Racetrack led the way down the streets of Manhattan, every once in awhile answering a question or two that Pulitzer happened to ask. Race certainly hoped that the others had followed through with their end of the plan and had things ready for when they arrived. It wasn't easy playing a ghost and making sure Pulitzer kept his eyes closed but not trip over anything. Race hated having to lead the grouchy old man around and given the falling temperature, his mood was not improving any. The one thing to bring a smile to Race's face was the thought of entering their first stop and being able to warm himself by the fire.

Moving swiftly through the different neighborhoods, the teenage ghost was glad that the streets were unusually empty save for the one or two drunks asleep in the doorways. Risking a glance at one of them, Race quickly ducked his head and tugged harder on Pulitzer's jacket, urging him on faster. He didn't need a chance encounter with his drunken stepfather right at that moment. Making their way into a predominately Hungarian neighborhood, Racetrack smirked and puffed on his cigar as he stepped up to one of the buildings.

Peeking inside the window, he sniffled loudly and ran his sleeve under his nose before nodding to the man inside. As if on cue, a violin began to play a joyous Christmas medley, followed by the voices of four children and a woman. Taking Pulitzer's jacket sleeve again, Race opened the door and slid into the room, silently closing the door behind them.

"Open yer eyes, Joe, an' look upon your Christmas past," Race tried to sound mystical and ghostly as he waved his hand out in front of him and looked around.

Opening his eyes finally, Pulitzer squinted as he tried to see what was before him. An older looking gentleman sat on a wooden chair next to the fireplace, a bright smile on his face as he moved about in his chair, his fingers dancing across the strings of his violin. A meager tree sat in the corner decorated in pinecones and strings of popped corn, with a dozen or so small gifts placed lovingly beneath it. Sitting on the floor between the tree and the man were four children ranging in heights and ages, smiling brightly and singing a Hungarian Christmas Carol that Pulitzer had not heard in nearly forty years. A beautiful woman with curly red hair was dressed in plain clothes and stood behind the man, a dainty hand resting on his shoulder as her blue eyes danced happily and her alto voice blending wonderfully with the children's.

"What is the meaning of this? Why did you bring me to a stranger's home?" Pulitzer asked, still not understanding the scene before him fully. There was a certain familiarity about it all though that struck at his heartstrings. If the family saw or heard either one of them, they did well not to acknowledge them and continued on about their jolly business.

Racetrack glanced over his shoulder as he moved towards the fireplace, attracted to the heat like a moth to fire. Giving a discreet kick to the smallest boy blocking his path to the warmth, he shrugged and looked back to the fire. "This ain't a stranger's house, Joe. Don't'cha recognize any of it? It's yer house, when you were still a kid back in da old country."

Grumbling a word or two of disagreement under his breath, Joseph paused as he heard the deep voice of the man announce to the children that it was time for them to open the gifts the Baby Jesus and angels had left for them. Though he talked in a language Joseph had not heard or spoken in many years, the grown man knew exactly what had been said just by looking at the faces of the children light up excitedly. The two older children, a boy and a girl, each dove over each other in an attempt to get to their presents first while the two younger ones, both boys, waited patiently for their chance. Pulitzer watched silently as the gifts were divided and placed before each child, all except for the smallest boy.

Race glanced down at the smallest boy and gave a small, knowing smirk before stuffing his now warm and toasty hand into his pockets and moving back to Pulitzer. He could tell the man was lost in memories, slowly turning the scene before him into his own form of reality.

"Do you remember dis Christmas, Joe?"

Joseph nodded, "This was the Szent-este before my sister Catharina was born."

"It was? I mean, uh…it was. Do you remember what you got that, uh, Christmas?"

Again Joseph nodded silently as he watched the littlest boy with scruffy red hair shake as he coughed and drew his arms tighter around himself, waiting patiently to see what lie in wait under the tree for him. The boy watched as his older siblings each received four gifts and merrily set about playing with all of them. Blinking and squinting, the boy Pulitzer looked at his siblings and then at his parents.

"I didn't receive a gift that year. Mikhail, my oldest brother, told me my gift was that I was still alive and I should be thankful for that much," He answered finally, his voice hinting at the hidden pain within. Race gulped a little as he rubbed the back of his neck. Giving a small cough he shrugged and tucked his hands back into his trouser pockets.

"All I had wanted that year was a pair of glasses so that I could see during my lessons," Joseph said, his jaw clenching as he thought about how hurt he'd been to barely see his siblings get gifts they had 'oohed' and 'ahhed' over in the towns tiny toy store, and to sit there without the one thing he had truly needed and wanted, nearly forgotten by the other five family members.

Racetrack's eyebrows knitted together as he tilted his head, his hand holding his cigar up to his mouth as he looked at Pulitzer in confusion. He thought about Specs, Dutchy, and even his own girlfriend Corky, who had been given a pair of glasses each by the nuns on the street. Perfect strangers had taken the time to fit them and dozens of other orphans with glasses, but yet, Pulitzer's own family hadn't thought enough of him to do the same.

"How come ya didn't get da glasses?" He asked, honestly interested in knowing the answer to such a sensitive subject. A fire erupted in Pulitzer's eyes that told Racetrack he would have been better off not asking that question.

"Because they had spent too much money buying my medicines and tonics in order to keep me alive for another miserable year, that's why!" He boomed. Race jumped slightly and looked nervously at the "family" in front of them, praying to God that they didn't blow their or his cover.

"Uh, right, ok well…I t'ink we've seen enough of this Christmas. Let's uh…let's go, huh? We can swap sob stories on da way back ta da off…uh…present. Close yer eyes again, Joe, an' follow me back ta da present," Race said, quickly looking around at the others before opening the door and, taking hold of Pulitzer's coat sleeve once again, led the way back through the rundown neighborhoods of Manhattan on their way back to The World building.

"Why do I have to close my eyes, boy?! I'm nearly blind as it is! You'd like to see me trip and break my neck, wouldn't you?"

The teen looked skyward as he crossed himself and sighed heavily. He had darn well better be earning some major brownie points with the man upstairs for what he was doing. "Cuz I'm da ghost an' I told ya ta close yer eyes, that's why. Trust me Joe, if I planned on havin' ya trip an' break yer neck, I woulda made soir you'd done it already."

Race coughed and sniffled as he actually stepped closer to the man in hopes of soaking in some of the heat produced from the body. The cold December night air was brutal on the boy's lungs. Leading Pulitzer carefully through the neighborhoods back to the man's office, Race's teeth chattered loudly and his extremities were near frozen blue. Risking another glance at his pocket watch, the would-be-ghost ran a frozen sleeve under his running nose and cursed softly at its roughness. Gads what he'd give for a decent handkerchief.

"A'right, Joe…ya can open yer eyes again," Race said, stretching and contorting his jaw in hopes of stopping his nose from running anymore than it already was. Joseph opened his eyes again and squinted in confusion. They were standing outside of his office, why outside? Why couldn't he go back inside where it was nice and warm?

"What are we doing standing out here, boy?"

"Look, Joe…I'm gettin' real tired of bein' called 'boy'. I've gotta name ya know? Not dat you care, t'ough," Racetrack mumbled as he shook his head and tossed the last little bit of his cigar onto the ground by his feet. "We're standin' out 'ere cuz dis is wheah you gotta wait fer da second ghost. Who'll be 'ere when da clock strikes nine. So, jist stand 'ere an' wait, a'right? I gotta go. Take care, Joe…and heed well da warnin's of da othah two ghosts."

Race turned and started off down the deserted street, never once looking over his shoulder or even acknowledging Pulitzer's yells for him to stop and answer him. Getting his arms into a nice warm jacket was the only thing on Racetrack's mind as he turned a corner and nodded to his blond friend with glasses who stood waiting with a jacket in hands.

"Did it work?" Dutchy asked hopefully as he handed Racetrack the jacket.

"I doubt it. C'mon…let's go. My legs are freezin'!"

Pulitzer stood completely bewildered on the sidewalk outside his office. The way the boy had just seemed to have disappeared into the night chilled him more than the night air. Surely the boy wasn't a ghost as he had claimed to be! It was preposterous! There was no such thing as ghosts. The bells of a distant church droned on their hourly announcement of time

Jooo---seph, Jooo---seph, they seemed to call eerily, their sound crisp and clear. Pulitzer paused for a brief moment, nine bell tolls. As the last faint echo faded into the crisp night abyss, Joseph scoffed at his imagination. He was a grown man who had allowed his feeble imagination to get away from him for the slightest of moments; well he was sure not to let it happen again!

"Joseph Pulitzer! Merry Christmas, sir!" A very familiar voice called from behind him. Joseph spun on his heels and squinted at the figure of a taller teenage lad, dressed in his Sunday best, a lantern in one hand while in his other he held the very same Christmas wreath Joseph had demanded be gotten rid of earlier that day. The boy stood by the door of the office, which by all means, confused Pulitzer. He was certain no one had been standing there a moment before when he looked. It was as if the lad had appeared out of nowhere. As the boy stepped closer though, Joseph's eyes widened as he recognized who it was. Pointing a finger at the boy, he scowled angrily.

"You!"

David Jacobs stepped forward, a bright and pleasant smile on his face that didn't quite reach his eyes. He didn't have enough time for all the pleasantries he was suppose to do; he may be an eighteen year old now, but his mother and father still required that he be back home no later than ten-fifteen every night, and given that it was Christmas Eve, he was to be home even sooner than that.

"Merry Christmas, Joseph Pulitzer! I am the Ghost of Christmas Present! Come, follow me so that you might see the joy and comforts of those less fortunate than you this night of wonders!" David exclaimed merrily as he slid the wreath down to his elbow, his now empty hand reaching out to take Pulitzer's arm and –none too gently—tug the man down the dark streets towards one of the many Newsboys Lodging Houses, ignoring his demands and objections all along the way.