Disclaimer (of course): If the newsies were really mine, would I really have to write about them this way?
Sorry the chapter is so long … 11 hours straight with no one swimming in the pool … AND I got paid for every single one of them.
Just One (New York, New York)
TWO
Her conscience was open before her eyes. Through her lids reddened with stress and confusion and anger, she could see the yellow half-glow of sunlight.
Please, let it be over, let it be done, she thought, pleading. Let it be normal again …
And she fired open both of her eyes and smothered an instant horrified scream.
The hat lay next to her where she had dropped it last night on the goosefeather mattress.
"Ah, God no," she groaned and the familiar dread settled like a stone in her stomach.
But it had continued, this state of dreaming, and terrified as she was, she now recognised that even in her fear there were certain things to be done. What is the saying, that if one dies in his dreams, then he has died in his life too? The sun was only half risen, and if she were to steal some breakfast from the Inn and be on time to meet Mush as she had said, she would need some decent clothing.
Brushing her long blonde hair, she tied it back and fruitlessly tried to smooth some wrinkles from her red shirt. Red lent color to her already-tanned skin but for some reason it did not seem appropriate here, not in this prim and proper place that was now residence to her, if only for the time being. Something a little more muted, more naturally pastel … and shoes too, these seemed so far removed from normality that it was laughable. Oh, yes, and the pants did not become her … even though her taste was not in skirts and dresses, it seemed that they were about the only proper covering for her long legs.
She slipped from the door and, locking it, left for the street below. A cart of fresh bread and a little fruit was parked in the lobby downstairs, awaiting passing guests – from this she stole most of the bread and most of the fruit, too, and tied it neatly into a cloth napkin that she carried discretely at her side. With a silent thought of gratitude and a quick sly smile she was off.
At such an early hour the streets were not so crowded as they had been yesterday. For that she was glad, knowing now how odd she looked in this city of decidedly few choices in clothing color. At least she was wearing some, she thought wickedly.
She waited to watch the crowd and see where they seemed to go for their clothing needs. It was almost all women, she noted, who went through the doors of Westerly's Dry Goods Shoppe, and the thought comforted her, oddly, as she followed them.
"I say, can I help you?" asked a kindly-looking woman, peering at her over the tops of tiny spectacles.
She nodded, and smiled.
An hour later she walked from the shop – and straight into Mush.
"Good morning to yous, Miss," he greeted with a friendly bow, having removed his hat almost instantly. "You look different." But he said it with an amiable smile.
Her own smile was easy and genuine. "Do you like it?" she asked as she spun around slowly, holding out her arms, displaying the blue blouse and long gray skirt, and a wide-brimmed straw hat to top it off.
"It looks good," he said sincerely, then smiled in relief. "I'se was so confused yesterday, seein' that clothin' ons a woman." His face, she thought, was genuinely perplexed.
"I've brought you breakfast." she told him, drawing forth the folded napkin of food. He took it gratefully and nibbled thoughtfully on a piece of bread.
"Saved ya'a pape," he held it out to her. "Nah, don't ya worry about payin'. Gave me more thans enough yesterday, so's this'uns on me."
"Of course it isn't," she snapped, pulling a nickel from her new purse of wicker (she had stuffed the old things in a larger woven bag). "Take this. For helping me yesterday, if not for the damned paper."
He looked momentarily shocked, then frightened, then broke out into the first real hearty laughter she had heard from him. "I never hoid talk likes that froms a goil!"
"Then you haven't heard too many real girls," she said and he blushed crimson. But he refused to take the money, too polite to lighten her purse … and perhaps too proud to accept the charity – especially from a girl.
"S'not mine fer dah takins', Miss." He told her gallantly, head to the side in what added a delightful inquisitiveness to his look.
"Some other day, then," she warned darkly as she slipped it away again. He merely bowed his head his head as if she were the one being stupid now, and he was the forgiving friend ready to overlook it.
But now they had reached a roadblock, she realised, in that with the exception of meeting with him, she hadn't planned the day at all. Mush seemed to sense this, however, and did his best to come with a solution. It was not what she would consider earth-shattering, but his voice sounded half hopeful and half excited.
"I'll shows yah tah dah uddah guys," he said, and his dark eyes shone like that of a three-year-old. "So's yous can have some friends til yous aunt shows up. Dey's real nice, like. Dey's'll help yah out if somethin' happens tah yah."
"I'd really rather not," she began, but he was already starting away, the food in his hand. She had no choice but to follow.
She called out to him as they stormed through the gathering crowds, "I would really prefer not to –"
"Ah, calm down," he said and laughed at his own words. "Dey's can protect yah, Miss. Dey's knows dah whole city, and dey's always ready tah lend a hand ta'a friend in trouble."
She followed. A valuable connection, came the thought. She shook it from her head. A whole lotta' nonsense, as Mush would say. And despite herself, and her very best efforts to look angry, she smiled.
"See, dat's dah spirit," he said. "Yous scare me when yous angry."
That really struck a chord … he was giant and clumsy and dull-witted, but he had a heart of gold, it seemed. A built-in vulnerability and a belief that every human was essentially good in nature. The gentle giant, she thought and her smile softened again. Wouldn't hurt a fly. Probably gets hurt more than he hurts others.
And his friends were probably all the same, all resembling each other so much that one was as good as the next, but Mush was just as likely to be so kind and trusting and naïve to get rid of them … then she felt sorry for him …
"Heya, Mush," said a voice in a smothering New York accent.
"Heya, Race, how's dah day goin'?" Mush replied. She looked up to see a scrappy Italian charmer with an armload of papers.
"Whacha gots dere, Mushy?" the boy asked. His short black hair was oiled back and divided by a barely recognisable part down the center and his lips were now tightly pursed around a smoking cigar. Black eyes studied her, but they were not unfriendly.
"Dis is Jill, Race. Jill, meet Racetrack," he introduced, standing slightly behind her. For an instant she wondered if she was supposed to drop a curtsy.
But Racetrack held out his dirty hand, his cigar in the other, papers now on the ground. "Heya, kid, yah been payin' any attention tah dah tips from dah track?" His voice was a mile a minute.
She smiled. "No, sorry. But if I hear one I'll be sure to pass it on."
"I like 'er already, Mushy," the boy said and nudged Mush with an elbow, the cigar back between his lips. "I can show yous a neat trick wid me cards –"
"This is our very own Racetrack Higgins," Mush intervened, using the boy's surname and Racetrack bowed.
"Dah one an' dah only," the Italian corrected. Jill liked the way he stuck his neck boldly forward, his confident, sly way of speaking. Racetrack lazily issued a few puffs of smoke from the cigar. Pulling his hat back on, he picked up his papers and threw them onto his little shoulder. "Sorry, gots to finish my sellin'," he apologised. Mush laughed.
"Not a good mornin', then?"
Racetrack bristled. "Can't a guy get some readin' done before 'e's gotta woik? And tah tink I puts up wid yous!" He turned to Jill and reclined his head the slightest bit. "If you'll 'scuse me, I gots tah go and finish a'fore me friend 'ere loses 'imself. I will see yous again?"
And although Mush tried to be discrete and not let her see as he nodded his head, he bid farewell to Racetrack before steering her off again.
"Yous gottah 'scuse Race, he still tinks one day he's gonna hit it big at dah track … gambles wid everythin' he's got, and den some."
"It's an odd name, I will say that for him."
"Nah, his real name's Antony, 'cept no one calls 'im dah no more on accounta he's always at dah track, see?"
"Ever win anything?"
"Shoah, 'cept then he goes an' loses it all ovah again. Knows his stuff, Race does, but it alls dah worse off for it."
"I see," she replied. She liked Racetrack already … his personality just made her feel comfortable around him immediately. Only a few people had that talent, and obviously he was one of them. And Mush, for the most part. "Are they all like that?"
"Alls who?"
"All of your friends."
"Oh, no," Mush said and for a moment he looked scandalised. "Oh, no, dey ain't nothin' like to Race. Yous'll see … we's gots Jack, yous could say he's our leader, and Davey, and Blink, and Spot … jus' wait till yous meets Spot. Ever hoid'da him?"
She shook her head. "Can't say that I have. What's so different about Spot?"
"Leader 'a Brooklyn, he is. Fearsome as any wild creature. Doesn't do nothin' he doesn't wanna do, and says exactly what he means, alla dah time. He's one tah make yous scared fer yah safety, Spot is."
Alright … she was definitely not looking forward in any way to meeting this hulking beast, this boss of all others. Well, one thing was for certain – Spot would not control her, and she would not scurry off to do his will each and every time he opened his mouth. He would just have to learn to take some flak from a woman.
"But is this Spot very dangerous?" she suddenly asked. Being fearsome was one thing, she realised, but being downright dangerous was another story entirely.
Mush laughed. "Spot Conlon scares me, alright, but we's all on good terms. He ain't never hurt us, if that's what yous means. Don' tink he'd ever lay a hand on us, so long's we's gives him his respect and keeps our proper distance."
She considered. "And your leader, is he fearsome?"
His face softened so much that even without words, the answer was obvious. "Jack's like me broddah. Nah, he ain't never made me afraid … made me angry once, when he switched sides durin' the strike, but we's all made mistakes." His words were affectionate but the look in his eyes said much more. That wounded him very deeply, she realised as she saw the hurt and the betrayal. But he really honestly has forgiven Jack, he still loves him more than ever.
It's that belief in the essential goodness of human nature.
Ah, how cruel to be so naïve …
"He switched sides?"
"Not by his ownself, a 'course, but he came back so's dere ain't much tah talk about." he finished up. Walking along, he seemed to know every cobblestone of every street, all without effort. He really has lived here as long as he says he has … but given what we know of each other, what reason would he have to lie to me?
"Are there lots of newsboys like you?" she asked, looking at him. For a moment he turned back to her and looked her right in the eye.
"Nah, me, I'se one of a kind." he said contentedly and his voice was pitched just a little lower with its softness, the sound feeling much like being rubbed with the grit of worn sandpaper. "But yeah, dah city's filled wid newsies from everywhere, if dat's whacha mean. Me, now, I'se a Manhattan boy, but Spot Conlon, fer example, he's born an' bred Brooklyn. But since the Strike we's all on good terms wid one'nother, so's there's no reason for us tah worry. Dere's enough business fer us all."
"Still a hard living, though?"
"Boy, ain't yous full'a questions!" Mush laughed. Then he grew serious and replied, "I don't tink dere ain't no easy jobs in dis city, no easy livin's, 'cept fer dah big shots, like dah mayhah. If we's weren't out on dah streets, we's'd be in dah mills, and dat ain't no bettah."
She guiltily felt the weight of the change in her purse … but what would they think of coins minted two-hundred-some years in the future? How exactly would she explain that? Aware of the fact that she had already given Mush a nickel, she then remembered how fast she had paid the innkeeper and the shoppe owner … she had all but thrown the money at them and run away. They would think it was counterfeit, and then she would really be at a loss.
"We's begs a little, and sometimes we's goes hungry, but if dere weren't no newsies in dah city, why den, no one would have dah news! Joe Pulitzer might tell had city how to live, how to vote, and whatevah else, but if his message ain't delivahed, den what good's it in dah foirst place?"
She smiled … alright, so maybe the dull-witted appearance was wrong. Maybe there really was more to him then met the eye. Or maybe this was just a moment of temporary genius … but again, maybe not.
"Jack must have said as much during the Strike," she tested.
"Yeah, 'cept he was louder and not so's right tah dah point," Mush agreed. "Likes tah draw tings out, Jack does. Made Mr. Pulitzer afraid, our Jack did."
"I've read about how powerful Mr. Pulitzer was," she told him, hurrying to catch up as his strides lengthened. "You boys brought him to his knees. You must have been very proud."
"Oh, yes Ma'am we's was. Made us selves feel empowered, made us selves feel very important." his voice was firm as he talked. The pride was obvious. "We's was the base a'da food chain, and if our soirvoices dried up, why den, so would dah rest a'da chain! Oh, look now, Miss, here's our very own Jack Kelly and Kid Blink!"
There were two boys in front of them, conversing heatedly in low voices. The taller one with the red bandana around his neck kept gesturing to a rolled paper in his hand.
Mush cleared his throat. They stopped arguing immediately.
"Heya, boys," he called and they straightened up.
"Heya, Mushy," returned the boy with dirty blonde hair and a worn eyepatch. His grin, she thought, was a little malicious.
The other simply nodded, then, after a thoughtful silence, said, "Heya, Mushy, good tah see yah."
"Yous boys, dis is Jill. She's new tah dah city. We's gots tah show 'ah tah New York!"
"Been here long?" So this is the famous Jack Kelly. She could tell why he was the leader, without having to hear another word from him.
He was tall and imposing, strongly built and very handsome. While his face was not dispassionate, and not unconcerned, it was dettached … he seemed to be on a higher level of thinking, a higher plane of mortality.
"No, just arrived yesterday," she answered, choking down the instant intimidation she felt. She forced herself to meet his eyes.
"Well, dat's real nice," he nodded, and his voice was soft. It was as if every word was a regretful farewell. She wondered what he was thinking.
"Where yah stayin'?" asked the boy in the eyepatch.
"I rented a place down on the harbour," she said and the boy shot a furious glance at Mush. "Just until my aunt arrives from London."
"Hoity-toity, eh?" the boy sniggered and Jack instantly thumped him hard on the back of the head with the rolled newspaper.
"No, not hoity-toity," she forced herself to say firmly, confidently, and she raised her eyes to his single good one. "Don't presume to know."
"Dat's right, Blink," Jack Kelly said scornfully. "Be nice tah dah lady. No wonder whys yous don't get any."
Blink rubbed the back of his head. "Sorry, Miss. So where yah from, Miss?"
"Pittsburgh," she answered clearly. If she faced him down, he would never have the right to intimidate her again. This one, she said to herself, I'm not so sure I like.
"Dat's pretty far," he said and his voice was respectful now. Jack Kelly's word was obviously as good as law. "Got a nice place back dere?"
"Nice enough." she said truthfully. He was still rubbing the back of his head. For Christ's sake, she swore at him, paper doesn't hurt.
"So what're yous doin' in New York?" Jack asked, and it wasn't that her words didn't interest him, he just seemed a little more distant.
This one's a dreamer, she thought suddenly.
Searching for an excuse that would be reasonable, she said at last, "It's just until my father gets back on his feet."
"What, somebody soak 'im?" Blink asked.
"He's just lost his job," she said, then fell to silence. She did not really want to have to say more.
"Oh," Blink said and lowered his eye. "Listen, Miss, sorry about earlier –"
Her heart warmed to him at his words. How had she ever been angry with him? "No, it's alright –"
"This doesn't happen often," Jack laughed and it took Jill a minute to recognise that he had a sense of humour. She smiled – it was an unexpected surprise. "Let him apologise so's we's can all remember such an extraordinary day."
Blink turned crimson and started to mouth an angry word at Jack, then stopped. "S'ere anythin' I'se can help yah wid, Miss?"
A kind offer. "No, but thank you." Blink's temper seemed much like her own, very short and very violent. Was he the trouble-maker of the group?
"So's where yah headed now, Mushy?" Jack asked.
Mush shrugged. "I'se been lookin' fer dah boys, so's Jill here won' be so's alone in dah city."
"Dat's right, Jill," Jack said, and she was pleasantly surprised that he used her name. But then again, he seemed to be on a much more complicated lever than the rest of them. "If yous ever need any help, yous come tah us, and we's'll do whatevah yous needs. I ain't gonna tell yah the city ain't safe, but it ain't no pushovah either. Yous gotta be careful, alright?"
She should have felt faintly annoyed, as she always did when people tried to pretend she was a little girl, but she sensed the sincerity of Jack's offer and understood him to actually be truly concerned. It isn't his fault he has no dealings with competent women, she thought to herself. He's being kind.
"Thanks, Jack," she said and surprised herself with the genuine warmth and gratitude in her voice. "I will."
"Yah seen dah Lodgin' House yet?"
"Not yet –"
"Mushy here'll take yah, and yous take note where it is. Anyone gives yah'a problem, you come tah us. Right, boys?"
And as she looked at Blink nodding in agreement, she thought that she did not want to be the one who turned that unnaturally bright look in his eye sour.
"Sorry it ain't no bettah," Mush said, stabbing at the overcooked vegetable on his plate.
"It's fine," she answered. True, it was not the best, but she had not eaten in … how long? Hunger.
A sign that the dream was more of a reality.
"Sometimes dah boys'll all comes here and sit and talk." he said, as if remembering sweet times. "So's yous alright wid the boys you seen today?"
"To be honest, I expected a bunch of dundering idiots whose size would well exceed their brains. I did like them." she admitted, at ease with the boy across the table from her. "They were very different than I thought they'd be."
"And yous just met tree'a dem," he announced proudly. She would have thought that the other boys were gold, and he the treasure hunter. Even when he talked about the Strike, he never seemed so proud as when he talked about or was with his friends.
She looked into those chocolate eyes.
Heart of gold.
He laughed at the release of tension and put his thick arms on the table. He seemed glad for the company, and she was just as grateful.
"So dah yous like New York?"
She could not hide a smile of true adoration, and she shyly lowered her eyes. "I've only been here two days, and I am a part of it already. I've never seen another place like it." It was painfully honest.
"Dat's why I'se nevah left. Nevah found it in my heart, I haven't, tah leave. And I'se gots dah boys, too." The smile he gave could have broken her heart. "Yah know, I ain't nevah had anyone but dah boys. Dey's always been I'se I evah had."
"No family?" Her careful voice was gentle and caring.
His smile faltered. "I ain't nevah had no family, 'cept dah boys. Dey's all I can remember, Jill."
The sound of her name from his lips shocked her. Softly she asked, "Have you lived with them your entire life?"
"Oh, no, till I met dem alls I had was myself, an' dat ain't too helpful in a big city like New York." From him, with his giant quivering brown eyes, the truth sounded pitiful. She was sorry instantly, and it felt as if her heart stopped beating in her chest.
"It's good then," she said with a gentle smile, "that you have such good friends."
"Dah best," he told her, and it seemed to Jill that she had never heard a voice so loving.
She herself had a family, two married parents and a younger sister, but her real value in life, like Mush, was her friends. A priceless love, a treasure better than gold or ivory.
"Stills gots me street smarts, dough." he pointed to his head. "All dere, all ready fer dah recallin'."
Street smarts. Obviously he was an orphan, then, without doubt.
He smile shyly again. "Sorry dis ain't no bettah."
Although she asked to pay for the meal, he refused and slapped his change down on the tabletop. It was probably the day's wages, she knew, and a guilty feeling swam around in her stomach. But he was proud, and fiercely independent, and she would not wound that, now would she humble those feelings. He was a true gentleman in every sense of the word. It is nice to be treated, she thought firmly, like a lady.
"I guess yah gots tings yah wanna do before yer aunt gets here," he said, chewing on the last remnants of his supper. "Tanks fer such a good day, Jill."
"Ah, Mush, you were the one who showed me around. And treated me to dinner. The thanks belongs to you."
A rosy shade bloomed magnificently in his cheeks. When they were flushed with high color, he looked even younger than he really was. The idea struck her, and she wondered.
"Mush, how old are you?"
"Me? Well, let's sees … seventeen or dereabouts. Can't nevah be to shoah. But dat's what I'se tinks. I can reckon it up on me fingers." A suspicious look fell over him. "How old are you?"
"Seventeen. No lies, Mister," she said and laughed.
He laughed too. "Why, yous gots a sly sense'a humour. Yah shoah don' look like it."
"Maybe that's why it's funny then." she said coyly. He smiled, and she thought, He has a nice smile.
"Thanks again, Mush." she told him sincerely.
"And yous too, Jill," he said, and after a moment of wearing a fumbling look, he reached out a giant hand. It was warm and friendly, and she was sorry to let it go.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then," she said, standing to go.
He grinned mischievously. "Carryin' dah banner!"
"Mushy run off tah dah Lodgin' House, den?" said a voice coated with the fast sly talk of New York.
She turned around quickly. There was a figure sitting on the bench, a paper raised in front of him. As it lowered, she saw dark greasy hair and a playfully malicious grin.
"Mr. Higgins!" she exclaimed in obvious relief. Without Mush, her feeling of safety had disappeared.
"It's Racetrack, dah one an' dah only –"
"So you've told me." she interjected hurridly.
"My apologies den, Miss," he bowed his head a little and then asked again, "So's Mushy's gone?"
"For now, yes. Well, you can't expect me to tag along behind him all day!" she shot irritably. It was oven-hot, and her thick, extraordinarily heavy new clothing was beginning to itch miserably. She tugged at the collar of her blouse and unbuttoned the first few buttons. "This stuff, these damned clothes –"
"I'se can help yah outtah dem," Racetrack's grin was still deliciously malicious. She grinned back. Now here was a wonderfully hot-blooded boy, a true specimen of the male species.
"You only wish you could," she said with her grin never fading.
"Ah, dat'll be Mushy's job," he said regretfully.
"That's no one's job but my own," she returned, more serious now, in a subtle warning.
"'Scuse me, Miss," he apologised. "Maybe I'se bein' too bold wicha."
"No, no, by all means," she scratched at the collar again. "It's all in good fun."
"Pittsburgh shoah must be a diffen' place den New York," he shook his head disbelievingly. "Any proper lady'd be scandahlised if I talked dat way tah dem."
"Then I'm proud not to call myself a proper lady," she said, clenching her teeth as she tugged again at the collar. She had never imagined the outfit would be so uncomfortable. I was, she thought irritably, dead wrong. And I'll have to buy another one for tomorrow.
It was a genuinely surprised smile that he gave her. "Why, den, yous sayin' yous a man? 'Cos dat's a right propah shame if dat's da case."
Racetrack's sense of humour was direct even when it alluded to certain points. This is the joker, the gambler; Mush is the shy one, the optimistic, shining-eyed child; Blink is the volatile fighter; Jack is the dreamer.
"No, I've just got the occasional manners of one," she answered honestly. "Sorry if I'se bein' too bold wicha."
He laughed, a wonderfully easy sound that she immediately loved. "I'se can talk tah yah like I'se can talk tah dah boys. Why, what a diffen' kind'a lady yous are!"
"I hope it's a good kind of different." She dropped down on the bench beside him. He had respectfully removed his hat long ago.
"So's you's palin' around wichim, wid Mush, dat is tah say?" he asked, opening conversation.
"He says he isn't one to leave a person stranded." She shrugged. "I've been to New York before, once for a few days. This is new to me, and if he hadn't helped me, I'd still be standing in New Irving Hall, waiting for someone to say a familiar word."
"Yeah, well, Mushy's dah big soft one, the hoirt of gold," Race said. "Alla dah rest a'dah boys ain't kids no more, 'cept for Mushy cause he can still get away wid it."
"Why him but not the rest of you?"
"Dat boy's phenomenal. I dunno, dere's just sumptin' tah 'im dat dah rest a'dah boys don' have. He's still dah kid a'dah group, yah know? Gets hurt real easy, see?"
"Who's hurt him?"
"Well, you sees, Jacky kinda sold us out durin' dah Strike … an' don' get me wrong or nuthin', cause I love Jack, but when'e went scab on us, I tink'e kinda broke Mushy's belief in dah goodness a'dah human heart." He put his hand on his chest and even through his sarchasm he sounded sympathetic and a little sorrowful. "An' den, when Jack came back tah'ar side, I tink Mushy was dah on'y one tah wipe dah slate clean. Don' get me wrong, we's still love Jack, alla us, an' we's still follow Jack, but it's hard not tah remembah what'e did tah us. But I'se borin' yah wid stories, ain't I?"
"Does it look like I'm in a hurry to be someplace?" she asked him. "Unless you need to leave …?"
"Sold all'dah papes I'se can sell taday," he said sadly. "Jack Kelly I ain't. An' I don' gots no money tah take tah dah track. Sad day fer us alls."
Her stomach squirmed again, and the weight of her purse seemed very heavy on her shoulder. But the coins, the coins … minted so far in the future, what would he say if he saw?
He would laugh because I'm dressed up so proper and I speak so cleanly and all along I've paid my way with counterfeit change the way the criminals do … I am not who I say I am, just a lowly street rat pretending to be great.
Have I, then, accepted that this is real?
And for the second time, she deeply considered that indeed this was a reality.
Not a dream.
No, things like this don't happen.
Racetrack had produced another cigar and lit it in one fluid motion. "Yah swear, yah joke, yah smoke too?"
"No, but I could try," she laughed. "No, thanks, though."
"Don' mind if I do, den?" he asked, already exhaling a long puff of smoke.
"No, no, doesn't bother me." she dismissed the question. "I'm used to it."
"What, sittin' around wicha bunch'a smokin' guys?"
"Yeah, actually." She grinned at the second surprised look on his face. Then he shook his head and spoke.
"So's what's new wichyou, kid?"
"Kid?" She smiled in spite of herself. "Nothing really. Just on my way back to my apartment."
"What brings yah tah New York?"
"Here to see my aunt. She's coming over from London."
"She dyin' or sumptin' dat yah gottah see 'ah?"
She could not help but to smile around Racetrack and the blatantness that so defined his personality. "No, no, she's going to take care of me until my father gets things straight again."
"Got hurt?"
"No, and no one soaked him either, if that's what you were thinking." She smiled wryly. "Lost his job, and my family is struggling a bit."
"Ah, I see," Racetrack said. There was no sarchasm and no mockery in his voice this time, only seriousness. He sighed and seemed to exhale the words, "So's yah's livin' in New York." It wasn't a question, just a simple statement.
"For the time, yes." At least it wasn't a total lie. They were all struggling, yes, and the cashed paycheck which she carried even now was to go straight home to help out with some growing bills. But they had never arrived, no, and the trip to the museum had wrought some extraordinary changes for her.
No, this is not real.
"Ah, New York ain't no bad livin'. 'Nough room fer us all, an' plen'y 'a stuff tah do when dah day's toirnin' ovah. Yah said yous was in Irvin' Hall? Did yous see Medda?"
"No …" she said uncertainly. Those first few moments of realisation were blurred with confusion. "I think … I think I went in when – when the show was over."
"Ah, well, we's gots tah get yah tah see a vaudeville show. Assumin' yer aunt don' mind yah hangin' around wicha bunch'a dirty newsies such as ourselves, a'course." His glance was sly again.
"There are worse people with whom I could be hanging around." She studied his black eyes for a moment. "She won't have a problem with it."
But what about when she never shows up?
"So whacha doin' taday?" he asked, changing the subject.
"Getting fitted for a new set of this stuff," she said, tugging again at her collar, once more aware or how itchy and uncomfortable it had become in the heat, now that the talk had turned back to such things. It was not a gladdening topic.
"Wish I'se could get some new stuff like dat," he scratched his neck. "I been livin' in dah same stuff fer dah longest time. Can't remembah when I'se was fitted last."
"But you had to have grown," she said, looking at him.
"Yeah, an' dah clothes seem tah have grown wid me." he sighed sadly. "But I'se can hear dah track callin' me every time I'se tinks about new clothes." Then he turned to her. "Need me tah walk wichyou any place?"
She glanced humourously at him. "Do you really think anyone's going to mess with me?"
"Hey, can' says I didn' try," Racetrack said and shrugged his shoulders. "If I'se wasn' such a nice guy, an' yous such a pretty goil, I wouldn'a asked."
"Right," she laughed and stood. Racetrack was about an inch shorter than her but by the way he carried himself, he could have, like Mush and Jack, towered over her. She liked his confidence, his way of speaking directly. There was almost nothing left unsaid by Racetrack.
"I'se'll see yous off, den," he said and took a momentary drag on the cigar. He exhaled slowly, lazily. "See yah tamorrah."
"Goodbye, Racetrack," she smiled and was gone.
And when, at last, she was walking along to find a place to be fitted with new clothing for what may blossom into the next day, she found herself feeling very alone without Mush and without Racetrack.