Anthony stopped and turned on the spot as he heard the noises: the shout of a man, the panicked whinny of a horse, the skid of wheels, and finally, the frightened cry of a small boy. Anthony ran as fast as he could toward the source of the noise. He stopped as he saw the bundle of people all scrunching together to look at something on the ground. He ran up to the group and began to push people out of the way. He squeezed and shoved until he could see what was going on, not knowing what he was about to see would scar him for life. It was Christopher. Lying on the ground, with blood everywhere, was Christopher. He had bruises and cuts all over and there was a deep, long, gash across his right leg. His eyes were closed and his breath was shallow. Anthony bent down on his knees. He was in shock. What was he going to do? He needed to get help.
"Someone get a doctor!" he yelled at the swarm of people. "Chris?" he shook him slightly. "Christopher, c'mon wake up!" He continued to shake him, more vigorously this time. "Wake up Chris! Wake up!"
Tears splashed down his front as he tried to pull Christopher from the ground. He fell to his knees once more as clouds filled the darkening sky. An ambulance soon came and quickly took Christopher off to the hospital. It began to rain. Anthony remained outside on the ground until Sister Perpetua came and brought him inside.
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Crutchy managed to sell the rest of his papers before dusk, then, met Jack on his way back to the Lodging House. They walked back together discussing various things such as the article in the paper about the maniac who tried to rob the mayor or the stickball game played earlier that morning.
"Di'ya see Les hit dat double? Dat was great!" Jack remembered aloud, smiling.
Crutchy nodded and laughed. "After Boots dropped it and went lookin' for it while it was behind him da whole time." He laughed again, and so did Jack. They talked a little more and then fell silent as they turned onto another street.
"Hey, uh, Crutchy," Jack's voice was low and he looked around as though to make sure no one was eavesdropping. "Have you noticed Racetrack lately? He seems kinda, I dunno, distracted, ya know what I mean? I was jus' wonderin' if ya know anythin'."
Crutchy blushed. He knew the reason Jack was asking him this now, rather then at the Lodging House, was because he knew how Crutchy reacted to pressure; he cracked. He wasn't a very good secret keeper to tell the truth and Jack didn't want him to run off with an excuse if he knew something, for excuses were easily found at the Lodging House. He didn't mind though, because he didn't know anything anyway. He shook his head and raised his eyebrows.
"I'm surprised you don't know anything. You're closer to him den I am. Why are ya askin' me?"
Jack sighed and said, "I dunno, you always seem to know stuff the other newsies don't, ya know? You always seem to be able to work things out of people even though ya neva' talk to 'em, ya know what I'm sayin'?"
Crutchy smiled. "Everybody's good at somethin', right?" They had reached the Lodging House. They walked inside and went upstairs to get ready for bed.
Crutchy changed and put the money he'd earned that day in a jar he kept under his bed. All the newsies were getting for bed. Crutchy looked around for Racetrack, but didn't see him anywhere. He stood up and walked over to his bed, but on the way kicked something on the ground under Racetrack's bed. He got down on his knees to pick up whatever it was and began to grope under the bed. He finally felt something small and round on top of what seemed to be a piece of paper. He'd pulled them both out and looked at what he had in his hand. He gasped. In his hand he held a small, dusty black marble and a newspaper article concerning the injury of a boy from an orphanage in the Bronx. Crutchy's eyes grew wide and his mouth, very dry. His hands began to shake and he stood up so quickly, he knocked over a nearby nightstand, but he didn't care. He ran as quickly as he could towards the stairs. He had to find Racetrack.
