five or six feet he equipped this with a fish-hook of his own manufacture and sallied forth toward the river.  He was not only hungry, but sleepy, and it never occurred to him that this was the exorbitant price of four cigarettes.

Hunger and sleep vied with each other in the shuffling body of Keekie Joe as he crossed Main Street and cut across the fields toward the marshes.

Down by the river was a little shanty in which was a mass of fishing seine.  It stood hospitably open, for the hinges of the door were all rusted away and the dried and shrunken boards lay on the marshy ground before the entrance.  Keekie Joe had intended to make sure that there was nothing to eat in the shanty before casting his line in the neighboring water.  For there was the barest chance that a petrified crust of bread, ancient remnant of some fisherman’s lunch, might be in the place.

Once Keekie Joe had found such a crust there.  But the place was bare now of everything except deserted spider-webs, black and heavy with dust.  These and the mass of net upon the ground were all that Keekie Joe could see in the light of the genial moonbeams which shone through the open doorway and wriggled in through the cracks in the weather-beaten boards.

And now again Keekie Joe had to make a choice.  He was hungry, oh, so hungry.  But he was sleepy, too, to the point of blinking half-consciousness.  The eyes which had so often watched for “cops,” and which had won for Keekie Joe his nickname, were half closed and he could hardly stand.  Such a price for four cigarettes!

The eyes which had been so faithful to a doubtful trust and won the pay of an apple core, could not be trusted now to stay open while he sat, a ragged, lonely figure, on the shore dangling his line in quest of a morsel to eat.  It was funny how these eyes, which had served others so well, seemed about to go back on their owner now.  But so it was.  And then, in a moment, a very strange thing happened.

As Keekie Joe leaned against the doorway blinking his eyes, he happened to look up at the moon and it seemed (probably because his eyes were blinking), it seemed as if the man in the moon winked at him, in a way shrewdly significant as if he might have something up his sleeve.  Anyway, he could not keep his eyes open; sleep, for a little while at least, had triumphed over hunger and the faithful little sentinel of Barrel Alley stumbled over to the pile of net and sank down, exhausted, upon it.