She jerked the baby’s arm impatiently.  He fell on his face, roaring.  With a second jerk she pulled him to his feet, and they went on.  With the obstinacy of his order, he protested against being dragged in a chosen direction.  He made heroic endeavors to keep on his legs, denounce his sister and consume a bit of orange peeling which he chewed between the times of his infantile orations.

As the sullen-eyed man, followed by the blood-covered boy, drew near, the little girl burst into reproachful cries.  “Ah, Jimmie, youse bin fightin’ agin.”

The urchin swelled disdainfully.

“Ah, what deh hell, Mag.  See?”

The little girl upbraided him, “Youse allus fightin’, Jimmie, an’ yeh knows it puts mudder out when yehs come home half dead, an’ it’s like we’ll all get a poundin’.”

She began to weep.  The babe threw back his head and roared at his prospects.

“Ah, what deh hell!” cried Jimmie.  “Shut up er I’ll smack yer mout’.  See?”

As his sister continued her lamentations, he suddenly swore and struck her.  The little girl reeled and, recovering herself, burst into tears and quaveringly cursed him.  As she slowly retreated her brother advanced dealing her cuffs.  The father heard and turned about.

“Stop that, Jim, d’yeh hear?  Leave yer sister alone on the street.  It’s like I can never beat any sense into yer damned wooden head.”

The urchin raised his voice in defiance to his parent and continued his attacks.  The babe bawled tremendously, protesting with great violence.  During his sister’s hasty manoeuvres, he was dragged by the arm.

Finally the procession plunged into one of the gruesome doorways.  They crawled up dark stairways and along cold, gloomy halls.  At last the father pushed open a door and they entered a lighted room in which a large woman was rampant.

She stopped in a career from a seething stove to a pan-covered table.  As the father and children filed in she peered at them.

“Eh, what?  Been fightin’ agin, by Gawd!” She threw herself upon Jimmie.  The urchin tried to dart behind the others and in the scuffle the babe, Tommie, was knocked down.  He protested with his usual vehemence, because they had bruised his tender shins against a table leg.

The mother’s massive shoulders heaved with anger.  Grasping the urchin by the neck and shoulder she shook him until he rattled.  She dragged him to an unholy sink, and, soaking a rag in water, began to scrub his lacerated face with it.  Jimmie screamed in pain and tried to twist his shoulders out of the clasp of the huge arms.

The babe sat on the floor watching the scene, his face in contortions like that of a woman at a tragedy.  The father, with a newly-ladened pipe in his mouth, crouched on a backless chair near the stove.  Jimmie’s cries annoyed him.  He turned about and bellowed at his wife: 

“Let the damned kid alone for a minute, will yeh, Mary?  Yer allus poundin’ ’im.  When I come nights I can’t git no rest ’cause yer allus poundin’ a kid.  Let up, d’yeh hear?  Don’t be allus poundin’ a kid.”