Life's Loaded Die
pitiless, exultant grin. Godiva riding naked through the streets of Canterbury was happier than Timmie Sharkey that day.
Eyes that had once looked up at him with only awe and undisguised veneration, now gaped at him with mocking laughter and noses he had once triumphantly punched were now turned up at him. Derisive, goat-like cries came from every fence-corner. Even a tin can or two was flung at him, and at each fresh assault screams of delight echoed down the street.
A mimic wailing, as of a thousand suffering babes, came from upper windows and doorsteps. But not once did the Shanghai Sharkey stop. A woman flung a dipper of dirty water at him from a fire escape, and someone threw a watermelon rind, which struck one wheel of the carriage.
Growing bolder with each unnoticed sally, the band of merciless tormentors at last joined in line behind the baby-carriage, and sent volley after volley of coarse raillery at the boy.
Then Pat Reilly openly and ostentatiously
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