Like Jackals, some small boys leaped from the shadows and followed close behind me, calling out, "Hungry, hungry."
I kept going, encouraged by the lighted shop fronts, the night watchmen, the busy cafes. This was the main street of the upper town. The port was down below in the commercial district. The boys, four little bony forms, smelling of street, crowded me and snatched at my fingers. They had sad embryonic faces and small sticky hands.
"Give me money," each one said in turn.
I had prepared myself for such an encounter. My pockets were empty, I wore a cheap watch, I carried very little money. I said no and picked up my pace, but they stayed with me.
Waiting to cross the street, I flapped my hands to prevent them from being snatched. One boy, the most poised and persistent of the four, assumed a scolding tone.
"If you give me something I will leave you and you can go," the urchin said with a good command of English.
"But if you don't give me money or whatnot, I will follow you and I will not leave you, and I will ask and ask."
It was an impressive piece of hectoring, and portended a great career for the boy in politics or law,...
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