Glitter sat on the bed, twisting her ring round and round her finger.
Outside, the sun had set, and it had become dark. She didn't like darkness.
It made her uneasy. Looking over to the foot of the bunk, her eyes caught
sight of her tattered dress. She reached over and held it in front of her.
It was so dirty, and ragged…when she and Serce had arrived at the lodging
house yesterday, the other girls had managed to assemble an alternative
outfit for her: a purplish shirt and a pair of grey pants. Kloppmann had a
box with quite an odd assortment of clothes and bric-a-brac, mainly left
over from former lodgers. The girls hadn't thrown away her dress though;
it was folded and placed on her bunk. They knew better than to throw away
anything that ever came in with someone. Sometimes what appeared to be a
frayed bit of grayish cloth was, in fact, the remnant of a childhood
quilt made by a loving old aunt; what, to the naked eye, seemed to be
nothing more than a piece of pliable, dull metal was truly the remainder of
a family heirloom necklace passed down through generations. Old,
dilapidated, or the like, were still brand-new and whole in memory; small
things meant the world to these kids.
She was thankful they hadn't thrown away her dress. Apart from her ring, it was the last thing she had left from her family life. It had once belonged to Glitter's mother. Made primarily out of simple, lilac cotton, it had been a gift from Glitter's father when he was courting her mother. Glitter slowly ran her fingers over the striped detail along the neckline, as vague, distant memories tried to become vivid in her mind. She closed her eyes and heard soft chants sung in Arabic, countered with Irish hymns sung in a loud voice. Her features became creased as she tried hard to remember more than that. She couldn't though. As she opened her eyes, the shabby dress in front of her seemed more important than ever. It held memories of both her parents. Picking it up, she ran out of the bunkroom and made her way downstairs.
Dutchy was almost run over by someone bouncing down the stairs. "Oooof! Watch it!" Bending over to catch his breath, he heard a gasp, but couldn't quite place the voice. "I'm so sorry! Are you ok? I didn't see you, I'm really sorry. Are you alright?" Someone sounded very worried. Looking up, he recognized the scared little girl who had arrived yesterday with Serce. Her eyes were still puffy from crying, but she looked much better than the day before. She also looked quite concerned, her brownish eyes opened wide, staring straight at him; her right hand grasped what appeared to be a battered old jumble of cloth. He straightened up and gave a quick nod. "Shoah. I'se fine. Don't worry, dat happens all da time. Someone's always runnin' down dem stairs. Looking fer anyone?" he asked. She seemed lost. "Yes, as a matter of fact…actually, I'm not sure who I'm looking for." He stared at her, looking confused. She realized this, and hurried to continue, "I mean, I'd like to find someone with any sewing materials. I want to repair," she glanced quickly at whatever it was she was holding and tried to ball it up even more, "er, something." Dutchy continued looking at her. "Sorry, 'fraid I can't help you wid dat. Check wid one of da goils."
Glitter's eyes slightly flared up. "Why?" Dutchy looked at her, puzzled. "Why, what?" he asked. "Why check with a girl?" she answered, "Are you saying only girls can sew? Boys shouldn't do it?" He took one look at the frown on her face and almost burst out laughing. "What?" she almost spit out in anger. "Nothin', nothin', sorry," he apologized, barely holding back a grin. "It's just dat you came in heah yesterday, lookin' as meek as a mouse, an' now you'se standin' der, lookin' like you'se ready ta shoot me or somethin'." She blushed, her shyness taking over her once more. "Well, its just that I don't really appreciate it when boys say unfair things about girls. But I should be apologizing to you. You didn't really say anything. I've just been jumpy lately," she sighed. He smiled at her and said, "No hawm done. Dere's a coupla goils in da lobby." He started up the stairs, and she started towards the lobby. Suddenly he turned back, "Hey. Psst, by da way, jist a li'l secret: I know how ta sew perdy good." With a wink, he turned again and went upstairs. Glitter smiled. She didn't know whether to believe him or not, but he had handled the situation quite nicely. She exhaled less than quietly before she entered the lobby; if she was to befriend these boys, running into them then verbally attacking them might not be a very good tactic.
"Fer da last time, NO! I ain't gonna give ya my cigar!" the words floated out of the lobby just as Glitter was about to enter. Looking around, she noticed it had come from the short fellow, wearing the combination of plaids. He looked pretty aggravated and she saw a freckled, younger-looking kid sitting near him, scowling. "You could always steal anuddah," the kid said under his breath. Glitter stifled a giggle at the serious looks on their faces. She squinted her eyes, trying hard to remember their names. Racer? Sniper? No, that doesn't sound quite right, she thought, aha! Yes, Racetrack and Snipeshooter. It pleased her that she was able to remember their names; it was no easy task. Apart from there being over 20 boys in the house, their names were no piece of cake, either.
Across from the two boys sat Hay, the one who appeared to be leader of the girls. Trying to pass unnoticed, Glitter made her way over to here. "Hi Hay," she said quietly. Hay looked over at her. "Hey Glittah,"she replied, "you alright?" Glitter nodded. "Need anything?" She nodded once more. Hay smiled, "Shoot." Glitter looked a bit uncomfortable, but she took a deep breath and went on: "I was wondering if you could tell me where I can find a needle and some thread here. I wanted to…repair my dress." When said aloud, it sounder sillier than it seemed; the dress was beyond repair. But Glitter didn't care. And Hay noticed this. "Shoah. Kloppmann. He knows where all dat stuff is. I don't have a clue, dough. Prolly couldn't tell a needle from a piece of straw." Hay grinned. "Never learned how ta do dat stuff. 'Ey, Kloppy! Go ovah dere to him, goil. He'll tell ya where ya can find it." Glitter smiled and thanked her.
Kloppmann stood behind the desk. It seemed he almost always stood there, and amazingly, he was always busy with something. Right now he seemed to be going through the ledger. Glitter stopped in front of him but was diffident to interrupt. He peered up over his little glasses and gave her a sweet, lopsided smile. "Anythin' I can do fer you, Leila?", he asked. She gasped, shocked to hear her real name. Then she realized he had just been looking at the book. Probably checking the new entries or something, she thought. Apart from her and Serce arriving yesterday, a couple of boys and another girl had signed in today. Glitter shifted her weight. "Well, I was wondering…can I have a needle and some thread?" She was getting tired of asking this question, it was the third time in a row now. Kloppmann grinned. "Shoah. Come on back heah." He disappeared into his little room. Glitter was uncertain whether she should really follow or not. "Ya comin'?" he asked. She cautiously walked round the desk and entered his room.
Kloppmann was on his hands and knees, on the floor, struggling with something under the bed. Glitter looked around in awe. His room looked nothing like what she had thought she had seen yesterday. At a quick glance, it seemed to be an ordinary small room; off-white walls, a bed, table, chair, and dresser. But from the inside, it was completely different. Pictures and drawings were hung all over the walls. Newspaper clippings, pieces of paper with what seemed to be like letters or poems written on them. She approached one clipping and was amazed to see the faces of the very newsies she had met. She recognized almost all of them, except the boy standing smack in the middle, a general's grin on his face, and the boy standing to the far right, sporting a surprised gasp. She read the headline, not realizing she was doing this out loud: "Children's Crusade: Newsies Stop the World." Kloppmann appeared behind her, a small box in his hand. He smiled. "What, dey still haven't told ya 'bout da strike? I'm shoah you'll heah 'bout it, tonight or tomorrow night, tops." She accepted this and asked no questions. She noticed a plaque crudely made out of two pieces of wood, the word 'Strike!' painted on it. Shifting her gaze to other things hanging on the wall, she couldn't help but utter a "Wow."
Kloppmann smiled. "Impressive, ain't it? I try ta keep a concrete memory of anything I can up dere. Got pictures as old as me, as young as you; letters an' poems an' even recipes; anything anyone ever wanted to give me, I drove a nail through it and stuck it to me wall. Each night I look at something different, remembering a certain person." He had a faraway look in his eyes. Glitter didn't want to interrupt his spell, but he did it himself. "Well, heah ya go!", he handed here the box. " Dere's plenty o' line an' thread in dere. You can woik in heah if ya like. Gives ya a bit more privacy." He winked at her, and something told her he let people in his room often, to have time to themselves. She smiled. "That would be very nice. Thank you," she replied, settling down on the chair. "Shoah. If ya need anything, jist let me know. I'll be right out here." With that, he exited the room and left the door slightly open. What a remarkable old man, Glitter thought.
Inside the box were needles and spools of thread of every kind, even a few spare patches of cloth. She got right down to business. Humming softly to herself, she threaded a light blue line and started trying to patch up the hemline of the dress.
She was thankful they hadn't thrown away her dress. Apart from her ring, it was the last thing she had left from her family life. It had once belonged to Glitter's mother. Made primarily out of simple, lilac cotton, it had been a gift from Glitter's father when he was courting her mother. Glitter slowly ran her fingers over the striped detail along the neckline, as vague, distant memories tried to become vivid in her mind. She closed her eyes and heard soft chants sung in Arabic, countered with Irish hymns sung in a loud voice. Her features became creased as she tried hard to remember more than that. She couldn't though. As she opened her eyes, the shabby dress in front of her seemed more important than ever. It held memories of both her parents. Picking it up, she ran out of the bunkroom and made her way downstairs.
Dutchy was almost run over by someone bouncing down the stairs. "Oooof! Watch it!" Bending over to catch his breath, he heard a gasp, but couldn't quite place the voice. "I'm so sorry! Are you ok? I didn't see you, I'm really sorry. Are you alright?" Someone sounded very worried. Looking up, he recognized the scared little girl who had arrived yesterday with Serce. Her eyes were still puffy from crying, but she looked much better than the day before. She also looked quite concerned, her brownish eyes opened wide, staring straight at him; her right hand grasped what appeared to be a battered old jumble of cloth. He straightened up and gave a quick nod. "Shoah. I'se fine. Don't worry, dat happens all da time. Someone's always runnin' down dem stairs. Looking fer anyone?" he asked. She seemed lost. "Yes, as a matter of fact…actually, I'm not sure who I'm looking for." He stared at her, looking confused. She realized this, and hurried to continue, "I mean, I'd like to find someone with any sewing materials. I want to repair," she glanced quickly at whatever it was she was holding and tried to ball it up even more, "er, something." Dutchy continued looking at her. "Sorry, 'fraid I can't help you wid dat. Check wid one of da goils."
Glitter's eyes slightly flared up. "Why?" Dutchy looked at her, puzzled. "Why, what?" he asked. "Why check with a girl?" she answered, "Are you saying only girls can sew? Boys shouldn't do it?" He took one look at the frown on her face and almost burst out laughing. "What?" she almost spit out in anger. "Nothin', nothin', sorry," he apologized, barely holding back a grin. "It's just dat you came in heah yesterday, lookin' as meek as a mouse, an' now you'se standin' der, lookin' like you'se ready ta shoot me or somethin'." She blushed, her shyness taking over her once more. "Well, its just that I don't really appreciate it when boys say unfair things about girls. But I should be apologizing to you. You didn't really say anything. I've just been jumpy lately," she sighed. He smiled at her and said, "No hawm done. Dere's a coupla goils in da lobby." He started up the stairs, and she started towards the lobby. Suddenly he turned back, "Hey. Psst, by da way, jist a li'l secret: I know how ta sew perdy good." With a wink, he turned again and went upstairs. Glitter smiled. She didn't know whether to believe him or not, but he had handled the situation quite nicely. She exhaled less than quietly before she entered the lobby; if she was to befriend these boys, running into them then verbally attacking them might not be a very good tactic.
"Fer da last time, NO! I ain't gonna give ya my cigar!" the words floated out of the lobby just as Glitter was about to enter. Looking around, she noticed it had come from the short fellow, wearing the combination of plaids. He looked pretty aggravated and she saw a freckled, younger-looking kid sitting near him, scowling. "You could always steal anuddah," the kid said under his breath. Glitter stifled a giggle at the serious looks on their faces. She squinted her eyes, trying hard to remember their names. Racer? Sniper? No, that doesn't sound quite right, she thought, aha! Yes, Racetrack and Snipeshooter. It pleased her that she was able to remember their names; it was no easy task. Apart from there being over 20 boys in the house, their names were no piece of cake, either.
Across from the two boys sat Hay, the one who appeared to be leader of the girls. Trying to pass unnoticed, Glitter made her way over to here. "Hi Hay," she said quietly. Hay looked over at her. "Hey Glittah,"she replied, "you alright?" Glitter nodded. "Need anything?" She nodded once more. Hay smiled, "Shoot." Glitter looked a bit uncomfortable, but she took a deep breath and went on: "I was wondering if you could tell me where I can find a needle and some thread here. I wanted to…repair my dress." When said aloud, it sounder sillier than it seemed; the dress was beyond repair. But Glitter didn't care. And Hay noticed this. "Shoah. Kloppmann. He knows where all dat stuff is. I don't have a clue, dough. Prolly couldn't tell a needle from a piece of straw." Hay grinned. "Never learned how ta do dat stuff. 'Ey, Kloppy! Go ovah dere to him, goil. He'll tell ya where ya can find it." Glitter smiled and thanked her.
Kloppmann stood behind the desk. It seemed he almost always stood there, and amazingly, he was always busy with something. Right now he seemed to be going through the ledger. Glitter stopped in front of him but was diffident to interrupt. He peered up over his little glasses and gave her a sweet, lopsided smile. "Anythin' I can do fer you, Leila?", he asked. She gasped, shocked to hear her real name. Then she realized he had just been looking at the book. Probably checking the new entries or something, she thought. Apart from her and Serce arriving yesterday, a couple of boys and another girl had signed in today. Glitter shifted her weight. "Well, I was wondering…can I have a needle and some thread?" She was getting tired of asking this question, it was the third time in a row now. Kloppmann grinned. "Shoah. Come on back heah." He disappeared into his little room. Glitter was uncertain whether she should really follow or not. "Ya comin'?" he asked. She cautiously walked round the desk and entered his room.
Kloppmann was on his hands and knees, on the floor, struggling with something under the bed. Glitter looked around in awe. His room looked nothing like what she had thought she had seen yesterday. At a quick glance, it seemed to be an ordinary small room; off-white walls, a bed, table, chair, and dresser. But from the inside, it was completely different. Pictures and drawings were hung all over the walls. Newspaper clippings, pieces of paper with what seemed to be like letters or poems written on them. She approached one clipping and was amazed to see the faces of the very newsies she had met. She recognized almost all of them, except the boy standing smack in the middle, a general's grin on his face, and the boy standing to the far right, sporting a surprised gasp. She read the headline, not realizing she was doing this out loud: "Children's Crusade: Newsies Stop the World." Kloppmann appeared behind her, a small box in his hand. He smiled. "What, dey still haven't told ya 'bout da strike? I'm shoah you'll heah 'bout it, tonight or tomorrow night, tops." She accepted this and asked no questions. She noticed a plaque crudely made out of two pieces of wood, the word 'Strike!' painted on it. Shifting her gaze to other things hanging on the wall, she couldn't help but utter a "Wow."
Kloppmann smiled. "Impressive, ain't it? I try ta keep a concrete memory of anything I can up dere. Got pictures as old as me, as young as you; letters an' poems an' even recipes; anything anyone ever wanted to give me, I drove a nail through it and stuck it to me wall. Each night I look at something different, remembering a certain person." He had a faraway look in his eyes. Glitter didn't want to interrupt his spell, but he did it himself. "Well, heah ya go!", he handed here the box. " Dere's plenty o' line an' thread in dere. You can woik in heah if ya like. Gives ya a bit more privacy." He winked at her, and something told her he let people in his room often, to have time to themselves. She smiled. "That would be very nice. Thank you," she replied, settling down on the chair. "Shoah. If ya need anything, jist let me know. I'll be right out here." With that, he exited the room and left the door slightly open. What a remarkable old man, Glitter thought.
Inside the box were needles and spools of thread of every kind, even a few spare patches of cloth. She got right down to business. Humming softly to herself, she threaded a light blue line and started trying to patch up the hemline of the dress.