The Loom of Destiny
who was able, now and then, to beat or bully a penny or two out of him.
It was only right, therefore, that Hungry, as he wandered busily about the odoriferous curbs and the crate-covered docks of the river front, should take himself seriously. He had, of course, many rivals, for there was always a wandering herd of equally hungry-eyed, ragged-looking urchins haunting those alluring wharves, flitting about from boat to boat and cart to cart, like a flock of overgrown city sparrows, ever ready to pounce down upon and fight over any stray piece of fruit, melon rind, or other dubiously misplaced edible to be found among those over-crowded, dirty, busy, clamorous streets and stalls where men bring from far off all those things that go to feed a great, hungry, heedless city.
But the most opulent of those hawk-eyed scavengers was Hungry Dooley. Not an over-ripe banana fell to the ground but he knew of it. Not an unsalable apple was cast away but he had sized it up as a matter of food-stuff. Not a remnant of old fish
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