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Walk a Mile on My Route

* Part Three *


"So what's all dis about, Jack?" Skittery mumbled through a mouthful of frankfurter.

"Our new charge Antoine," he replied and tossed a napkin at the boy, "an' what we's gonna do wid 'im." Jack suddenly made a face. "Fer da love a'livin', wipe yer mouth. I dun really wanna WATCH ya chew yer food, ya know."

Skittery jammed the last of the roll into his mouth and mumbled, "Smmmorry," small bits of food flying everywhere.

"Aw sick."

"Disgustin'."

"Anyone gots a napkin?"

On cue, menus, napkins, and silverware flew at the food spitter. In the midst of this, Crutchy hobbled in with Antoine in tow. They had taken a lot longer than Crutchy had wanted. Antoine had started well, but after their argument, he had been reluctant to sell anything. Complainin' dat 'is feet hoit. Nevah thought I'd see da day dat I felt likes I was babysittin' on my route.

Jack walked over and took Crutchy aside, leaving Antoine to stare into a room full of kids who hated his guts. Not that it bothered him one way or another. They could hate him for all he cared. He didn't need their friendship to survive. Friends didn't translate directly into money, so he was uninterested. A guy could have all the friends in the world and be poor, or be filthy rich and not worry about making friends. The choice was easy for him. "Hello." He glanced around the room and managed to find an empty chair to flop down in.
Boy it had gotten quiet in a hurry.

The other Newsies slowly resumed the conversations they had been having, but now in a hushed, subdued tone. No one made a move to talk to Antoine.

"Dat boy don't know dat 'e's a real joike, eh?" Specs took a quick peek at Antoine out of the corner of his eye.

"Most joikes don't." Racetrack leaned in. "S'really ruinin' Jack's rep 'round 'ere, though."

Mush chuckled. "Lookit dat." He nodded his head toward Antoine who was trying to eat a hot dog with a knife and fork.

"Dat's just sad." Kid Blink fought back the urge to laugh out loud.

Crutchy and Jack rejoined the group, having finally come to a decision. "'E can stay---"

"WHAT?!" The other Newsies got to their feet. Jack couldn't have said what he just said.

"S'long as 'E pays fer 'is lodgin'. No free ride. Sure, 'e's hoit, but if 'e's gonna give us a 'ard time, 'e forfeited any roight dat 'e had to a free ride." The Cowboy rationalized, making it perfectly clear that he, too, was completely fed up.

Reluctantly, all the Newsies slowly agreed to this plan. The few that were holding out gave in as Crutchy added the condition that every time Antoine put up a scene he would loose a few more luxuries. If he didn't play his cards right, he would wind up on the street before he knew it.

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Antoine limped back into the lodging house late that night, having spent the remainder of the day traipsing around the city looking for any sign of his parents. Outwardly, he tried not to look discouraged, but inwardly he was beginning to fear that they would never come back. Maybe something had happened to them? Certainly they wouldn't have knowingly left him here.

Heading for the staircase, the man the Newsies had called Kloppman called to him. "Where ya think yer going, boy?"

"To bed?" Antoine fought to keep his temper. The day had already been rough enough without fighting with the old geaser now.

"Not widdout payin'."

But those boys--- He realized something suddenly. Very clever. Making me pay for my own board, trying to intimidate me. Well, I'll show them. He dug into his pocket and procured a few coins.

"Dat it?" Kloppman stood expectantly.

Well, how much is this going to--- Antoine reached into his other pocket and dumped it out as well.

"Almost dere." The old man was enjoying this now.

Indignantly, Antoine pulled out his leather pouch from a shirt pocket and dumped its contents on the table.

"See ya next month!" Kloppman swept the money off the counter and into the palm of his hand

Highway robbery for one month's boarding. Antoine grimaced and hobbled up the stairs. He wasn't used to having to pay for sleeping. Back home, money wasn't any object. It was a good deal different here though, he was beginning to realize.

When he finally reached the---- well, the only word that came to mind for it was 'Communal Bedroom'---- Antoine stood expectantly in the doorway.

"Lookin' for a place tah sleep da night?" A small black kid yawned and walked over to meet him.

"No. I'm just takin' in the view." Antoine rolled his eyes.

"Oh. 'Kay whatevah ya wants." The boy began to walk back towards his bunk.

"A'course I want a bed, idiot."

The kid smirked. "Coulda jest said so." He pointed to an empty bottom bunk in the far corner. "Dat one."

Antoine flopped down on the bunk, laying his crutches up against the wall. He closed his eyes and prepared to sleep when a noise reminiscent of a herd of elephants came galloping up the stairs. Not elephants. He groaned. Newsies. Greeeat.

"Got 'em good dat time, Cowboy!" Snoddy clapped Jack on the back and catapulted himself up onto his top bunk.

Jack held up his hands. "Please, please. No t'anks is required."

"Oh good god." Antoine hissed and slammed the pillow down over his head.

"Ah. 'Ello, sunshine. Looks like ya got ta stay after all." Racetrack said louder than was necessary. "An'... looks like I win da bet, boys. Pay up!"

"You were bettin' on me?!"

"'Course." Race held out his hat as the other Newsies placed in a rather impressive pile of coins.

"Yer unbelievable."

Shrugging, Race gathered up his winnings and headed for his bunk. "T'anks."

With a squeak of protest from the springs, Antoine rolled over and attempted to go back to sleep.

"Eh, don't worry 'bout 'im Race." Snipeshooter hung down from the top bunk over Antoine's bed. "'E's just sore cause his pursestring ain't dat fat no more." Snipe had watched the whole thing with Kloppman and was still in stitches from it. Happily, the boy relayed the tale to the rest of the Newsies who enjoyed it just as much as he had, if not more so. Fuming, the only sound that came from Antoine's bunk was the occasional screech of the bedsprings. He wasn't going to dignify this group with allowing them to see that they were finally starting to get to him.

"'Ey, fellahs! Lookit dis. Pursestring's all sore at us." Snipeshooter leaned down a little farther so he could still see Antoine's face. "We's just teasin' ya."

"What part of leavin' me the hell alone don't you understand?!"

Jack grinned. We's gettin' tah 'im. Takin' longer dan I t'ought, but it'll 'appen.

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Two days later, Antoine found himself alone down by the harbor. It was the only place the Newsies didn't have anyone specifically assigned to and Crutchy wanted to go solo today. Yesterday hadn't been much better, and he could tell that Crutchy was pretty much fed up with him. Ah well. Kid's problem, not his. So much for that garbage about having to work well with others. Practice what you preach, gimp.

Ruefully, the greenhorn Newsie realized that his sales weren't going as well without a second gimp. "EXTRA! EXTRA! Convict Extradited ta State Penitentiary!" People gave him glances since he had opened his mouth, but nothing beyond that. And definitely no sales.

"What's a guy gotta do? Beg?" He remembered something that Crutchy had said yesterday. How did it go again? If the headlines weren't working, make them work for you.

"EXTREY! EXTREY! Bloodthirsty Killer Locked Up! Murderous Rampage Stopped Cold!"

A woman detached from her circle of friends and walked over. "I'll take one."

Antoine nearly jumped for joy as he accepted her penny and handed over the paper. The gimp was right! It worked! And it isn't like I was lying... just... what was it Jack called that? 'Improving on the Truth'! Still, he knew that he had a long way to go just to buy lunch. Ah well. He was up for a challenge.

Hours ticked by without a second thought. It was actually kind of fun to make your own money, he was beginning to discover. He made it a game to see how many papes he could sell at a time. Soon, he realized that your best bet was a large crowd like the one around the Stock Exchange or, if you didn't want to get fancy, one of those barefist boxing matches would do the trick. More of those to choose from.

Before he realized it, he was out of papes. Smiling from ear to ear, he figured he'd catch the guys at Tibby's for a late lunch. As he walked along, he waved at people, stopped to watch a couple guys playing poker, and even took the opportunity to see some fishermen drag in the morning catch. It was stuff like this you missed when you lived in the sparkling white homes of New Rochelle and the other suburbs.

When I get back home, I'll ask mum and pop about coming over here once in awhile. He mused as he turned down 43rd street.

Everything felt fun for the first time in his life. Perfect.

That was when two familiar figures rounded the corner and blocked his path. "'Ello dere."

The Delancy's again. Great. Now what am I supposed to do? Antoine straightened up. He was down to using one crutch, but he still was an easy target. "'Ello." He replied pleasantly.

"'Avin' a good day sellin'?" Oscar sneered. "So good dat you might jest wanna share some of yer dough wid us?"

"Nevah." Antoine tested the weight on his leg. He could stand, but if this was heading for a fight, he didn't know how long he could hold out without some serious backup. "I'll be goin' now."

Morris stepped in his way, blocking the end of the alleyway. "No way out now, boy."

Antoine gritted his teeth. He wanted revenge on these bullies so bad that he could taste it. "Ya dun wanna be doin' dat."

"Pffft! Talkin' big like dat. Who'dya t'ink ya are?!" Oscar snarled.

Antoine was taken off guard. Didn't they remember him? Just the kid that you beat up and left for dead less than a week ago. But then again, the Delancy's beat up dozens of kids every day. Probably didn't keep mental records on each one of them. He could use this to his advantage. "Dey call me Pursestring."

"Who's 'dey'?" Oscar wasn't expecting an answer out of this shrimp.

"Da Manhattan Newsies. Jack Kelly an' dem."

"Really? I ain't evah seen you wid 'em."

"I'm new." Antoine risked letting this piece of information slide. He hoped they weren't bright enough to put two and two together.

Oscar and Morris considered this for a moment. "Alright, kid. Don't mind if we send ya's back ta Kelly a little worse for da wear, t'ough, do ya?" Oscar cracked his knuckles. "Wait. Dumb question. 'Course ya would. Lucky fer us, ya don't got a choice in da mattah."

"Nuthin' pers'nal." Morris reached into his pocket where, Antoine remembered, he kept the set of brass knuckles. "S'not you... s'Kelly. Wanna give 'im a present."

Wow. Meathead does talk. Antoine almost spoke this sentiment aloud, but thought better of it and instead opted to keep his mouth shut. Good thing too, for a moment later, he took a hard shot to the shoulder and tumbled to the pavement. This wasn't looking good.

As he was preparing to defend himself somehow, another body came sailing over the top of his crumpled mass, laying into both Delancy's. Scrambling, both boys were set upon by six other kids. In a flurry of left hooks, headbutts, and bodyslams, Antoine was just barely able to identify his saviors as Newsies. But who's group?

Bruised and bleeding, Oscar and Morris eventually broke free and took off running for home.

"Get outta 'ere, draftahs. Run back ta yer Uncle Wease."

Antoine looked up to see who it was. A kid who he assumed was around his age, drew out a gold-tipped cane and waved at the two retreating boys. "Ya alright, kid?"

Sore, but otherwise in one piece, Antoine nodded and stumbled to his feet. Spot Conlon. He was finally able to put a name to a face. The other Newsies talked about him a lot, but what was he doing this far outside of Brooklyn?

"My boys an' I was just passin' t'rough an' saw dat you was in trouble. What's yer name?" Spot holstered his cane once more.

"A--" He thought better of using his real name and opted for his new nickname. "Pursestring. Least dat's what Snipeshooter an' some of da uddahs call me."

Spot grinned. "Shoulda figured ya was in Jack's group. Well, see yah around den. T'ink ya can make it back ta da bunkhouse?"

"Yeah. I'll be fine."

"Say hi ta Jack an' dat new kid... Antoine or somethin' like that."

Antoine stood dumbstruck as Spot and his boys headed off. But I am---