Cheese-Face had been a little fiend at fighting, and had never once shown mercy to him.

But he had stayed! He had stayed with it! Next, he saw a narrow alley, between ramshackle frame buildings.

The end of the alley was blocked by a one-story brick building, out of which issued the rhythmic thunder of the presses, running off the first edition of the Enquirer.

He was eleven, and Cheese-Face was thirteen, and they both carried the Enquirer.

That was why they were there, waiting for their papers.