Okay, if anyone bothered to look up what Patch said in Gaelic in chapter five, it translates to, "He didn't give an inch." This does not actually mean anything. I was trying to get just plain old "He didn't", but that was the closest I could find. Sorry if anyone was confused. I'm going to try and make it fit in somehow, but who knows? Oh yeah, and this story was apparently nominated for some contest (I am currently unable to remember the name, but there ya go). So, if it gets to the voting period place spot thingy, vote for me! I don't know what all else you guys are supposed to do. I own nothing.
Patch didn't show up the next day. Jack kept his eyes out for him as he sold his papes, but the boy never showed up. Strange.
However, in the evening, about an hour before Jack would head back to the Lodging House, he decided to check up on the roof. He had checked there that morning and found nothing, but he figured once more wouldn't hurt. As he climbed the ladder, he could only wounder why Patch hadn't showed up. He hoped Patch would be there, but he still wasn't. Jack sighed and started down the ladder again.
In another thirty minutes he had sold all but one of his papes, but he didn't want to go back to the Lodging house just yet. He wasn't tired, and he didn't feel like talking to anyone.
As he was walking past some restoraunt, he spotted a man walking out. Even though he had been too lazy to try and sell his last one before, he decided he might as well try again. He walked over to the man. It was late, and he had probably already read the papers, but hey, why not try?
"Buy a pape?" he asked, walking up to the man. The man glanced at him, exasperation spelled out clearly on his face. Jack didn't really feel like "improving the truth" right then, so he decided to go for pity. "Please, sir, my ma's sick, and my dad ain't makin' enough in the fact'ry to get a doctah and I gotta make enough money to help out..."
Jack could swear the man's eyes just melted. "You remind me of my own son," the man said, smiling sympathetically, and Jack fought the urge to smirk. A family man. Perfect. He handed Jack a penny, and Jack gave him the paper.
jack suddenly thought of Patch. He had asked a few costumers if they had seen the little Irish boy, but none had. He might as well try again. "Hey, sir?" he asked. The man had already started walking again, and Jack just went right after him. The man stopped and turned to Jack. "Have ya seen a kid around? 'Bout that tall, reddish brownish heah(hair), brown eyes? Irish accent?"
The man was looking uncomfortable now. "Er, well, no." He sighed. "Well, yes, actually. This morning I was walking down this street, I don't remember the exact one, but it was by that french restorant? Yes, yes, and as I was walking by, this little boy that matches your description jumped out and stuck his hand in my pocket."
Stealing? That didn't sound like Patch. "W-what'd ya do?"
"Well, I shoved him off and kept on walking. I was late for an appointment, and I didn't check if he was alright." The man looked distinctly uneasy now, but Jack didn't really care about him. He was already running.