The next morning, he was awakened by a bouncing little sister, who had
taken great joy in discovering that the beds were fun to jump on,
especially when your older brother is still asleep in them.
"Rosie, what does it take ta let me sleep in?" he grumbled, rolling over to let her sit on his chest.
"Uncle Alfonso says school starts today." Race raised an eyebrow.
"And what does dis havta do wid me?" he asked. She giggled.
"Yer goin', right?" he sighed.
"I dunno, Rosie. I was plannin' on sellin'." Now it was her turn to sigh.
"Tony, ya said ya wouldn't sell no moah. Ya don't need ta. We got money now." Race shook his head.
"We aint' got money, Rosie. We'se jist got family dat feels sorry foah us, dat's all."
"But we'se still gots' each udda." She whispered. Race nodded.
"Dat's all we'se gots, Rosie." She sighed and cuddled up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Race pulled her close and rocked her slightly, cherishing the moment.
From just outside the door, the old woman watched them, her heart twisting. Her determination to hate the boy was conflicting with her natural maternal instincts. He was so much like his mother, too much. He was the reason, according to the old woman, that her daughter was not present at that very moment. Because of him and that filth she had married, Maria Cammarata was dead. And now the boy was here, all because her sweet Alfonso was feeling guilty about his sister's death and wished to appease her spirit by taking in her two children.
The girl was an angel, that was for sure, even if she did take after her father in looks. But the boy, Anthony, he had his mother's looks and her temper as well. Probably combined with his fathers, as well. The boy was trouble, she knew it.
And yet, for all his attitude and sarcasm, she could sense, maybe it was the mother in her, the fear in him. The boy was scared, so very very scared. He needed a mother, something she was sure he had never really had, not since his own had met her maker. She sighed and fingered the rosary in her hands.
"God will be present, whether asked or not." She reminded herself.
Race sighed as the four children made their way through the streets, to the home of their tutor. Margherita marched ahead, her books under her arms, paying little attention to her brother or cousins. Teodoro was babbling to his older cousin about the joys of an education. Little Rosie was simply eager to learn anything she could. But Race watched the upper Manhattan newsies jealously.
Then, as they neared the house, Race had an idea. He waited for his sister to hop through the door, then backed off.
"Aren't you coming?" Teodoro asked. Race nodded.
"Yeah, I jist forgot sumdin, I'll be right back." His cousin nodded and Race turned and fled. He made the distribution station just as his friends were leaving. Jack gave him a surprised look, but laughed as Race pushed his way to the front of the line and quickly bought his usual amount.
"Where'dcha get da clothes, Higgins?" Morris DeLancey asked, grinning. Race glared at him.
"It's called money, Morris. I doubt ya eva seen much a it." The older boy gave a growl and reached for him, but Race was already down the platform and among his friends, who slapped him on the back.
He quickly shed the outer layers of his clothing, disposing them behind a trash can. Then he hurried to his old selling spot.
Once there, he planted himself down and began to yell the headlines. His regulars stopped to chat a bit before buying a pape and heading on their way. Race smiled, even as the sun burned over head. He didn't care.
This was where he was supposed to be. This was what he was supposed to do. His papers were gone quickly, and he, dying for a smoke, watched for a potential victim.
An older man passed, a cigar in his mouth. The man had just pulled it from a case in his pocket. Race smiled and made his move.
He began to run, picking up the pace, until he ran right into the man. He looked sorry, murmuring apologies to the man, even as his fingers dove into the man's pocket, slipping the cigar case into his own. Then he ducked away, disappearing into the crowd.
He had gotten only a block away before he heard the cry of "Stop, thief!" but he didn't care. He laughed as he ducked into an alley, letting the police fly by. Then he hurried down the alley, and through several more dark alley ways and shortcuts till he reached his destination. A small restaurant called Tibby's.
His friends were already beginning to gather there as Race entered, pulling out the cigar case and lighting one. He opened it up, admiring the gold lining.
Jack moved so Race could sit next to him. Race showed him the case.
"How much ya tink I could get foah it?" Jack laughed.
"Now Race, ya didn't steal it, didcha?" Race stared at him, completely innocent.
"Me? Steal? Neva!" his friend only laughed as Race tucked it away, promising to hock it later. More of his friends joined them and Race settled back.
As Mush related some tale of his newest girl, and Blink teased him endlessly, Jack lounged beside him, and the younger ones tackled each other, Race sighed happily. Why had he ever thought that he could find happiness somewhere else? He was perfectly happy right here.
The clock struck and the newsies poured out into the streets. Race grinned as they met up with Davy and Les, as they passed the school.
Their father let them only sell after school during the week and whenever they wanted on the weekends. Knowing Les, he would sell every day, all three editions, if it meant he could follow Jack all day.
Race stopped by the now familiar place on the corner, just down from Tibby's. The old pawn broker looked happy to see him and greeted him by name. It was true, Race had been here many times, both before his mothers death and after.
"Got sumdin real nice taday, Litten." He said to the old man who took the cigar case and studied it. Then he smiled.
"Yeah ya do, kid. Ya didn't steal it now, didcha Race?" Race only laughed. Litten was one of the only shops in town that would take something without asking where it came from. He only took it and gave you your money, which he now handed Race ten dollars. Race took it and tucked it into his vest pocket, inside, safe from pickpocketers, though he had learned to spot them. After all, he had been one himself.
He sold the afternoon edition quickly, then headed back to the spot where he'd left his clothes. Slipping them back on, he bid goodbye to his friends and hurried uptown to his house. Thankfully, he reached home just after his cousins and sister did. He could hear Teodoro in his room, and Rosie in hers. Margherita was nowhere to be seen and Race thanked God for that.
He slipped into his own room and yanked off his coat and vest, hurriedly pouring water from the pitcher into the basin and scrubbing at the newsprint on his hands. As the previous attempts, the ink stayed on, just as strong. Race sighed and threw the clean rag back into the water, causing it to spill. He swore, throwing up his arms and collapsing on his bed, yanking his cap over his head.
"Um, Anthony?" Race groaned. But the plaintive voice would not be dismissed so easily.
Teodoro closed the door behind him and went to stand in front of his older cousin. Race yanked his hat off and glared at the boy, angry at his interruption. Angry at himself for having gotten into this mess.
"Whudda ya want?" he grumbled. Teodoro hesitated.
"Look, I know you didn't go to school today." Race raised an eyebrow.
"So? Like I cae?"
"You might not, but mother and father will. Then you'll be punished." Race laughed.
"What, like last night? Kid, all I needs ta do is sneak oudda dat winda, and I got da whole city at me feet. I know about a hundred places in dis town ta get a free meal, and I don't need youse ta warn me."
Teodoro nodded, his head ducked and shy. Race frowned, wondering if he was being too harsh on the boy and deciding he didn't care. No one had worried about being too harsh on him, and he'd turned out just fine.
"I know, I know. But I just thought I'd warn you."
"Why? Ya gonna rat me out?" the boy shook his head, his eyes wide as if he was thinking, how dare you even think that about me?
"No! Of course not! I mean, I won't and Rosie won't. Margherita might if she cared, but she doesn't." Race narrowed his eyes, where was this going.
"Look, you're going to need someone to cover for you, just in case." He glanced up hopefully.
Race frowned, this kid was tricky. He had his eye on something, but what? He looked at Race like Les looked at Jack, like he was God.
"And what's in it foah you?" he asked. The boy shook his head, holding up his hands innocently.
"Nothing!" he protested, but Race only shook his head. No one in this town did anyone any favors unless they got something in return, everyone knew that. No one did things just to be nice, or out of the goodness of their hearts. He knew that. They were either looking for money, attention, affection, or salvation.
He locked eyes with the boy and glared. The boy ducked his head again and sighed.
"Maybe you could let me come with you sometime?" Race had to laugh. Was that all? The kid wanted to slum it sometime? Alright, if he wanted to make a fool out of himself, that was fine with Race.
"Surah, kid. Sometime, ya can come wid me." Teodoro smiled, his whole face lighting up and he threw his arms around Race, who patted him nervously on the shoulder. Then the boy was on his feet and out the door.
Race watched him go, shaking his head. This rich folks, he'd never understand them. He rolled over on his bed and buried his face in the pillow, ignoring his Uncle's calls to dinner and instead, falling fast asleep.
"Rosie, what does it take ta let me sleep in?" he grumbled, rolling over to let her sit on his chest.
"Uncle Alfonso says school starts today." Race raised an eyebrow.
"And what does dis havta do wid me?" he asked. She giggled.
"Yer goin', right?" he sighed.
"I dunno, Rosie. I was plannin' on sellin'." Now it was her turn to sigh.
"Tony, ya said ya wouldn't sell no moah. Ya don't need ta. We got money now." Race shook his head.
"We aint' got money, Rosie. We'se jist got family dat feels sorry foah us, dat's all."
"But we'se still gots' each udda." She whispered. Race nodded.
"Dat's all we'se gots, Rosie." She sighed and cuddled up to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. Race pulled her close and rocked her slightly, cherishing the moment.
From just outside the door, the old woman watched them, her heart twisting. Her determination to hate the boy was conflicting with her natural maternal instincts. He was so much like his mother, too much. He was the reason, according to the old woman, that her daughter was not present at that very moment. Because of him and that filth she had married, Maria Cammarata was dead. And now the boy was here, all because her sweet Alfonso was feeling guilty about his sister's death and wished to appease her spirit by taking in her two children.
The girl was an angel, that was for sure, even if she did take after her father in looks. But the boy, Anthony, he had his mother's looks and her temper as well. Probably combined with his fathers, as well. The boy was trouble, she knew it.
And yet, for all his attitude and sarcasm, she could sense, maybe it was the mother in her, the fear in him. The boy was scared, so very very scared. He needed a mother, something she was sure he had never really had, not since his own had met her maker. She sighed and fingered the rosary in her hands.
"God will be present, whether asked or not." She reminded herself.
Race sighed as the four children made their way through the streets, to the home of their tutor. Margherita marched ahead, her books under her arms, paying little attention to her brother or cousins. Teodoro was babbling to his older cousin about the joys of an education. Little Rosie was simply eager to learn anything she could. But Race watched the upper Manhattan newsies jealously.
Then, as they neared the house, Race had an idea. He waited for his sister to hop through the door, then backed off.
"Aren't you coming?" Teodoro asked. Race nodded.
"Yeah, I jist forgot sumdin, I'll be right back." His cousin nodded and Race turned and fled. He made the distribution station just as his friends were leaving. Jack gave him a surprised look, but laughed as Race pushed his way to the front of the line and quickly bought his usual amount.
"Where'dcha get da clothes, Higgins?" Morris DeLancey asked, grinning. Race glared at him.
"It's called money, Morris. I doubt ya eva seen much a it." The older boy gave a growl and reached for him, but Race was already down the platform and among his friends, who slapped him on the back.
He quickly shed the outer layers of his clothing, disposing them behind a trash can. Then he hurried to his old selling spot.
Once there, he planted himself down and began to yell the headlines. His regulars stopped to chat a bit before buying a pape and heading on their way. Race smiled, even as the sun burned over head. He didn't care.
This was where he was supposed to be. This was what he was supposed to do. His papers were gone quickly, and he, dying for a smoke, watched for a potential victim.
An older man passed, a cigar in his mouth. The man had just pulled it from a case in his pocket. Race smiled and made his move.
He began to run, picking up the pace, until he ran right into the man. He looked sorry, murmuring apologies to the man, even as his fingers dove into the man's pocket, slipping the cigar case into his own. Then he ducked away, disappearing into the crowd.
He had gotten only a block away before he heard the cry of "Stop, thief!" but he didn't care. He laughed as he ducked into an alley, letting the police fly by. Then he hurried down the alley, and through several more dark alley ways and shortcuts till he reached his destination. A small restaurant called Tibby's.
His friends were already beginning to gather there as Race entered, pulling out the cigar case and lighting one. He opened it up, admiring the gold lining.
Jack moved so Race could sit next to him. Race showed him the case.
"How much ya tink I could get foah it?" Jack laughed.
"Now Race, ya didn't steal it, didcha?" Race stared at him, completely innocent.
"Me? Steal? Neva!" his friend only laughed as Race tucked it away, promising to hock it later. More of his friends joined them and Race settled back.
As Mush related some tale of his newest girl, and Blink teased him endlessly, Jack lounged beside him, and the younger ones tackled each other, Race sighed happily. Why had he ever thought that he could find happiness somewhere else? He was perfectly happy right here.
The clock struck and the newsies poured out into the streets. Race grinned as they met up with Davy and Les, as they passed the school.
Their father let them only sell after school during the week and whenever they wanted on the weekends. Knowing Les, he would sell every day, all three editions, if it meant he could follow Jack all day.
Race stopped by the now familiar place on the corner, just down from Tibby's. The old pawn broker looked happy to see him and greeted him by name. It was true, Race had been here many times, both before his mothers death and after.
"Got sumdin real nice taday, Litten." He said to the old man who took the cigar case and studied it. Then he smiled.
"Yeah ya do, kid. Ya didn't steal it now, didcha Race?" Race only laughed. Litten was one of the only shops in town that would take something without asking where it came from. He only took it and gave you your money, which he now handed Race ten dollars. Race took it and tucked it into his vest pocket, inside, safe from pickpocketers, though he had learned to spot them. After all, he had been one himself.
He sold the afternoon edition quickly, then headed back to the spot where he'd left his clothes. Slipping them back on, he bid goodbye to his friends and hurried uptown to his house. Thankfully, he reached home just after his cousins and sister did. He could hear Teodoro in his room, and Rosie in hers. Margherita was nowhere to be seen and Race thanked God for that.
He slipped into his own room and yanked off his coat and vest, hurriedly pouring water from the pitcher into the basin and scrubbing at the newsprint on his hands. As the previous attempts, the ink stayed on, just as strong. Race sighed and threw the clean rag back into the water, causing it to spill. He swore, throwing up his arms and collapsing on his bed, yanking his cap over his head.
"Um, Anthony?" Race groaned. But the plaintive voice would not be dismissed so easily.
Teodoro closed the door behind him and went to stand in front of his older cousin. Race yanked his hat off and glared at the boy, angry at his interruption. Angry at himself for having gotten into this mess.
"Whudda ya want?" he grumbled. Teodoro hesitated.
"Look, I know you didn't go to school today." Race raised an eyebrow.
"So? Like I cae?"
"You might not, but mother and father will. Then you'll be punished." Race laughed.
"What, like last night? Kid, all I needs ta do is sneak oudda dat winda, and I got da whole city at me feet. I know about a hundred places in dis town ta get a free meal, and I don't need youse ta warn me."
Teodoro nodded, his head ducked and shy. Race frowned, wondering if he was being too harsh on the boy and deciding he didn't care. No one had worried about being too harsh on him, and he'd turned out just fine.
"I know, I know. But I just thought I'd warn you."
"Why? Ya gonna rat me out?" the boy shook his head, his eyes wide as if he was thinking, how dare you even think that about me?
"No! Of course not! I mean, I won't and Rosie won't. Margherita might if she cared, but she doesn't." Race narrowed his eyes, where was this going.
"Look, you're going to need someone to cover for you, just in case." He glanced up hopefully.
Race frowned, this kid was tricky. He had his eye on something, but what? He looked at Race like Les looked at Jack, like he was God.
"And what's in it foah you?" he asked. The boy shook his head, holding up his hands innocently.
"Nothing!" he protested, but Race only shook his head. No one in this town did anyone any favors unless they got something in return, everyone knew that. No one did things just to be nice, or out of the goodness of their hearts. He knew that. They were either looking for money, attention, affection, or salvation.
He locked eyes with the boy and glared. The boy ducked his head again and sighed.
"Maybe you could let me come with you sometime?" Race had to laugh. Was that all? The kid wanted to slum it sometime? Alright, if he wanted to make a fool out of himself, that was fine with Race.
"Surah, kid. Sometime, ya can come wid me." Teodoro smiled, his whole face lighting up and he threw his arms around Race, who patted him nervously on the shoulder. Then the boy was on his feet and out the door.
Race watched him go, shaking his head. This rich folks, he'd never understand them. He rolled over on his bed and buried his face in the pillow, ignoring his Uncle's calls to dinner and instead, falling fast asleep.