To us belonged, along with the five rooms and the right of way aforesaid, a block of upper space the length of a pulley line across this court, and the width of an arc described by a windy Monday's wash in its remotest wanderings.
[Illustration: HARRISON AVENUE IS THE HEART OF THE SOUTH END GHETTO] The little front bedroom was assigned to me, with only one partner, my sister Dora.

A mouse could not have led a cat much of a chase across this room; still we found space for a narrow bed, a crazy bureau, and a small table.

From the window there was an unobstructed view of a lumberyard, beyond which frowned the blackened walls of a factory.

The fence of the lumberyard was gay with theatre posters and illustrated advertisements of tobacco, whiskey, and patent baby foods.

When the window was open, there was a constant clang and whirr of electric cars, varied by the screech of machinery, the clatter of empty wagons, or the rumble of heavy trucks.
There was nothing worse in all this than we had had before since our exile from Crescent Beach; but I did not take the same delight in the propinquity of electric cars and arc lights that I had till now.