Someone threw a rock at him, hitting him in the side. At first he didn’t know what had happened, but he knew he wasn’t permitted to show anger or Chalmer would punish him.

Ragen turned and glared at the laughing boys. Another boy picked up a rock and threw it, but Ragen caught it and whipped it back swiftly hitting the boy in the head.

Astonished, the boys backed off as Ragen pulled a switchblade out of his pocket and approached them. They fled. Ragen stood looking around, trying to understand where he was and how he had come to be there. He closed the knife, put it into his pocket and walked off He had no idea what was going on.

But Arthur observed him, his swiftness, his angei; and he deduced why Ragen was there. He realized that Ragens sudden emotional outbursts would have to be dealt with. But it would be necessary to study and understand him before he introduced himself. What surprised him most of all was that Ragen was thinking in a Slavic accent. Arthur felt the Slavs had been the first barbarians. In dealing with Ragen, he was dealing with a barbarian. Dangerous, but the kind of person who might prove necessary in times of danger, a power to be harnessed. Arthur would bide his time and approach him when he felt it was right.

Several weeks later “Kevin” joined some tough boys in a dirt-clod fight against kids from another neighborhood. The battleground was a mound of dirt behind a big pit where a housing development was under construction. Kevin was feeling rough and tough, tossing the clods, laughing as he missed, watching them explode like dirt bombs.

Then he heard a strange voice from somewhere beside him say, “Lowah. Trow dem lowah!”

He stopped and looked around, but no one was close by. Then he heard it again: “Lowah … lowah … trow dem tings lowah.” It was a voice like the Brooklyn soldiers in the war movie he had seen on TV. “Y’ should trow dem damned doit clods lowah!”

Kevin was baffled. He stopped throwing and sat down on the dirt pile, to figure out who was talking to him.

“Where are you?” Kevin asked.

“Where are you?” echoed the voice.

“I’m standing on the dirt behind the pit.”

“Yeah? Me too.”

“Whats your name?” Kevin asked.

“Philip. Whats yours?”

“Kevin.”

“Dat’s a funny name.”

“Yeah? I’d bust you if I could see you.”

“Where ya live?” Philip asked.

“On Spring Street. Where you from?”

“I’m from Brooklyn, Noo Yawk, but now I live on Spring Street too.”

“It’s 933 Spring. A white house. Owned by some guy named Chalmer Milligan,” Kevin said. “He calls me Billy.”

“Cheeze, dat’s where I live. I know da same guy. He calls me Billy too. I ain’t never seen you dere.”

“I ain’t never seen you there, either,” said Kevin.

“Well, shit, pal!” Philip said. “Lets go bust out some windows at the school.”