aunted. "You came in here to
get a beer like them fellers. You think you're a man, but I know you
ain't. And I'm here to see that nobody sells liquor to a child."

I was humiliated. The bully knew that I wanted to be a man, and his shot
stung me. My friends looked at me as if to ask: "Are you going to take
that?" And so the fight was arranged, although I had no skill at boxing,
and was too short-legged, like most Welshmen, for a fast foot race. Babe
had me up against a real problem.

"Come on over the line," he said.

Sharon was near the Ohio border and it was customary to go across the
state line to fight, so that on returning the local peace officers would
have no jurisdiction. We started for the battle ground. Babe had never
been whipped; he always chose younger opponents. He was a good gouger,
and had marked up most of the boys on the "flats" as we called the
lowlands where the poorer working people lived. A gouger is one who
stabs with his thumb. When he gets his sharp thumb-nail into the
victim's eye, the fight is over. Biting and kicking were his second
lines of attack.

As we walked along I was depressed by the thought that I was badly
outclassed. There was only one thing in my favor. I hated Babe Durgon
with a bitter loathing that I had been suppressing for years. It all
went back to the summer of 1884 when I was eleven years old. Times were
hard, and the mill was "down." Father had gone to Pittsburgh to look
for work. I was scouring the town of Sharon to pick up any odd job that
would earn me a nickel. There were no telephones and I used to carry
notes between sweethearts, pass show bills for the "opry," and ring a
hand-bell for auctions. An organized charity had opened headquarters on
Main Street to collect clothing and money for the destitute families of
the workers. I went up there to see if they needed an errand boy. A
Miss Foraker--now Mrs. F. H. Buhl--was in charge. She was a sweet and
gracious young woman and she explained that they had no pay-roll.

"Everybody works for nothing here," she said. "I get no pay, and the
landlord gives us the use of the rooms free. This is a public charity
and everybody contributes his services free."

I saw a blue serge boy's suit among the piles of garments. It was about
my size and had seen little wear. I thought it was the prettiest suit I
had ever seen. I asked Miss Foraker how much money it would take to buy
the suit. She said nothing was for sale. She wrapped