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Walk A Mile on
My Route
* Part Two *
Arriving at the Lodging House, Antoine was carried up the stairs
of the back fire escape and deposited gently on the landing
directly below a large window. Racetrack jumped through and
disappeared from view for a few minutes. When he returned, he had
brought several curious spectators along with him.
"What's dis, Cowboy?" A small kid with reddish-brown
hair asked, head hanging out the window at a comical angle.
"Anudder bum lookin' for a place tah stay? Yah know Kloppman
don't take no squattahs."
"E ain't no squattah." Jack shot back evenly.
"'E's a local goiy. Got 'imself beat up by dah Delancys. Now
stop askin' dumb questions, Snipeshootah, an' get Crutchy."
The boy disappeared into the room again. Antoine was squirming
inspite of himself. This was the most uncomfortable, awkward,
displeasing situation he had ever found himself stuck in the
middle of. Those filthy paperboys were supposed to help him?
Yeah, right. And the Delancy's only meant to give him a nice,
soothing massage. "So, what's the game?"
"Game?" Jack looked amused by this. "No game. It's
jest us riskin' our necks tah make sure ya don't die
a'nuthin'."
"Because that would cause all sorts of problems for you,
right? Bad rap among the other street hooligans. Actually killing
a guy might damage your reputation."
His face hardened. "I felt bad dat ya couldn't fend for
yerself. Roight about now I'm wonderin' why I bothahed."
Jack jumped through the window and vanished.
"You--- you aren't going to just leave me out here
tonight?!" Antoine asked frantically.
Jack's voice came from somewhere inside the lodging house.
"Why not? Yer such a hotshot. I'm guessin' ya could
take care a'yerself no problem. G'night! Sleep toight."
Antoine fumbled to say something, but he was so shocked, nothing
came to mind that would have been biting enough. Instead, he
wound up simply sitting there, dumbfounded. Like it or not, the
Newsies were probably the only reason he was alive now. Why they
brought him here was still unknown, but ulterior motive or no, he
at least had a safe place to sleep. Not that he expected to sleep
much with the way his leg was beginning to throb, but it was
something. His parents would love to hear this story, he was
sure. Wait until they saw his leg. Those Delancys are going to
be sorry that they ever crossed with me. Dad'll hire the best
lawyer this side of Brooklyn-- He leaned back against the
wall and took a few measured breaths to calm himself. --and
the judge will lock them up for so long that they'll be
grandfathers by the time they get out again-- Minutes of this
musing bled into the better part of an hour, and soon he was fast
asleep.
Jack and Race reappeared at the window.
"Took 'im long enough. T'ought dat boy would nevah get
tah sleep." Race jumped back over the window ledge, landing
gently beside Antoine's broken leg. He set down a bundle of rags
next to him and carefully set about the delicate task of wrapping
the leg. "I cain't do dis! Crutchy, c'mon! Fixin' 'is leg
was your idea!"
Crutchy hobbled over to the window and propped himself up next to
Jack. "Don't woirry! It'll be foine! Yer a great
noi'se!"
"Say dat again an' I'll bust yer 'ead." Racetrack
sneered and continued wrapping.
"I'll say dis fer Mistah Antoine Bernard Smith... 'e sleeps
like a rock." Jack chuckled.
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The dawn came far sooner than Antoine had anticipated. He
squinted against the invading sun rays and was about to call for
his maid, Mildred, to close the curtains when he remembered where
he was. Eyes slowly adjusting to the brightness of sunrise, he
felt around the cold metal grating of the fire escape Jack had
left him to use as a bed the night before. Lousy little
newsboy. He tried to stand up, but then remembered about his
leg. Glancing down, he was shocked to find that it had been
wrapped neatly so the bones would stay in place. Another sweep
down with his eyes revealed something else--- his clothes had
been changed. "What the devil--?"
"Mornin' sunshine." A brown haired Newsie poked his
head over the edge.
"'E up, Mush?" Racetrack called from inside.
Mush grinned. "Ya got it. An' boy does 'e evah look 'appy ta
see me."
"Don't take it personal," Race appeared in the window.
"'E acts like dat ta everyone. 'Cept when 'e's sleepin'.
Den, even a hurricane couldn't wake 'im up."
"And what, may I ask, is that supposed to mean?"
Antoine asked indignantly.
"Oh nuthin' but da fact dat we was able ta not only wrap yer
leg, but change yer clothes... an' all widout you blinkin' an
eye." Race pulled a cigar from his trousers pocket and
fingered it absently. "Real talent ya got dere. I coulda
sworn you was dead." He struck a match on the window frame
and lit the cigar all in one motion.
"Not to sound dumb, but why did you take my clothes and
leave me in these rags?"
"So yous would blend in bettah." Racetrack shrugged and
blew out a puff of smoke. "Ya gonna sell papes, ya need
clothes ya can work real well in. Sides, in a getup like
what yous ad on, ya woulda gotten soaked again real
quick."
"Sell papers? Antoine didn't understand the
part of the sentence, so he chose to ignore
it. Who ever said anything about that?"
"I did." Jack walked up the fire escape from the ground
below. "Ya said ya didn't wanna be in debt ta us. So, yer
gonna need ta earn some money ta pay off our soivices."
Antoine laughed. "I don't need to work for that! As soon as
I get home, I'll have my father pay you in full. I'm---"
"Rich, yeah. So we 'eard." Mush jumped in. "Ya
know, ya got a real attitude problem, kid. Fact is, yer parents
ain't 'ere, an dey didn't come lookin' for ya last night
neidah."
"Well... they don't know where I am!"
"Roight." Jack shook his head. "Meantime, yer
comin' wid us t'day. Until mumsie and dadsie shows up... ya gotta
earn ya keep. Uddahwise, ya don't get kept."
"There is one flaw in your logic." Antoine said.
"I can't walk like this. I need several days bedrest or I
could develop an infection!"
"Ah, well, we can fix dat up easy. 'Ey, Crutchy?!" Jack
called into the main room. "C'mere."
Crutchy scrambled over to the window with a goofy grin on his
face. "Ya got it, Jack. 'Ere, kid." He handed over a
wooden pair of crutches. "Used ta 'ave dese until I outgrew
'em. Dey should fit ta ya height foine."
Antoine held them for a moment, debating what he should do next.
These street rats were actually trying to help him. Didn't quite
seem like they had a hidden agenda, but he'd stay on his guard
just in case. Plus, going with them would insure that they didn't
try to pull anything sneaky while he was sleeping. If luck was
with him, he would find his parents in no time, and they could,
in turn, arrest the little runts for kidnapping. "Alright.
I'll come." He pulled himself to his feet, leaning heavily
on the crutches as he did so.
"Great!" Jack gave him a fairly fake-looking smile.
"Now c'mon. You'll be woikin' wid Crutchy t'day."
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The one they called Crutchy might have been a gimp, but he sure
knew how to make money. He made the most of his physical
limitations, playing both sides of the table--- acting as if his
injury caused him severe pain for some people, while putting on
the strong and independent front for others. It all depended on
what they wanted to see. Some of the high-class ladies pitied the
poor Crip, buying his papers out of charity. The working class
men with enough money in their pockets to buy the morning paper
would applaud him on 'living the American Dream' and 'trying to
get ahead in the face of insurmountable odds'.
"T'day's a good day." Crutchy chuckled. "Can't
hoit dat wid you I get double da revenue."
"Yes, but we're splitting it 50/50." Antoine shot back
evenly. He might admire Crutchy's stamina, but that didn't mean
he was out to make friends with the kid.
"Now why ya gotta go an' act loike dat?"
"Act like what?"
"Loike yer so much hoigher up dan da rest of us?"
"Because I am?"
Crutchy shook his head. "Ya ain't gonna last long wid dat
kinda attitude. No wondah da Delancy's gotcha."
"Well, unlike you, I don't have to do this for a living.
I'll be a lawyer one day, and never have to worry about my
monetary gains ever again."
"I still say ya ain't gonna last long wid dat attitude.
Doesn't mattah if ya live on da streets, or ya spend all yer days
behind a desk. Eider way you gotta lighten up." Crutchy
pulled out another paper and waved it around in the air.
"FOIAH AT WILD WEST SHOW DESTROYS STABLES! Wild Horses
Toi'ned Loose on Da Crowds!"
"And you make money like that... will wonders never
cease."
"Loike what?"
"Wavin' your arm around like that and screamin' at the top
of your lungs."
"Woikes for me." Crutchy shrugged as a man stopped and
purchased the paper he had been waving around moments before.
"You wanna try now? I'm doin' all da woike 'ere, Ant."
"Don't call me that." Antoine begrudgingly grabbed up a
paper and half-heartedly read the headline aloud. "Fishin'
Boat Capsizes! Day's Catch Washes Out To Sea!"
Crutchy shook his head. It was going to be a long day. But there
was still hope. Antoine was starting to show signs of being a
decent worker.
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Traditionally after a solid day of selling papes, the Newsies
would gather in one of two places. They could either be found
hanging around at Tibby's Restaurant, or more recently, since the
Newsies strike, over the bridge in Brooklyn with Spot Conlon and
his band of Newsies. Officially, the two groups weren't to be
even remotely connected. Let alone considered friends. But if you
were to walk over to the docks on any given day, you would have
sworn that Spot and Jack were childhood buddies.
Today's group consisted of Spot and a dozen or so of his
boys, along with Jack, David, Les, Snipeshooter, Mush, Racetrack,
Specs, and Kid Blink.
"So Jackie-boy," Spot dangled his legs over the edge of
the docks. "Hear ya got yerself a new guy."
"Guess woid travels fast round 'ere."
"Da fastest." Spot continued. "Real soft rich kid.
So all I wanna know is: ya gettin' in da 'abit of pickin' up
scabbahs?"
Jack shook his head in surprise. "Now 'old on. I ain't
picked up no scabber. 'E's woiken ta pay off a little debt 'e
owes us. Once 'e finishes, 'e can go jump off da Brooklyn Bridge
fer all I care."
"An' I'd 'ave da boid's eye view a'dat one, huh?" Spot
crossed his arms. "Listen, I ain't hot on new guys...
'specially dose wid an attitude problem."
"Well, dat's great, since he ain't stayin'."
"We'll see."
"An' what's dat s'posed ta mean?"
"I dunno, Kelly... you tell me." Spot got up and walked
off down the pier.
Jack stared after him in surprise. Spot bettah not t'ink
I'm goin' soft. We ARE ditchin' da new kid. Hell, 'e doesn't
wanna stay around anymore dan we want 'im ta.
Not feeling paritcularly welcome anymore, Jack gathered his group
together and took off for home. Conlon's moods changed like the
weather-- violently, and without warning. He could tell the other
boys were a little confused and curious about what went down to
cause the sudden departure, but Jack wasn't feeling particularly
talkative right now. He hated the idea that everyone in the city
knew about Antoine, and thought he was going soft because of him.
"What was dat all about, Jack?" Mush glanced
over his shoulder, back the docks, as they walked away.
"Looked like everyt'in' was goin' great!"
"Not in da mood, Mush. Just keep walkin'. We gotta talk wid
da uddahs when we gets dinnah at Tibby's."
