A "ping" sound was heard as small balls of hail hit the metal railing on the small boat. Made to accomadate as many people as possible, the boat had almost no protection. Fortunatly, it was a very short ride, only about fifteen minutes, to Battery Park.
"Look!" Holiday pointed, as the hail started to turn to rain.. "There's a newsie, he should know how to get to the other newsies."
The group of immigrants headed over to him, while he was very hopeful every one of them wanted a paper. "Penny a pape," he said, shoving his black hair out of his face.
"We don't have any American money," Ben apoligized for them.
"Do you know a newsie called Spot?" Holiday asked.
"Depends who'se askin'," The newsie replied, handing a paper to a young business man.
Lute sighed, hoping not all the newsies were so dodgy. "I'm Lute, this is my father, Ben. We met Spot on the ship from Ireland. He was working as a waiter."
"Spot? A waitah?" The newsie laughed and wiped some raindrops from his face. "Well, pleased ta meetcha Lute. The name's Bumlets." He turned back to Holiday. "An' what's your name?"
"You can call me Holiday," she replied with a grin. "So, you do know Spot?"
Bumlets shifted his small stack of wet papers from his left to right arm. "Yeah, I know him pretty good. Why d'ya need ta know?"
"I am Apocalypse...Espy for short. Spot told me to go see his newsies in Brooklyn when we got here. Can you take us there?"
"He told the rest of us to go to a lodging house in Manhatten. Actually, a girl, Slingshot, did," Lute said. "Do you know what she meant?"
Laughing, Bumlets replied, "A' coise I know what she meant! I live dere! I'll take ya dere, I t'ink I can sell da rest on da way up."
"And Brooklyn?" Espy asked hopefully.
"I ain't goin' ta Brooklyn, Graft is almost as bad as Spot was. But I'll tell ya how ta get dere. All ya gotta do is cross da bridge, and wheah da rest of us is goin' is awful close."
They set off towards uptown- the rain finally subsidign- Bumlets walking up South Street, just as Sling had suggested to Lute. On the way he sold the rest of his papers, mostly to business men on the way home from work. A very tiring three-quarters of an hour later, the Manhatten end of the Brooklyn Bridge appeared right in front of them. Across the street was City Hall, and a statue of Horace Greeley.
"Awright Espy, jist cross da bridge, take a right, and about a block down you'll prob'ly see some guys swimmin' or sittin' around playin' marbles. Ask foah Graft, say you'se a friend of Spot's. Dey'll take ya to him. Graft'll know wheah Spot is," Bumlets said. "Sorry I don't know, he was heah earlier, but I t'ink he wanted ta get back ta Brooklyn."
Apocalypse looked at the long bridge uneasily. "Well, maybe I will see you tomorrow," she told her friends.
"Good luck," Holiday said, nervous for her friend. "Are you sure she'll be safe, Bumlets?"
He nodded. "As long as ya say ya know Spot, nobody'll mess wit'cha."
Nodding, Apocalypse lifted her sack of belongings once again, and set off across the bridge. The others watched her for a moment, untill Bumlets cleared his throat.
"Our lodgin' house is dis way," Bumlets said quietly, "Only 'bout t'ree minutes from heah. Let's go."
"He was right when he said he couldn't eat," Sling remarked. The sounds of food not staying down came from the bathroom, where Jack and Mush were.
"I dunno what ta do ta help him anymoah," Spot said, laying down on an empty bunk. "He's just gettin' woise. He knows it an' we know it."
"So what're ya sayin'?" Sling asked, dreading the answer.
"I t'ink...I t'ink we need ta call in Preachah," Spot said quietly, standing up again. He slapped the foot hanging off of the top bunk. "Hey Blink! Wake up!"
Blink turned over, mumbling incoherantly as he pulled on his eyepatch. "What? Is Cowboy okay?"
Spot ignored the question. "D'ya know wheah Preachah is?"
Kid Blink's one eye widened. "Uhh...Friday night...he's prob'ly outside a' Rich's Bar, tryin' ta teach da newsies about the dangahs of alcohol."
Had the mood been lighter, Spot would have laughed, but he had only a hint of a smile on his face as he nodded. "T'anks. C'mon Sling, we gotta find him. Mush can stay wit' Jack while we'se out."
Sling and Spot left in a hurry, while only a few moments later, Bumlets led the group of immigrants into the front room of the Lodging House.
"Look!" Holiday pointed, as the hail started to turn to rain.. "There's a newsie, he should know how to get to the other newsies."
The group of immigrants headed over to him, while he was very hopeful every one of them wanted a paper. "Penny a pape," he said, shoving his black hair out of his face.
"We don't have any American money," Ben apoligized for them.
"Do you know a newsie called Spot?" Holiday asked.
"Depends who'se askin'," The newsie replied, handing a paper to a young business man.
Lute sighed, hoping not all the newsies were so dodgy. "I'm Lute, this is my father, Ben. We met Spot on the ship from Ireland. He was working as a waiter."
"Spot? A waitah?" The newsie laughed and wiped some raindrops from his face. "Well, pleased ta meetcha Lute. The name's Bumlets." He turned back to Holiday. "An' what's your name?"
"You can call me Holiday," she replied with a grin. "So, you do know Spot?"
Bumlets shifted his small stack of wet papers from his left to right arm. "Yeah, I know him pretty good. Why d'ya need ta know?"
"I am Apocalypse...Espy for short. Spot told me to go see his newsies in Brooklyn when we got here. Can you take us there?"
"He told the rest of us to go to a lodging house in Manhatten. Actually, a girl, Slingshot, did," Lute said. "Do you know what she meant?"
Laughing, Bumlets replied, "A' coise I know what she meant! I live dere! I'll take ya dere, I t'ink I can sell da rest on da way up."
"And Brooklyn?" Espy asked hopefully.
"I ain't goin' ta Brooklyn, Graft is almost as bad as Spot was. But I'll tell ya how ta get dere. All ya gotta do is cross da bridge, and wheah da rest of us is goin' is awful close."
They set off towards uptown- the rain finally subsidign- Bumlets walking up South Street, just as Sling had suggested to Lute. On the way he sold the rest of his papers, mostly to business men on the way home from work. A very tiring three-quarters of an hour later, the Manhatten end of the Brooklyn Bridge appeared right in front of them. Across the street was City Hall, and a statue of Horace Greeley.
"Awright Espy, jist cross da bridge, take a right, and about a block down you'll prob'ly see some guys swimmin' or sittin' around playin' marbles. Ask foah Graft, say you'se a friend of Spot's. Dey'll take ya to him. Graft'll know wheah Spot is," Bumlets said. "Sorry I don't know, he was heah earlier, but I t'ink he wanted ta get back ta Brooklyn."
Apocalypse looked at the long bridge uneasily. "Well, maybe I will see you tomorrow," she told her friends.
"Good luck," Holiday said, nervous for her friend. "Are you sure she'll be safe, Bumlets?"
He nodded. "As long as ya say ya know Spot, nobody'll mess wit'cha."
Nodding, Apocalypse lifted her sack of belongings once again, and set off across the bridge. The others watched her for a moment, untill Bumlets cleared his throat.
"Our lodgin' house is dis way," Bumlets said quietly, "Only 'bout t'ree minutes from heah. Let's go."
"He was right when he said he couldn't eat," Sling remarked. The sounds of food not staying down came from the bathroom, where Jack and Mush were.
"I dunno what ta do ta help him anymoah," Spot said, laying down on an empty bunk. "He's just gettin' woise. He knows it an' we know it."
"So what're ya sayin'?" Sling asked, dreading the answer.
"I t'ink...I t'ink we need ta call in Preachah," Spot said quietly, standing up again. He slapped the foot hanging off of the top bunk. "Hey Blink! Wake up!"
Blink turned over, mumbling incoherantly as he pulled on his eyepatch. "What? Is Cowboy okay?"
Spot ignored the question. "D'ya know wheah Preachah is?"
Kid Blink's one eye widened. "Uhh...Friday night...he's prob'ly outside a' Rich's Bar, tryin' ta teach da newsies about the dangahs of alcohol."
Had the mood been lighter, Spot would have laughed, but he had only a hint of a smile on his face as he nodded. "T'anks. C'mon Sling, we gotta find him. Mush can stay wit' Jack while we'se out."
Sling and Spot left in a hurry, while only a few moments later, Bumlets led the group of immigrants into the front room of the Lodging House.