Well, it worked. Our surprise. Cat loved it. I had missed her when her mother had died, and I worried when she started working that she wouldn't be able to join us anymore. I did, however, spend time talking to her father and getting to know him a bit better before we worked out a new schedule. He was a good man, and the loss of his wife hit him hard. It was clear, though, that he enjoyed the company I brought by. He liked Ace a lot, and Roller made him smile. More than anything he worried about his little girl. She hadn't been the same since the loss of her mother. She didn't smile as much, and the work was getting to her.
Mr. Fischer had decided to grant her dearest wish—a pet. I had asked around, and we had made a plan to find the puppy. Greasefoot, a reliable boy of almost thirteen, had a friend whose bitch had just had pups. We chose one and made arrangements to pick it up for Katja's birthday in mid-November. It wound up being a few days after her birthday, but I have to say that her surprised face was completely adorable. She was touched, and her pa and I enjoyed planning how to care for the beast. I would not have gone that far out of my way for a stinkin' dog for anyone but the Fischers. The boys felt the same way; they were growing fond of Mr. Fischer and Katja.
The Fischers didn't know it, but every day they drew lots to be allowed to come to the bench—otherwise every newsboy in Brooklyn would be there every day! In the mornings I would let them know who was coming, and boys who had earned the privilege, like Red, were given more visits. I think Katja would have been appalled at this process, but she didn't realize what it would have done to her father's business if we'd all showed up every day. I think Mr. Fischer suspected, but he left running the newsies to me, even if I did get advice from him from time to time.
I did distribute the puppy duties, but only to those older boys I trusted the most; it wouldn't do having dirty boys traipse through the Fischers' apartment, and I didn't trust the sticky fingers of some of the guys. Mostly, though, I did it myself. I don't know why. I just have this stupid soft spot for that girl and her pop. Days when I didn't see her were becoming rare—and typically the result of some nonsense that irritated me more and more. When I fought, I no longer wanted things to drag out in any way, realizing that efficiency got me back to the Fischers faster, and as a result my reputation was becoming bigger and bigger. I was getting my way more, and that freed me up to spend early dinner time with the Fischers.
Mr. Fischer was also starting to give me advice about my future. He said I had potential. I know I'm intelligent, but I had never considered college. Mr. Fischer disagreed, and he and I started planning. I was already saving for my life after selling papes, and with his encouragement I began working toward a formal education. It wasn't hard. I worked with the evening tutors at the lodging house to do the work independently, and I admit I found it a bit too easy. I was on track to finish my schooling by the summer. Mr. Fischer and I began talking about my career options. I knew that, unlike Scar, I couldn't work in a factory; that sort of life wasn't for me. I figured at the very least I could start saving for college. It seemed ridiculous—an orphan going to college-and I doubted I could ever save that much. College was more for the high society types. But Mr. Fischer believed in me, so I was going to give it a shot.