Here it is! This part is really long, almost 11 pages! But I couldn't find a good place to split it up, so you guys get a lot! Oh well, it's just as well, since I won't be uploading for a couple of days. Gonna be in Toronto! Yes, we're leaving at 4:30 tomorrow morning to get there. Long drive, almost 11 hours! Well, I gtg! Read and review, and wish me luck!
That night, Race brought Rosie back to the lodging house. He noticed that David seemed surprised that everyone knew her. As soon as she ran in the door, Kloppman scoped her up into a tight hug. Mush and Blink took their turns tossing her into the air. She tackled Snipes and Boots, and they laughed. But soon things settled down as Mush invited Race to the poker game already going on. Rosie settled herself onto Race's lap half way through the game and proceeded to tell him which cards to keep. David was sure that Race would loose, but Rosie seemed to have the same knack for gambling as her brother as they still won.
Race didn't notice the tall man in the dark coat, warm for the summer, standing in the door. Kloppman did and quickly approached him. As soon as the boys saw the old man move, they saw the thin man with pale skin and dark hair.
"May I help ya?" Kloppman asked. The man nodded.
"Yes, my name is Nunzio Sciortino." Race noticed the man's thick accent. So familiar, so alien. He hadn't heard it in years; it made him think of things better left forgotten. " I work for a wealthy banker named Alfonso Cammarata. I come by his orders to seek a boy named Anthony Higgins."
Race's breath caught in his throat. The cards in his hands were shaking, as he held tight to Rosie and slumped down, trying to hide behind Mush. He noticed several discreet glances in his direction. Jack glanced at him, a question in his eyes. Race gave one slight shake of his head and Jack stood up.
"Anybody knew dis Anthony Higgins?" there was a murmur of negative replies and a shaking of heads through out the lobby. The man frowned.
" I know this boy is here. I have proof." And he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small scrap of paper. It was a photograph, the article that had been written about them, not a week ago, the photograph of a triumphant group of newsies, crowding together, only just able to construct some sort of pose in time for the burst of the camera. The center boy was the only one who was ready, and smiled. Next to him, a smaller darker boy stood, a dark cabby hat on his head. It was this boy he showed Kloppman.
"Look, he ain't heah. We ain't neva hoid a him. So why doncha scram before we haveta help ya find da dooah." Jack said, snatching the article out of his hands.
"I know that these boys knew him. In fact," his dark eyes scanned the room. Race leaned back farther, hiding completely behind Mush and Blink who moved closer to hide him. But it did not work. He could feel the man's blank eyes settle on him and he stepped forward.
He moved closer to Race, pausing right in front of him. Race shoved Rosie quickly behind his back. The man motioned for Race to come forward, and Blink stepped in front of him, glaring down the man.
The man sighed and began to speak, the words flowing over his mouth and into Race's ears, the welcome sound of Italian, "È venire lungo Anthony, se tu insiste sull'essere difficile, posso portare sempre la polizia. Sono sicuro che tu ciò non vuole. (Come along Anthony, if you insist on being difficult, I can always call the police. I am sure you do not want that.)
Race frowned, then stepped forward. "Race!" Blink hissed, moving to push him back. Race inclined his head to the young girl behind him.
"Watch her." He whispered to his friend. Blink nodded.
"And the girl." Race's head shot up and he glared at the man. "I am under orders to speak to the Higgins children. She is your sister, is she not?" Race nodded slowly. "Then I will speak with her as well."
Race sighed; it couldn't hurt to hear, could it? "Fine, whadda ya want?" the man looked around at the crowded room of boys.
"Is there somewhere we could go to talk privately?" Race glanced at Klopmman and he nodded. Race took Rosie's hand and led her down the hall to the small side room that held Kloppman's sitting room. Jack followed the man and closed the door behind him. The man looked at Jack disgustedly.
"I wished to speak to Anthony alone. No one else." Race shook his head.
"Ya say whatcha came ta say in front of Jack, or ya don't say nuttin."
The man sighed. "I doubt your Uncle wished for you to hear this in front of some Irish boy who thinks himself better than his superiors." Jack growled.
"Jist get on wid it." Race said, waving his head.
"Fine, fine. First of all, I am to inform you that your Uncle, my employer, wishes to extend an invitation to you and your sister, the only children of his dear departed sister, to come and live with him uptown."
Race shook his head. "We aint' got no Uncle. I ain't got no family." The man laughed as if Race had made a joke.
"Of course you do. His name is Alfonso Cammarata and he has only just recently returned from a business trip to Europe. One week ago, he saw that picture in the paper and noticed your extreme likeness to his dear departed sister. He read your name and ordered me to find out more about you."
"Well, look ya got da wrong kid, I ain't-" The man interrupted by pulling a sheet of paper out of his pocket and began to read off of it.
"Your mother was Maria Cammarata. Your father Owen Higgins. They married on June 10, 1883. Children: Anthony Devin Higgins, born October 19, 1883, aged sixteen. Roisin Caprice Higgins, born May 10, 1893. Owen, missing around June 16, 1893. Maria deceased, March 2, 1894." He folded the list and replaced it in his pocket.
"I do hope that helps convince you." Race stared at him. He had never known that somewhere there was a document that had his whole history on it, that told his whole story. To tell the truth, it scared him a bit. He hardly recalled all of it himself. In fact, he had completely forgotten that his own middle name was Devin.
"Dat don't meant nuttin." He said, forcing his sarcastic cynical side to the front, refusing to let this man see him scared.
"It would mean a great deal to your Uncle if you could come and stay with him. He has two children of his own, you know."
Race stared at him, his eyebrow raised. The man shifted nervously and cleared his throat. "Well, perhaps you didn't, but I must insist that you accompany me back to your Uncle's home, the both of you." Race frowned.
"I'll tink about it."
"Race," Jack spoke up, speaking for the first time. Race glanced at him.
"Wouldcha mind leavin' us for a second?" Jack asked the man. He shrugged and trudged out the door. As soon as the door closed, Jack frowned at Race.
"So whudda tink?" he asked.
Jack shrugged. "I dunno. Seems legit ta me. Is all dat stuff true, da names and da dates?" Race nodded.
"But I dunno, Jack. It ain't normal, is it? I mean, I'se jist a street rat, a newsie, a nobody. Why would somebody wanna take me in?"
"Maybe he feels sorry fer yer ma? Maybe he wants ta do sumdin right by her, ya know?" Race shrugged.
" And I ain't nobody's charity case. "Race said sharply. Then he sighed, "But it would mean leavin'. I don't wanna leave. Dis is me home." He waved his hand around. Jack took a deep breath.
He did not want to loose his best friend. That's what Race was. They had been best friends since they were four years old, when Race had first come to America; they had been through so much, loosing their mothers in the same terrible accident. As his friend, Jack never wanted Race to leave.
But as Jack Kelly, he was also Race's leader. And as his leader, he wanted the best for all his boys. He knew they couldn't be newsies forever and this just might be Race's ticket out of the streets and into the better life. Chances like this did not roll around everyday, Race himself could tell you odds on that.
Jack was torn. As his friend, he had to refuse, but as his leader, he had to insist.
"I tink ya should go." He said, pushing the leader up front, ignoring the pains that shot through his chest at the hurt look on Race's face.
"Go?" he asked. "Why?" Jack sighed.
"Cus Race, dis don't happen everyday. Ya could get a warm bed, a nice meal every day, ya wouldn't haveta sell, or ta gamble. Ya could go ta school, maybe loin ta write and read betta. And Rosie, tink about her."
Race glanced at the girl who had not spoken a word. He knelt in front of her, taking a deep breath.
"Whudda tink Rosie? Ya wanna go?" she frowned.
"Will I get lotsa pretty dresses? And toys like Susie gots?" Race nodded, swallowing hard. "Maybe, if I still gets ta come back and see Jacky." Race smiled at her.
"I promise, ya can always see Jack." Then she nodded.
"I don't wantcha ta have ta sell no moa, Tony. It ain't good fer ya." Race smiled, picking her up.
"Since when da youse know what's good foah me oah not?" he asked. She giggled. Then he sighed.
"I suppose we should tell him." Jack nodded, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. After all, it wasn't like he was dying. Just moving.
They opened the door and Race stepped out. To his surprise, the lobby was empty of everyone but the man and Kloppman.
"Where'd everybody go?" Jack asked. Kloppman pointed upstairs. Race approached the man and sighed.
"Fine, we'll go. But if we don't like it, we'se comin' straight back heah." The man nodded.
"Alright, go and gather your things. We can have the girls sent over in the morning. Where does she live?"
"Manhattan Home Foah Orphan Goils." Race said, trudging up the stairs slowly. Jack followed him.
The chatter died instantly when they entered. All the boys watched as Race made his way over to his bunk and slowly began to pull things out from under his mattress. He stuffed them into his pillowcase and slung it over his shoulder.
"Ya leavin', Race?" Mush asked. Race resisted the urge to look at Mush's puppy eyes. He nodded.
"Yeah, it's bedda foah Rosie. I mean, she, I, " words failed him as Blink pulled him into a tight hug, Mush joining him a second later. Soon the others joined and Race found it hard to blink away the tears.
"But it ain't like I'se leavin' fer good, ain't like I'll neva see youse. I'll come back, I swea." He stammered. " I, we'se, I promise." His friend nodded, too overcome, too confused to truly say goodbye.
Race took a deep breath and made his way out the door, forcing himself to keep going and ignore the tiny voice in his head that screamed at him to go back.
Once in the lobby, he thanked Kloppman, giving the man a sudden and warm embrace. The old man seemed a bit surprised, but he returned it, patting Race on the back.
He took Rosie by the hand, and shared one long look with Jack. Then, slowly, they trudged out the door and down to the waiting carriage.
Race climbed in and couldn't help back gaze around. It was the first time he'd ever ridden inside a carriage instead of the back of one.
The ride uptown took less than fifteen minutes, at least a half hour walk for him. They passed Central Park and Race peered at it, wondering who would take his selling spot.
In no time, the horses had pulled up in front of a large brownstone. The windows were lit and he could see into the large rooms. People hurried by one or two. The man stepped out and hurried up the steps, but Race paused, his hand on Rosie's shoulder.
The two stared up at the foreboding building. Race wished for the familiarity of the lodging house. But it was for Rosie, he thought, for Rosie.
"Come along." The man said, impatiently. Race looked back and took the first steps up the stairs. He didn't even bother knocking, but pushed the door open, beckoning the children in behind him.
Race entered cautiously, pushing Rosie behind him, peeking around the door. He took small steps, looking all around him, in the brightly lit hall, filled with mirrors and pictures and paintings. A heavy elaborate light fixture hang on the ceiling, though Race wasn't sure if it was really made of crystal like it looked. The large staircase curved up to the second floor, made of dark thick wood, so unlike the thin rickety stairs of the lodging house.
Suddenly a door opened to the right and a man hurried out, his hands full of letters and his eyes on them. He had dark hair, neatly trimmed and clean. He had on a neat nicely pressed suit, like he had seen the hoity-toity types wear. And he hardly noticed the people in his hall.
Race thought he looked familiar, and he frowned as the man walked quickly past them. The man who had brought them there cleared his throat. The man looked up quickly.
"Oh, hello Sciortino." The man bent a bit low in a bow like motion. Then he motioned to Race and Rosie.
"I've brought the children, sir." For the first time the man's eyes rested directly on Race. Their gaze locked for an instant, and Race found himself staring into wide surprised eyes.
"My, my, you've found them already." the words were whispered, just under his breath. He moved closer and took Race's chin in his hand. Race jerked his face out of the man's reach.
He seemed a bit surprised. "My God, he looks just like her.' He whispered. Race swallowed hard and gazed back at him, coldly.
"Anthony, Roisin, this is your Uncle, Alfonso." Race raised his eyebrow. Alfonso turned his gaze onto Rosie hiding behind Race.
"Hello, little one." She peered out, like a frightened rabbit. "Don't worry, you are safe here." She gave him a small smile.
"Well, I dare say that you arrived just in time. Dinner is about to be served. I'll have one of the servants show you to your rooms and you can get yourselves cleaned up before dinner."
Race paused, his eyes wide. The words were swimming in his head, servants, rooms, dinner? Could it really be true? He had never had his own room, never had a servant. He'd always looked after himself, always him and Rosie.
"You can speak, can't you?" his Uncle asked, seeming impatient. Race glared at him, disliking this stiff and formal man more and more.
"A'coise!" he said, indignantly. The man groaned.
"Oh dear, I hadn't realized." He shook his head. "How long have you been on the streets?' he asked. Race frowned.
"Since Ma died." He said, glaring at him.
"And that was how many years ago?' Race shrugged.
"I dunno, nine, ten?"
He nodded as if Race had said something horrible, "Well, perhaps we can still teach you to speak properly. I suppose the girl speaks the same way you do?"
"What's wrong wid da way I tawk?" Race asked, hands clenched in fists, wondering if it was wrong to want to soak your own Uncle.
He shook his head and pulled a cord hanging on the wall. A faint jingling echoed down the hall. In an instant, a plump rosy-cheeked woman appeared.
"Yes, sir?" he nodded to the two kids.
"Take Anthony and Rosin-" he said, pronouncing her name like rosin, not rosheen like it was.
"Roisin." Race corrected. God, could no one pronounce the child's name.
"Roisin to their rooms." He eyed Race's ink covered hands, "And see if you can do something to clean them up a bit before we eat. I am sure Mrs. Cammarata would not be pleased to see children resembling street rats at her table." The woman nodded.
"Certainly sir.' Then she took Race's arm and led him up the stairs. Race couldn't help but stare around him at all the fine things he'd only heard about. As he was led down the hall, a door opened.
He turned to see a boy about Les's age, maybe a bit older, staring at him, open-mouthed. He had fine clothes, and dark smooth skin. His brown hair was brushed back neatly, unlike Race's whose hair was greasy and messy under his cap that he had yet to remove.
Neither boy moved for an instant. Then the woman saw Race was not following her and took his arm.
"Come along, son. You can speak with your cousin at dinner." Race stared harder, this boy was his cousin? He turned around and followed the woman down the hall to a room on the left.
She opened it and he found a nice comfortable room, tinted a light brown. There was a large bed, big enough to fit five or six newsies into. There was a wardrobe and a desk.
"This is your bedroom, master Anthony." He spun around.
"Please don't call me dat." He asked. She smiled at him.
"I doubt you've ever been called that before?" he shook his head. "Well, what would you like then?" he frowned.
"Racetrack, please." She gazed at him, a smile on her face as if she didn't quite believe him.
"Racetrack?" he nodded. She shrugged. "If you say so, sir. Now, you should get cleaned up. I'll have a bath drawn up for you and you'll have to wear those clothes for now," she eyed his dirty tattered vest, shirt, and pants. His shoes were scuffled, he knew. They'd been that way since he'd found them in the trash.
"Dese is fine." He said, wrapping his arms protectively around his bag.
She waved her hand. "Nonsense. Now, get a bath and then come down to the dining room." Then she closed the door.
Race set his bag down on the bed, and moved towards the window. He pulled it open and breathed in the cleaner fresher air that made it clear he was no longer in the slums.
The evening sun painted the rooftops a rich golden color. In the distance, he could see the large expanse that spanned the river, splitting the territories of lower Manhattan and Brooklyn, neutral territory as far as the newsies of New York were concerned. But it was beautiful tonight. He crossed it almost every day, and yet he never noticed how it shone in the setting sun.
Suddenly, there was a knock of the door, which interrupted his thoughts. Quickly, he remembered that he was supposed to be cleaning up and hurriedly filled a nearby basin with water from the china pitcher on the nightstand.
"Whudda ya want?" he called, pretending to have been very busy. The door opened and the boy entered, edging into the room, as if he thought Race was going to attack him.
He stopped and stared at Race, looking as if he had seen a ghost. Race stared back, planting the annoyed, bored look on his face. He did not want them thinking he was as frightened as he was.
"I am pleased to meet you, Anthony. I'm Teodoro. I can't believe you're really here! did you really grow up on the streets?" Race squinted at him, frowning. Who did this little shrimp think he was?
"Who are ya?" he asked. The boy laughed, a gentle rolling sound that filled the room and made Race feel a bit better.
"I had completely forgotten. I'm your cousin, I suppose you would say. We've been looking forward to you coming since grandmother found that article in the Sun and noticed how much you looked like her daughter." Race stared, he had just accepted the concept of having an Uncle,. Could it be that he really did have a real family, complete with cousins and grandmothers as well? He did not know of one other newsie that did, with the possible exception of David.
"Grandmudda? Cousin?" Race asked, almost in disbelief. But instantly, the cold façade was up again and he shrugged. "Figuas." The boy frowned.
"I am to inform you that supper will be ready in a matter of minutes. Finish your washing and then come downstairs." Then the door closed and Race was left alone again.
He sighed, well, he certainly was not making any friends. But it wasn't about him or making friends, he told himself. He'd be here only enough to make sure that they wouldn't hurt Rosie, and then he was gone, back to Jack and the newsies. He wasn't welcome here, anyway.
He dipped his hands into the water, scrubbing at the dirt and ink almost imbedded in his skin. He rubbed hard, and the dirt fell away, revealing a pale olive complexion, tanned only slightly by the sun. But the ink did not wash off.
Race scrubbed harder, till his hands were red, but the ink stains remained. It was if they were a part of his hands now. Well, he'd never tried to wash them off before. Even more true that his hands had not seen soap in ages, he couldn't remember when. But that was a bit strange that the stains would not come off.
He dried his hands and his face. Then he took a deep breath, glancing in the mirror. He did not look like he belonged in a place like this.
His dark hair was greasy, and hadn't seen a comb in days. His fingers had always sufficed, though he did share one such comb with Mush. His skin was tanned from the sun, but underneath it was a sickly olive color. From malnutrition, maybe? Lack of sleep, perhaps. His hands remained stained with newsprint ink, his clothes dirty and tattered. But they were from whatever donations Kloppman managed to get.
Every couple of years someone would drop off a bundle of clothes or rags at the lodging house and the boys would have a little Christmas. Kloppman would hand out shirts and pants, suspenders and socks, all according to need. No one else ever wanted the snappy vests, the blue striped one that was in his bag, or the gold checked one that he was wearing now, so Race had gladly taken them. The shirt was a little big, but it fit. The pants were big too, but a good pair of suspenders had taken care of that. His shoes, he had found in the dustbin of some rich house. They were only a little scuffed and his size, though he had grown a bit since then. Still, they fit.
Race sighed and laid his cap on the bed, wondering if he should grab his jacket. He decided against it and pulled his door open. There was the sound of dishes rattling and murmured voices below him and he wandered down the hall to the staircase, resisting the temptation to slid down.
He slowly slipped down the steps and followed the voices. He peeked inside the first door on the left. There was a large table and gathered around it, were his Uncle, his grandfather, the boy, Rosie and several other people, two women and a girl he had not met.
He thought about backing up and leaving right then and there, but Rosie looked up and saw him there.
"Tony!" she jumped out of her seat and rushed at him. Race smiled as she tacked him, as if she hadn't seen him in years. Her light red ringlets were curled around her face and tied back with a blue ribbon. She wore a sky blue dress, lacy, like he'd seen on dolls in store windows. He didn't like the idea of his sister looking like a doll.
"Ah, we were wondering what was keeping you." His Uncle got up and helped Race detangle Rosie from around his waist. He led Race around the table, to a spot next to Rosie and to the girl.
Then his Uncle sat down and sighed. "Now that we're all together, let us bow our heads and say grace." Race raised his eyebrow as every member obediently lowered their heads and closed their eyes. Even Rosie did so.
He took the opportunely to study each one a bit more closely. The girl on his left, he saw, had the same dark hair as her father, but it shown, clean and gleamed in the light. Her skin was smooth and free from the hardened rough skin of the girls he knew. She was a beauty, looking to be about fifteen or sixteen, just about his age. But there was something about her that radiated snobbery. Her nose was in the air, even as she prayed.
The older woman sat up straight, her eyes closed. Her dark black hair was pulled up in an elaborate hairstyle and her dress was of the latest fashion. Her skin was just as clean and smooth as her daughters and Race got the impression that she saw very little sun.
The oldest woman, whose white hair was all piled on top of her head in a tight bun, held a small rosary in her hands and murmured along with the prayer. Her skin was wrinkled and Race wondered how old she was. He'd never really seen anyone that old, except for Kloppman and a few neighbors. People did not live that long on the streets.
A second sense somewhere deep in him allowed him to know when someone was looking at it. Whether it was something he was born with or something acquired on the streets, Race didn't know. But he glanced across the table and saw the boy, peeking up from his hands at him from his supposedly bowed head. Race glared at him and the boy ducked his head.
Finally the endless prayer ended and the family raised their heads. His aunt rang a small bell and a door opened, allowing a servant to enter with a large tray of food, steaming, and delicious wonderful food.
Race couldn't help himself as a full plate was set in front of him. He licked his lips, staring at the meat and vegetables he couldn't identify, but he knew he would eat. After all, he had dug through the garbage behind restaurants for scraps. This was a feast!
"Well, before we eat, I would like to welcome our two new members of the family. Anthony, Roisin, I want you two to feel like you are part of this family, despite the choices your mother made that caused the terrible rift between her and us."
"I'm surah ya do." Race mumbled under his breath, anxious to get started on the food.
"Amen." The old woman mumbled.
"But before you get settled in," he continued, a warning tone creeping into his voice. Here it comes, Race thought. "You must understand that this is not a free for all. You will do as you are told, mind your manners, whatever you may have, or there will be consequences. Am I understood?"
"Consequences? Whudda ya gonna do, kick me out inta da street?" Race asked, laughing, "da place I lived foah me whole life?"
The woman who was his aunt pressed her hand to his mouth as the words came tumbling out of his mouth.
"Look, I'se heah foah one reason only." Race continued, ignoring the looks that were being shot at him from all around. "And dat's da make surah Rosie heah gets da life she desoives. Da streets ain't foah her. And dis place ain't foah me. Am I undahstood?" he said, placing a grin on his face at the end of his imitation. His Uncle stared at him, almost open-mouthed.
"Alfonso, the food is getting cold." His aunt murmured. His Uncle held up his hand.
"We will not eat until Anthony apologizes." Race stared at him.
"Foah what?" He asked, angry.
"For being disrespectful. You may say what you like on the streets, Anthony, but in this house, we are courteous and respectful."
"He probably doesn't know what that means." The girl said, smugly. Race turned his glare on her.
"If ya don't wanna eat, goil, jist keep at it." she stared at him.
"Is that a threat? He just threatened me!" she almost screamed. Race rolled his eyes, things were not going well at all.
"Oh, believe me, deah, if I treatened ya, ya'd know." He said, glaring at her.
"A fool gives full vent to his anger, but a wise man keeps himself under control." The old woman murmured. It was the first time she had spoken. Her eyes met Race's and he saw a hard coldness in them, something that sent chills up his spine. It was then that he got the idea that she did not like him very much.
"Please, Tony?" Rosie asked, her brown eyes wide. Race watched her, knowing this was for her. He took a deep breath.
"Sorry." The word was forced out of him, but it seemed to relax the mood a bit. His Uncle nodded.
"I will try to understand that you are making a transition and certain allowances must be made, but this will not be a habit, am I clear?"
"Yeah." Race murmured.
"Perhaps we could start with some manners." His aunt suggested. "You may address us as Aunt Natalia, and Uncle Alfonso. Or as sir and ma'am." Race shrugged.
"Can I eat?" she nodded and Race attacked his food, Rosie doing the same, only with a little more dignity. After all, she had had dinner at Tibby's. Race had forgone it to feed her.
"God, are you starving?" Race glancing at the girl, not stopping in his consuming of the food. After all, he had learned to eat and not look at his food a long time ago.
"Did you eat today?" aunt Natalia asked. Race frowned. Had he eaten today? He paused to think. Yes, there was that apple, stolen that morning.
He nodded. "Yeah, I ate. Jist not anytin' like dis. A meal like dis would cost morah den I can make in a week." He said, eyeing the fancy meal. There was a round of embarrassed looks all around and Race got the impression that he'd said the wrong thing once again.
From the head of the table, his Uncle had pulled out a newspaper and was scanning it.
"What are you looking for?" the boy asked as he flipped the page.
"A story about the mayor. Something about an assassination attempt. Someone tried to dive bomb him." he said, causing his aunt to gasp.
Race couldn't help it. Halfway through a bite, he choked. Trying his hardest not to laugh, he failed to not attach any attention.
"Is there a problem, Anthony?" Race shook his head, fighting for air. He remembered that article. He'd used that idea himself. The headline actually read Pigeons Fly at Mayor's Coach. Race had changed it to, Aerial attack on Mayor's life.
In only a few more minutes the meal was over, though Race's plate had been cleaned long before.
His aunt glanced at a clock. She asked her children about their school work. They answered, Race was sure, but he wasn't listening. Absentmindedly, he was wondering what that old painting on the mantle would sell for, and how many meals he could get with that dough, not to mention the bets he could place.
"Anthony?" he jerked out of his reverie to stare at her, a bit annoyed. "I was wondering, what grade are you in?" she asked, smiling gently at him. Race looked at her, confused. What was she talking about?
"Grade?" she nodded.
"In school." He laughed then, and she frowned.
"Oh," he said, reaching for one more bun." Sorry, I dunno. I ain't evah been ta school." He said. She stared at him, appalled. The children looked at him as if he were mad.
"But," she stammered, loosing her calm composure. "you do know how to read, don't you? And write?"
"He probably can't spell his own name.' The girl sneered. Race glared at her.
"R-A-C-E-T-R-A-C-K H-I-G-GI-N-S." Race shot back.
"Racetrack?" she asked, laughing. "That's not your name. You don't even know your real name." Race glared at him.
"It's me nick, besides, it's bedda den some names I could tink a." he snarled. His aunt raised a hand to her mouth.
"Alfonso, do something." He glanced at them over his paper.
"Anthony, leave your cousin alone."
"She started it!" he protested.
"Margherita, don't bother your cousin."
"But Papa!" he shook his head and lit a cigar. Race's eyes landed on it and he longed for one, even a cigarette. But he doubted that they would appreciate it if he lit up there. Besides, his stash was up in his room.
"But you do know how to read?" his aunt asked. Race nodded.
"Me mudda taught me."
"She did?" she glanced at her husband. "Did she teach you to write too?" Race shook his head.
"Nah,
dat I loined from Mrs. Sullivan, me best pal's ma."
he said. She nodded.
"And mathematics?" Race nodded.
"Some, ya gotta. If ya don't know howta count, ya can get cheated. Every kid knows dat." She nodded.
"Perhaps we could add you to Professor Ryan's lessons. Heaven knows he has enough to put up with, what with the children."
"It's okay, I don't need no school." Race protested.
"Nonsense." His Uncle said from behind the paper. " You will be educated as is fitting your status." Race sighed. Then his Uncle excused him and he hurried upstairs, Rosie behind him.
As he entered his room, he heard a voice in the street. He crossed to the window and saw a boy, a boy he knew all too well, standing on the corner, hawking the headlines.
"It's Blink." Rosie saw. Race nodded and put his arm around her. For an instant, he watched Blink, wanting nothing more than to be down there, making up headlines with his friend. But he sighed and looked away.
His Uncle walked past his open door and paused when he heard the newsie outside.
"Shut that window. Maybe then, we can have some peace." Race pulled the window shut, as his Uncle made his way down the hall, mumbling, " blasted noise." Race decided that his new family did not need to know what he did for a living.
Just before he turned around, Blink turned and stared right up at his window. Race smiled and waved and Blink grinned back. Then he took off running. Race sighed and watched him vanish into the darkness that was only temporarily lit up by streetlights.
Then he pulled his curtains shut, yanking them off their hangers. Rosie stared at the ground. Race collapsed on the bed, letting out a sigh of despair. Rosie crawled up next to him. He wrapped his arms around her.
"Ya like dis place, Rosie?" she nodded.
""It's nice. Aunt Natalia promised ta take us out tamorra and get us some new clothes. She said yours was almost fallin' apart." Race glanced down at himself; maybe they were a bit shabby.
He sighed again, closing his eyes. In an instant, he was asleep.