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A Great Mistake by Stephen Crane
An Italian kept a fruit-stand on a corner where he had good aim at the people who came
down from the elevated station, and at those who went along two thronged streets. He sat
most of the day in a backless chair that was placed strategically.
There was a babe living hard by, up five flights of stairs, who regarded this Italian as a
tremendous being. The babe had investigated this fruit-stand. It had thrilled him as few
things he had met with in his travels had thrilled him. The sweets of the world had
laid there in dazzling rows, tumbled in luxurious heaps. When he gazed at this Italian seated
amid such splendid treasures, his lower lip hung low and his eyes, raised to the vendor's
face, were filled with deep respect, worship, as if he saw omnipotence.
The babe came often to this corner. He hovered about the stand and watched each detail of
the business. He was fascinated by the tranquility of the vendor, the majesty of power and possession.
At times he was so engrossed in his contemplation that people, hurrying, had to use care to
avoid bumping him down.
He had never ventured very near to the stand. It was his habit to hang warily about the
curb. Even there he resembled a babe who looks unbidden at a feast of gods.
One day, however, as the baby was thus staring, the vendor arose, and going along the front
of the stand, began to polish oranges with a red pocket handkerchief. The breathless
spectator moved across the sidewalk until his small face almost touched the vendor's
sleeve. His fingers were gripped in a fold of his dress.
At last, the Italian finished with the oranges and returned to his chair. He drew a newspaper
printed in his language from behind a bunch of bananas. He settled himself in a comfortable
position, and began to glare savagely at the print. The babe was left face to face with
the massed joys of the world. For a time he was a simply worshipper at this golden shrine.
Then tumultuous desires began to shake him. His dreams were of conquest. His lips moved.
Presently into his head there came a little plan. He sidled nearer, throwing swift and
cunning glances at the Italian. He strove to maintain his conventional manner, but the
whole plot was written upon his countenance.
At last he had come near enough to touch the fruit. From the tattered skirt came slowly
his small dirty hand. His eyes were still fixed upon the vendor. His features were set,
save for the under lip, which had a faint fluttering movement. The hand went forward.
Elevated trains thundered to the station and the stairway poured people upon the side walks.
There was a deep sea roar from feet and wheels going ceaselessly. None seemed to perceive
the babe engaged in a great venture.
The Italian turned his paper. Sudden panic smote the babe. His hand dropped, and he gave
vent to a cry of dismay. He remained for a moment staring at the vendor. There was evidently
a great debate in his mind. His infant intellect had defined this Italian. The latter was undoubtedly
a man who would eat babes that provoked him. And the alarm in the babe when this monarch
had turned his newspaper brought vividly before him the consequences if he were detected.
But at this moment the vendor gave a blissful grunt, and tilting his chair against a wall,
closed his eyes. His paper dropped unheeded.
The babe ceased his scrutiny and again raised his hand. It was moved with supreme caution
toward the fruit. The fingers were bent, claw-like, in the manner of great heart-shaking greed.
Once he stopped and chattered convulsively, because the vendor moved in his sleep. The
babe, with his eyes still upon the Italian, again put forth his hand, and the rapacious
fingers closed over a round bulb.
And it was written that the Italian should at this moment open his eyes. He glared at
the babe a fierce question. Thereupon the babe thrust the round bulb behind him, and
a with a face expressive of the deepest guilt, began a wild but elaborate series of gestures
declaring his innocence. The Italian howled. He sprang to his feet, and with three steps
overtook the babe. He whirled him fiercely, and took from the little fingers a lemon.
End of A Great Mistake by Stephen Crane
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