sections of the city together. Mr. Gilligan did "sic" 
him "on to" certain boastful persons whose colors, in 
his estimation, needed to be lowered; but Frank was in 
a way ashamed to do useless and pointless fighting. He 
liked Mr. Gilligan—his spirit—but his connections were 
rather reprehensible. So, after a time, he judiciously 
cut him, giving suave excuses, and Mr. Gilligan really 
took no offense. Frank made him see how it was. Out 
of friendship he gradually let him go. But the street- 
corner gang at Second and Arch never molested him after 
that one encounter. 
From the very start of his life Frank wanted to know 
about economics and politics. He cared nothing for 
books. He was a clean, stocky, shapely boy with a bright, 
clean-cut, incisive face; large, clear gray eyes; a wide 
forehead; short, bristly, dark-brown hair. He had an 
incisive, quick-motioned, self-sufficient manner, and was 
forever asking questions with a keen desire for a brief 
and intelligent reply. He did not know what sickness 
was, never had an ache or pain, ate his food with gusto, 
and ruled his brothers with a rod of iron. "Come on, 
Joe! Hurry, Ed!" These commands were issued in no 
rough, but always a sure way; and Joe and Ed came, 
They looked up to Frank from the first as a master; and 
what he had to say, or what he saw or encountered, was 
listened to eagerly. He himself was pondering, ponder- 
ing, pondering—one fact astonishing him quite as much 
as another, for he could not figure out how this thing he 
had come into—this life—was organized. How did all 
these people get into the world? What were they doing 
here? Who started things, anyhow? His mother told 
him the story of Adam and Eve; but he didn't believe 
it. There was a fish-market not so very far from his 
own home; and there, when he went to see his father at 
the bank, or when he took his brothers on after-school 
expeditions for mail or errands for his father, he liked to 
look at a certain tank in front of one store where they