ACKS

Time hung heavily on Abe Seelig's hands, alone, or as good as alone,
in the flat on the "stoop" of the Allen Street tenement. His mother
had gone to the butcher's. Chajim, the father,--"Chajim" is the
Yiddish of "Herman,"--was long at the shop. To Abe was committed the
care of his two young brothers, Isaac and Jacob. Abraham was nine, and
past time for fooling. Play is "fooling" in the sweaters' tenements,
and the muddling of ideas makes trouble, later on, to which the police
returns have the index.

"Don't let 'em on the stairs," the mother had said, on going, with a
warning nod toward the bed where Jake and Ikey slept. He didn't intend
to. Besides, they were fast asleep. Abe cast about him for fun of some
kind, and bethought himself of a game of jacks. That he had no
jackstones was of small moment to him. East Side tenements, where
pennies are infrequent, have resources. One penny was Abe's hoard.
With that, and an accidental match, he began the game.

It went on well enough, albeit slightly lopsided by reason of the
penny being so much the weightier, until the match, in one unlucky
throw, fell close to a chair by the bed, and, in falling, caught fire.

Something hung down from the chair, and while Abe gazed, open-mouthed,
at the match, at the chair, and at the bed right alongside, with his
sleeping brothers on it, the little blaze caught it. The flame climbed
up, up, up, and a great smoke curled under the ceiling. The children
still slept, locked in each other's arms, and Abe--Abe ran.

He ran, frightened half out of his senses, out of the room, out of the
house, into the street, to the nearest friendly place he knew, a
grocery store five doors away, where his mother traded; but she was
not there. Abe merely saw that she was not there, then he hid himself,
trembling.

In all the block, where three thousand tenants live, no one knew what
cruel thing was happening on the stoop of No. 19.

A train passed on the elevated road, slowing up for the station near
by. The engineer saw one wild whirl of fire within the room, and
opening the throttle of his whistle wide, let out a screech so long
and so loud that in ten seconds the street was black with men and
women rushing out to see what dreadful thing had happened.

No need of asking. From the door of the Seelig flat, burned through,
fierce flames reached across the hall, barring the way. The tenement
was shut in.

Promptly it poured itself forth upon fire