Now let me tell you. I wasn't the type of boy to get involved with a raucous bunch like the newsboys. My aunt had raised me like a Southern gentleman: speak only when spoken to, hats off for ladies, no swearing. Things like that just came natural to me, and at first I couldn't imagine who didn't know these things that I considered to basic. Racetrack Higgins was the first newsboy I saw, and just watching him about horrified me, the sheltered orphan boy with a rich English aunt. It took me a while to think about the fact that I was lucky enough to have someone to teach me all those things. As it turned out, when a twist of fate and a slew of bad luck made me become more acquainted with the newsboys, they would teach me more than I could have ever taught them…
As soon as school was dismissed, Willie Wright got to his feet and headed for the door. Unfortunately for him, Otis Gains and Harold Mink were faster. When their teacher turned back into the schoolroom, the two large boys grabbed Willie by his arms and lifted him off his feet. Willie cursed and flailed, kicking and knowing he looked absolutely pathetic. He knew better than to think he was home free when Otis and Harold dropped him. Sure enough, a second later he found himself lying on his back in a puddle from the rain yesterday. His cap fell off, and he looked up at the leering faces of the boys who had been giving him a hard time since he was in the fifth grade.
Willie blocked out the laughter that echoed around him from his classmates, and got to his feet. His breathing was slightly heavy, and his blood boiled with a hidden fury. How many times would he have to endure this until they got tired of it? His coat and trousers were soaked through, and in the cool autumn wind, he shivered slightly. He picked his cap from the ground, and while stooped down he reasoned with himself to put on a brave face. So he did, and made his expression stony, almost aloof. His cap was wet, but he put it on his head anyway. He had the attention of the other eighth graders at this point, and his eyes scanned the crowd emotionlessly.
Otis and Harold stood nearby, chuckling to themselves. There were several others who looked on in amusement: Hazel and Florence, who laughed at anything; and then Jimmy Steff, who only laughed and played along because if Willie wasn't around to be thrown into puddles, it would be Jimmy's sorry hide they would be doing it to. Others: their names and faces known, but overall unimportant. With his eyes scanning the crowd, Willie stood straight, as he had been taught countless times, and bowed rigidly at the waist before turning and leaving the schoolyard gate.
It was a long walk back to his aunt's apartment on Fifth Avenue, and Willie shivered in his wet clothes. He was fairly sure that he would get a cold, and cringed at the thought. Whenever he had so much as a runny nose, Aunt Millie made it seem like it was terminal. Not only that, but when Willie got colds, he got them bad. As was expected for someone who regularly was the target of large, unintelligent boys such as Otis and Harold, Willie was small: fourteen years old and only five feet tall, scrawny and slight, with yellow hair and wet-looking blue eyes.
He hated the fact that everyone in his class at school hated him because his aunt had money. A lot of the kids were from poor families who lived in the tenements, and they tended to snub Willie because of his home, clothes, and fine upbringing. The manners that he had been taught were mocked and downplayed, something he couldn't understand. Willie knew he was an outcast, and he hated going to school with good reason. Which was why he was glad he was in eighth grade: after this year, he didn't have to go to school anymore. He could go on to high school, but he couldn't bear to live with the same people day after day for four more years.
The only issue was Aunt Millie. Willie knew that she would never agree to him stopping his schooling after eighth grade. A shallow woman with little life experience, Mildred could never understand her nephew's motives for making such a decision. His blood boiling because of his most recent episode, Willie reasoned that he had to tell his aunt of his desire as soon as possible: today.
As he turned a corner, Willie heard a voice: "The hell happened to you?"
It wasn't a voice he recognized, but he assumed he was being addressed. He turned to see a boy with newspapers
held under his arm and a bemused expression on his face. Good to know I'm such a spectacle, Willie thought to himself bitterly. He responded to the newsboy laconically, using words that had been drilled into his head. "You shouldn't concern yourself for my sake." Willie had been taught it was the polite thing to say to avoid a question, but all he could figure from it was a nice way of saying None of your business.
The newsboy scoffed. "I ain't concerned none, friend. All I wanna know is what the hell happened. Looks like ya got a good story to tell…"
Willie shook his head. "I don't think you'd find interest in my affairs."
"Boy, are you uptight…"
"I'll thank you to let me on my way." Willie had been called uptight before, but not by a stranger. And this boy seemed like he was just fishing for something amusing to tell his friends about later. He was aware of how often his discomfort was used as a soruce of amusement for others, and he couldn't appreciate it.
The newsboy paused for a moment, and then he nodded, a glint in his eye. "Ah, I get it. So who pushed ya?"
"No one pushed me…" Willie said indignantly.
"Sorry. Someone tripped ya, then…"
"No!"
"Ya fell in by yourself?"
"Will you stop?" Willie found that he had lost his temper considerably. He took a breath in an attempt to gather himself again, as the newsboy laughed aloud.
Willie watched, shocked, as the newsboy then took a cigar from his vest pocket, struck a match on the heel of his shoe, and lit it. The newsboy said between puffs, "Sorry, friend, I don't mean to fluster ya. But I'm just wonderin' how a fella goes about gettin' the seat of his trousers soaked with rain water…"
After a pause, Willie admitted, "Someone dropped me…"
The newsboy's shoulders jumped for a moment, and Willie knew he was hiding a chuckle. Before he could excuse himself, the newsboy commented, "You oughta grow a backbone, kid. Give whoever did that what-for. You do know how to fight, don't ya?"
"I was taught," Willie said stiffly, "that fighting is for barbarians and idiots."
With a knowing smirk, the newsboy said, "It's also for fellas who get their asses kicked every day, and wanna do somethin' about it…"
Stunned, Willie stared for a moment. He realized that he and this newsboy were polar opposites, physically and mentally. Willie shook his head and asked incredulously, "Who are you, anyway?"
The newsboy
chuckled. "Well, look who's on familiar terms all of a sudden.
Didn't nobody tell that ain't the way to ask for a fella's
name?"
Automatically, Willie stammered out an apology. The newsboy laughed again. "I'm kiddin'! Christ, what do I gotta go to get a laugh outta you plutes? The name's Higgins. Racetrack Higgins. How's about you?"
"William Wright. You can call me Willie." He extended his hand for a shake. Putting his cigar between his teeth, Racetrack stuck out his left hand. Confused, Willie hesitated for a moment before switching hands and shaking awkwardly. It was apparent that Racetrack hadn't even been instructed on how to give a gentleman's handshake. Although, Willie hazarded that Racetrack wasn't much of a gentleman anyway.
Racetrack took a pocket watch from his vest pocket and flipped it open and shut. "Sorry, Willie, but if I stand here much longer, I ain't eatin' today. Maybe I'll see ya around some other time," Racetrack glanced once more at Willie's wet clothes, "maybe when you're dry. So long…" He turned away and started down the street without another word.
Willie stared after him for a moment. He had perhaps never met anyone who was so uncivilized and forward with people they didn't even know. What must his parents think of him? Willie tried to reason that at least Racetrack Higgins hadn't tried (very hard) to make fun of him further, which he very easily could of. Racetrack looked like a boy who was just brimming with cheek. But as another fast, cold wind blew, Willie was brought back to the fact that he needed to get back to his aunt's apartment, and soon. He gave his coat a hitch and held his cap down against the fierce wind, and broke into a run down to Fifth Avenue.
