Found in the Street by Patricia Highsmith Read Free Book Online Page B

Christopher Street, probably. Glancing at the group when they were just opposite him, Ralph recognized Elsie, and he felt a shock, a bolt of pain, as if she were his own daughter, or his precious ward at any rate.
    â€œAh-h—hah-ha!” That was her laugh as she collapsed backward, sank into the arms of a tall fellow behind her.
    â€œHey, Billy-o, where these girls live ?” shouted a rowdy masculine voice.
    More laughter. Babble.
    Ralph had stopped dead. Appalled. He stared at the disappearing group as if he could annihilate them with his eyes—all except Elsie, of course. If only he had the guts to run after her! But he’d be mauled by the fellows. They’d shove him against a building and knock him out as soon as look at him. No, that wasn’t the way. Careful counseling was the way to do it, not overdoing it, of course, but—Ralph felt suddenly helpless, hopeless. A swift sadness filled him, stilling almost his heart.
    Ridiculous! He forced himself to walk on. He barely knew Elsie. He knew she thought he was silly, old-fashioned, maybe cracked. He had to put up with that, that was all. He might save Elsie yet, keep her from going down the drain, getting hooked on drugs, getting into casual prostitution by way of picking up extra money. She was worth trying to save, he told himself. Think about it. Think about the next move.
    Well, God was waiting for him. And there was a hint of daylight in the sky now. And on Grove Street lived that nice young man who had been so happy to get his wallet back! That incident made Ralph feel happy every time he recalled it. He’d told Elsie about it, by way of illustrating what human beings could do for one another, if they wanted to live in a decent world. Elsie had looked at him open-mouthed for a few seconds. But finally, she had nodded, he remembered, as she wiped the counter in front of him. She was working at a place down on Seventh Avenue now, a snack bar. At twenty, what could she know about life, especially since she’d come just a few months ago from some tiny town in upstate New York? What was happening to her tonight? Where would she spend the night or what was left of it? Horrid to think about, horrid!
    Ralph was now climbing the last of his four flights, and he already heard God’s eager little yips, gasps of expectation as he pranced behind the door. Ralph had trained him, warned him firmly not to bark at the sound of his footsteps, whatever the hour.
    â€œHello, boy, hello, Goddy!” Ralph whispered, petting the leaping dog, but trying to calm him too. Ralph got the dog’s leash from a hook.
    Then they were down on the street, God peeing instantly against the side of a house. Ralph heard the clunk of a beer barrel hitting the sidewalk, out of sight around the corner. On Seventh Avenue the swish and hum of traffic was already starting. After a snack, Ralph thought, he’d have a shower and go to bed with the Times —yesterday’s which he hadn’t finished—and have a snooze for as long as he liked, maybe till 1 p.m., and then he’d walk down to the Leroy Street Public Library and change his books.
    Ralph turned west into Morton Street, walking at God’s pace, which was invariably slow because of his sniffing at everything. Ralph often took this route in the mornings, turning right into Bedford Street, crossing Commerce with its quiet and pretty housefronts, going on to Grove and turning right again at Bleecker. On Bedford was old P.S. 3, with heavy wire over its lower windows for protection against vandalism and flying objects, while a stone slab above the lower windows bore the statement in bold letters: CHILDHOOD SHOWS THE MAN. A truer word was never said, or chiseled, Ralph thought, and he liked to see it. A garbage can clattered somewhere. The streetlights had shut off. Ralph liked to look also at the few lighted windows in the private dwellings along Bedford, looking yellowish behind thin