haunt the alleys next to factories where the employees ate their lunch, and construction jobs at the hour when the laborers opened their tin pails. He found, in default of other place to sleep, a nightly shelter under a tarpaulin spread over bags of cement where the new Market Street bridge was being built.
The day was damp with a mist off the lake; the hour was noon; the laborers engaged upon the bridge had stopped work for lunch. Seated inconspicuously upon a pile of iron, Peewee watched the man nearest him devouring a huge chunk of bread. Some of the bread, it was incontestible, was going to be left. Peewee had considered asking in advance for this prospective remainder. He had decided against that as likely to arouse opposition. The more effective way, he had decided, was merely to sit close by and watch.
Assured finally that the man had eaten all he could, he moved to attract attention. The man looked at him. Having given him this long, reflective look, the man's gaze returned with satiety to the bread and he threw it into
