Chapter Four
"Jack…"
Catharine's voice, accompanied by the soft beating of her knuckles on the other side of the door, was one of the few things Jack liked hearing in the morning at Bennett Boarding House, and often the only thing that could compel him to leave his bed. He let out a soft groan that vaguely resembled the words "I'se comin', Cate," as he threw off the blankets covering him. Jack rose from the bed in a deep stretch, eyes still slightly clouded by sleep. He had to be especially early for the meeting at the Dispatch this morning; Mr. Grayson's orders, of course. Few details about the meeting had been disclosed (including the topic, which still remained a mystery), only that it was mandatory for all employees to attend. As soon as he was dressed, Jack found himself splashing water on his face to wash away the fatigue and beginning to shave away his stubble in the empty bathroom. It seemed he was the first (and only) one up today. Secretly, he was thankful that he didn't have to rise this early every day. As much as he loved his job and the Santa Fe newsboys, he loved a good night's sleep even more.
Jack tied his familiar bandana around his neck as he stepped down the stairs, already smelling breakfast and hearing Catharine's good-natured humming. Catharine was such an early riser, it was incredible to him that she could get so little sleep but still be so very chipper.
"If you was a newsie, Cate," he told her as he entered the kitchen, "we'd be callin' youse Early Boid."
"I know newsies rise early too, Jack, and not just me," she smiled from the stove.
"Yeah, but we ain't ready, willin', and cheerful like youse. Dey used ta hafta drag us out kickin' an' screamin'…"
"…if you were awake enough to do either," she finished, rolling her eyes lightheartedly. "You sound like an old man when you talk about your newsie days sometimes, Jack."
Jack laughed. "Do I really?"
"Mm-hmm." Catharine ladled more batter onto the saucepan and paused. "Say, Jack," she began, nervously smoothing a free hand on her apron, "did you read your letter?"
"Yeah."
"How's Sarah doing?"
"She's real good…the boys sent me a note, too. On da back of all she said."
His mind traveled to the letter sitting on his bedstand, which he had tucked carefully back into its envelope before going to sleep that night. Last night he hadn't even realized the lengths David must have gone to to get those signatures; some of the newsies had left the Lodging House even before he had to go on to bigger and better jobs. Spot, for one, had become the manager for a young, somewhat successful fighter in the Brooklyn rings named Lawrence McCoy, better known to the others as Bumlets. Racetrack had gone on to be a jockey at Sheepshead Races, and, for once, he was winning competitions and giving those who bet on him better profits than the horses he had lost money on as a newsie. Dutchy worked in a bakery with Skittery; in fact, the two had managed to convince their employer to give the shop's day-old roles to the newsies each morning as breakfast, free of charge. As for the others, most of them were still around, though Kid Blink had been given a part in Medda's latest stage show as Bluebeard the Pirate and was considering pursuing a career in theater along with Mush, who had been successful in various supporting roles at Irving Hall. David was still balancing a dual life of student and newsie, still dancing around the issue of college, though Jack knew his father would make him choose his path soon…
"That's wonderful," she said as she flipped the half-cooked pancake with her spatula, interrupting Jack's thoughts. "Are they well?"
"Just great. An'…I'se got a question I'd like to ask, Cate."
"You know you can ask me anything," Catharine smiled, handing Jack a plate stacked with fresh pancakes. He took it gratefully and sat at the table.
"D'ya charge more dependin' on how many people are livin' in each room?"
"I stick to my set fee, you know that, Jack."
"I was just makin' sure, 'cause of Sarah an' all."
Catharine did her best to mask the disappointment in her voice with cheer as she asked, "Is she coming soon?"
"I'm hopin' she can come in the next month or so…Cate, youse gotta trust me when I says you'll love her. She's the sweetest goil, always smilin'."
"You've told me."
Jack had in fact spent many a night telling Catharine about Sarah and everything wonderful about her, so much that all Catharine needed to do was learn her favorite Revolutionary War general and then she'd know everything about the girl her tenant was so crazy about.
"Don't worry, I told her about you, too," added Jack when he heard the slight frustration in her voice. "You two'll get along great. Like sistahs, almost."
"I'm sure we will." Catharine managed to smile. "I hope she can come soon," she added. "The Boarding House is always happier when people are together. It's always what my father said."
Just as Jack had consumed many nights talking about his fiancée, Catharine had spent just as many telling Jack about her father, Mark Bennett. Mark had founded Bennett Boarding House with Catharine's mother just after they married, but Joanna Bennett passed away giving birth to their only child. As a result, Mark ran the house and raised his daughter with material simplicity but enough love and knowledge to make up for any loss. Throughout his life he kept close correspondence with his best friend and mentor, Lemuel Kloppman, who ran a boy's Lodging House in Manhattan and had encouraged Mark to establish a similar endeavor. Jack liked the fact that he, in a way, had ties to the Boarding House because of Kloppman; it made him feel like he indeed had a reason to belong in Santa Fe. He only wished that he had come earlier, right after the strike, so he could have met Mark Bennett, who passed away in early 1900 when Catharine was barely twenty. Since then Catharine ran the building on her own, following her father's path and living the only way she knew how. Jack admired her resolution and independence, though he had never had the chance or courage to tell her. Now, alone together in the kitchen, Jack found he had an opportunity.
"Listen, Cate," he initiated, setting down his silverware on his plate.
"Yes, Jack?"
"I was just thinkin', an', well…" He paused as he gazed at the clock hanging on the section of kitchen wall above the sink and let his resolve fail him. "I'se gonna be late fer woik." He rose from the table.
"Oh!" Catharine seemed surprised and possibly a little disappointed. "…I guess you do, with that meeting and all. And I've got to get ready for when the other tenants get up…have a good day, Jack."
"You too, Cate," he told her as he handed her his plate. Their hands touched briefly. Catharine colored a pale shade of pink but said nothing as Jack exited the kitchen, almost bumping into Amos Kincaid, one of the oldest boarders who usually had the earliest morning job of changing shifts at the sheriff's holding facilities.
"Are you jealous, Catie?" he asked Catharine kindly as he took Jack's seat at the table.
"Good morning to you too, Mr. Kincaid," she said in a singsong voice as she placed his breakfast in front of him. "You're a little late to breakfast this morning."
"Take a seat and answer my question, Catie."
"You know you're the only one I let call me that," Catharine told him as she sank into the seat next to his. "And if you were anyone else, we wouldn't be having this conversation."
"It's because I've known you since before you were born," observed Amos with a wink. "Are you jealous of the handsome boy and his pretty little fiancée?"
"I'm not jealous of the arrangement they have," she said firmly. "You know how I feel about marriage."
"But you are jealous of the girl, Catie, and what she means to him."
She paused and let out a sigh. "…you really do know me too well."
"There aren't many boarders that come around that are like him," Amos said gently.
Catharine smirked at his comment. "Are you saying that I like any young man who comes to stay here?"
"Of course not!" he laughed. "This one's different, though, isn't he?"
"Yes," she confirmed, "he is."
"And you wish he saw you as more than his friend and landlord?"
Catharine reddened in embarrassment. "How much of our conversation did you hear, Mr. Kincaid!?"
The old man smiled. "Just the things not said."
"What did I say?" Catharine had often heard Amos say that he had abnormally good hearing skills, but she never imagined he meant it like this.
"I heard you say you've got more than just a soft spot for him and wish he wasn't bringing that fiancée of his over from the city."
So, it seemed Amos really could hear beyond more than just words. "And what did Jack say…?"
"That he's crazy about his fiancée…you knew that, though. But he also admires you and the work you do."
Catharine smiled. "Does he?"
"I think everyone here does, Catie."
"You're sweet-talking me, Mr. Kincaid…"
"I only repeat what I hear."
"Or what you don't hear," Catharine added, trying not to laugh.
Amos smiled. "Right, Catie. Or what I don't hear."
--------------------------------------------------
Meanwhile, Jack had made his way through downtown Santa Fe and to the Dispatch, just as the other employees had, including a man entering behind Jack whom he recognized to be a reporter. In the lobby of the building, he tipped his cowboy hat to Mrs. Samson, who grudgingly pointed him and the reporter towards the conference room where the meeting was being held.
"Distributor?" asked the reporter, giving him a look-over. Jack nodded. "Thought so." When he noticed the glare Jack was giving him for his lofty tone of voice, he quickly supplemented, "I just haven't seen you around the building, that's all, so I guessed you worked outside the offices."
"Yeah, I'se da one associatin' with da newsies," said Jack. "Dat's whatcha really meant, isn't it?"
"You must be doing something right if they haven't run you out yet. Mr. Grayson's told me on more than once occasion that they're real terrors."
"Dey ain't bad if ya know where dey're comin' from."
"Is that so?" asked the reporter. Jack nodded. "Curious. I'd ask you more, but it looks like we've made it to the board room."
Jack watched him as he turned the doorknob. "Yeah…looks like we 'ave."
The "board room" at the Dispatch wasn't anything out of the ordinary; it was a room simply larger than the rest with plain white walls, one large, four-paned window, and a long table with about one and a half dozen chairs. Mr. Grayson's seat, of course, was at the head of the table, and on each side were his two most important assistant editors, Mr. Pope and Mr. Hanna, both men in their late forties. Jack sat closer to the opposite end, next to Eli Cartwright, who was wedged between him and his cousin Chuck. Around them were assorted writers, reporters, photographers, printers, and typists -- all people Jack did not recognize. He shifted almost uncomfortably in his seat as Mr. Grayson stood to take command.
"Thank you gentlemen, for attending," he began, "especially those of you who don't usually rise this early." His eyes traveled to the faces of a few men Jack guessed to be photographers before continuing. "We are here today to discuss a problem -- profits. They're down, and costs are up. Our sales aren't as good as they used to be, and as of late, we have been looking for a solution.
"At first, we considered salary cuts and layoffs." Grumbles and groans escaped the employees. Jack froze in fear, thinking of what he would do with a smaller salary or possibly no job at all. He wouldn't have the funds to bring Sarah to Santa Fe, let alone sustain himself and his home at Bennett Boarding House. He wouldn't even be able to afford a train ticket back to New York City; he'd be stuck on the streets. "But," Mr. Grayson quickly assured the fretful employees, "we promptly dismissed that proposal. Instead, we have come to a much more practical, economic solution, presented in two parts. First, to cope with diminished circulation, we will first cut back on the number of papers printed each day." Most of the men looked at each other and nodded in agreement, except the printers, but Mr. Grayson guaranteed them that salary cuts would only be minimal.
"What's the second, Mr. Grayson?" inquired a different reporter than the one Jack had walked in with, sitting across the table from Jack and four seats down from Mr. Hanna.
"The second concerns newsboy employment."
Eli nudged Jack anxiously. This meant it would affect their jobs, maybe even severely, depending on what Mr. Grayson said.
"What about it?" asked Chuck.
"As most of you know," Mr. Grayson told the collective of employees, "the newsboys in our employment aren't many, but they're troublesome. Nearly two months ago they were running out handfuls of distributors every week, something remedied by Mr. Kelly's employment, and we're very thankful towards him for keeping the boys under control." Jack let out a polite smile as Mr. Grayson gestured towards him and the other men peered to see him; inside he was still hit with worry for the newsboys and his own job. "As they are the voices that get the people of Santa Fe to buy our newspaper, we feel they are heavily at fault for our poor sales. At first, we considered eliminating newsboy employment altogether." Eli and Jack exchanged uneasy looks. "But," Mr. Grayson continued, "we realized that would be foolish. Instead, we are simply going to eliminate what has been costing us the most in profits -- sellbacks of unsold newspapers."
This couldn't be true, Jack thought. It couldn't work that way. Jack's mouth acted faster than his ability to arrange his thoughts and immediately told Mr. Grayson, "Ya can't do dat."
Mr. Grayson arched an eyebrow, almost as if he was surprised to see the boy from New York voice his opinion, the one who had practically gotten down on his knees and begged for his job. "Why is that?" he asked curiously.
"'Cause it ain't fair ta dem."
"Is that all you can argue?" asked Mr. Hanna.
"Mistah Grayson, sirs," Jack continued, quite obvious to him that these men didn't understand simple reason, "I know dese kids. I'se woiked with 'em for two months now. Dey're kids that gotta survive, with families ta support." Jack scanned his mind for an example. "Like two of 'em, twins, named Tex an' Mex. Their faddah left 'em, and dey support their mudder 'cause she can't woik. She don't even speak more than a couple woids of English. A lot of 'em are orphans shipped heah from the East, and dis is the only way dey can make ends meet."
"Those issues aren't our concern, Mr. Kelly," Mr. Pope spoke up. "We have profits to think of, and these sellbacks are costing us money."
"You're ruinin' lives fer pennies!"
"Pennies add up to dollars."
"Yer just like Joe," he accused. "All of youse."
"We can't help our decisions, Mr. Kelly. They're for the good of the newspaper," assessed Mr. Grayson yet again.
"I'll tell the newsies about it dis mornin', then," Jack challenged, "befoah dey buy their papes."
"You'll do no such thing. Mr. Cartwright will make sure of it."
"Which one of us?" asked Eli.
"Chuck," he replied, knowing Eli was sympathetic to Jack and the newsies.
"Be glad to." Chuck leered triumphantly at Jack. He had always hated these newsboys, especially abusive Keystone, and this was just the way to get revenge on them. They would never call him "Chucky" again after they learned this lesson the hardest way.
"Mistah Grayson…" Jack pleaded.
"The meeting is over," Grayson informed the communal sitting at the table, and added a special warning for Jack: "Watch your step in this matter, Mr. Kelly, we are watching you."
--------------------------------------------------
"I can't believe dis," Jack groaned, holding his forehead in his hands as his elbows rested on the countertop. The Santa Fe newsies were making their way through the gate, Keystone in the lead like always, and Jack could do nothing to save them from any mistake they might make on this day.
"Believe it, Jack," said Eli with a sigh as he untied a stack of newspapers.
"I don't understand why you two are upset!" exclaimed Chuck with abnormal glee in his voice. "These kids are finally getting what they deserve!"
"Dey don't deserve nothin' like dat!" Jack snapped at him, lifting his head.
"Who don't deserve nothing?" asked Trusty.
The three men paused. They hadn't even seen the boys approach the main counter.
"Nothing deserves nothing." Riddle's voice floated to the front, still holding its deliberately mysterious tone.
"Morning, Cowboy!" Jack could hear Outlaw's voice from the middle of the group. He had allowed the boys to call him by his newsie nickname two weeks after he had began his job, when they dragged it out of him during a story he was telling, about one of the first times he had soaked the Delancey brothers.
"So, Kelly," said Keystone in his usual casual manner, leaning over onto the counter, "whatcha have for us today?"
Chuck slammed a newspaper onto the counter in front of Keystone. It already seemed like a usual day at the Dispatch…almost.
"Thanks, Chucky," he grinned as he looked over the paper. "Hn…pretty good headline today…"
"What's it say, Key?" asked Hound.
"'Chicago Corpse Found to be Mayor's Mistress'," Keystone told him.
"Thank God for continental news, huh?" grinned Outlaw, who had fought his way up to the front. Behind him, other boys declared their agreement in scattered voices.
"I'll take a hundred ten today," said Keystone, plunking the coins on the counter.
"That's more than usual, Key," replied Jack, his heart pounding in his ears. "Maybe you should just stay with your usual number…" If he'd had a conscience, would Weasel have felt this way when he followed Pulitzer's orders back in 1899?
From behind, Chuck 'accidentally' elbowed him in the side.
"Watch yourself, Jack, or else Mr. Grayson will hear about this," he hissed into Jack's ear.
"You okay, Kelly?" asked Keystone, noticing the peculiar look he had on his face.
"F-fine," Jack managed to mutter.
"A hundred and ten papers," said Chuck with a grin, letting the stack hit the counter with a thud. "Have a good day, Keystone."
"Hope it didn't hurt counting that high, Chucky," Keystone commented as he took his papers under one arm. The boys laughed as Chuck glowered.
"The wind has been telling me things," said Riddle as he approached the counter, his hair hiding any kind of emotion that might have been in his eyes. He idly dropped two quarters onto the wood.
"You guys are really goin' a lit'l ovahboard wit yer buyin' today, aintcha?" asked Jack as Riddle took his papers away.
"Nah," dismissed Topper as he gave thirty cents to Jack. "I mean, if sales are bad, it's not like we can't just go and sell them back later."
Chuck had to turn around to keep the newsboys from seeing him snicker. From the cry of pain he let out, though, Jack realized that Eli had taken an opportunity to kick him.
"What's that all about?" asked Outlaw while gathering up his papers.
"Just Chuck bein' an idiot," Jack told him. "Nothin' unusual."
"That's true," Outlaw laughed, stepping aside for Tex and Mex.
"We're early today," declared Mex.
"Aren't you proud of us?" continued Tex.
Jack couldn't help but grin at the twins and their constant energy. "Real proud, boys."
"You guys have a good headline today," Chuck encouraged. "You'll probably sell a lot of papers." Jack whipped his head around and glared at Chuck, who merely shrugged.
"Really, Chuck?" asked Tex. "Since when should we believe you?"
"Since Keystone bought over a hundred."
"Then count us seventy without taking off your shoes," requested Mex, holding up the coins.
Chuck said nothing, only counted out the papers and grinned. Tex and Mex each grabbed half of their load and waved to the three men behind the counter.
"And they're off!" exclaimed Mex, running down the ramp and pulling his brother by the wrist.
"See ya, líder audaz!" shouted Tex.
"When Tex and Mex are out," said Keystone with a smirk, "you know you're running late that day."
"Until the sun gets tired of looking at us, we bid you farewell," Riddle told Jack.
"He means see ya at sellbacks, Jack," corrected Topper, rolling his eyes.
"Yeah…" Jack said quietly as the remaining boys headed down the ramp, through the gate, and into the streets. "See ya at sellbacks."
--------------------------------------------------
Mid-afternoon, Jack spotted the first few newsies coming back from the day's selling…with papers under their arms. Damn. He had been hoping they would make full sales today. Inside, he was now feeling even sicker than before, knowing what was next.
"Can I take a break, Chuck?" he asked.
Chuck laughed. "And miss the best part? Of course not!"
"I have to agree with Jack; this really isn't fair," said Eli.
"Who ever said this had to be fair?"
"The woikin' boys of New Yawk," mumbled Jack, his eyes on the newsies as they made their way through the gates.
"What was that?" asked Chuck.
"Nothin', Chuck…just thinkin' 'bout when I was a newsie."
"I still don't understand why you liked selling papers so much."
"Best yeahs of me life," he murmured.
"Looking at those boys, sometimes I think I'd like to be a newsie," said Eli. "Just not today," he added. Jack nodded.
"It ain't fair dat dey're makin' a few extra cents by screwin' over some teenage boys."
"Like I said, Jack," repeated Chuck, carefully watching the boys as they came up the ramp, "no one ever said it had to be fair."
Like every other day, Keystone was the first to do sellbacks. He held up a wad of papers for Jack to see.
"Selling sucked today," he told Jack. "Too many papers, not enough people to buy them. Hell, Topper alone sold three to Miss Cate just to get rid of 'em. I need twenty-one cents back today if I'm going to break even."
Jack swallowed. "Well, Key…dere's a problem today."
"What kind of problem?" asked Keystone, arching an eyebrow.
"Y'see --"
"No more selling back your papers," Chuck was all too happy to inform the boys.
The boys exploded into an outbreak of outraged cries. Jack could hear Tex and Mex speaking feverishly to each other in Spanish but couldn't understand a word.
"That true!?" Keystone demanded.
"Mr. Grayson declared it himself this morning," answered Chuck. "Early meeting."
"Then you guys knew about this when we bought out papers this morning?"
The boys looked at Jack for a reply, hopefully a rebuff.
"Yeah," he admitted after a pause. "I knew. But if I told you guys, I'd get fiahed. Youse all understand, doncha?"
Keystone flung his remaining newspapers at Jack angrily. Jack had to duck to avoid the flurry of ink and paper; it sailed behind him to where neat bundles of unsold newspapers were wrapped in twine, waiting to be cut free and sold.
"This is bull, Kelly!" he yelled.
"They can't do that to us!" came Topper's voice from the back.
"They can do whatever they want," observed Outlaw. "It's their paper."
For a brief moment, Jack mistook Outlaw's voice for that of Racetrack's.
"We'll starve if we don't get the money from selling out papers back!" argued Smalls.
"Oh, poor you," Chuck laughed from his chair. Eli nudged him fiercely. "They earned it, Eli!" Chuck promptly moved from his seat to a new one when Pulley, Topper, and Smalls all chucked their remaining papers in his direction. "HEY!"
"You've got to do something, Cowboy!" pleaded Spinner. "Just go to Mr. Grayson and tell him that they have to change it or something!"
"I can't do anythin' about it!" Jack told them all. "It's outta my hands."
"Then we'll find a solution," Keystone informed him. The other boys nodded in agreement behind him.
Jack arched an eyebrow. "How d'ya expect ta do dat, Key?"
"Easy," he said, looking behind him to his boys, almost as if for assurance, before proclaiming it to Jack:
"We strike."