Dave, dressed as the Ghost of Christmas Present, walked briskly down the street towards the Dune Street Lodging House. His fellow newsies and friends stood out on the corners near the lodging house, holding tightly to stacks of newspapers, trying desperately to sell them. Pulitzer thought he recognized some of the boys and girls as the same ones he saw that afternoon hawking headlines. Surely that couldn't be the case though. Those children and teens had to have gone home or back to their places of residence by then. The carolers had long retreated back into their warm homes leaving the air empty and rather depressing; replaced instead with the sniffling, coughing, and crying of half frozen newsies just trying to earn a few extra pennies so that they could buy a bauble of their own for Christmas.
Pulitzer watched with mild interest as they moved past the seemingly oblivious newsies, each sniffling and shivering as their thin and sickly voices called out into the night. The snow had begun to fall again, the large, wet, heavy flakes stuck to their heads and hair. Most of the children didn't even have a decent hat to keep their ears from getting frostbitten. Seeing those kids, their little bodies quickly being engulfed in the heavy snowflakes, made Joseph think back on his time as a child in Hungary when he too had been too poor to afford decent winter clothing. Though he was sure not to let it show, he couldn't help but feel his heart go out to those kids and truly, for once in his life, feel sorry for the poor newsies without homes or families.
David stopped outside the Dune Street Lodging House and smiled up at it. Candles sat flickering in each window, casting their gentle glow out onto the street and beckoning to wary travelers. A single sag of garland hung across the doorway while a small wooden plaque with the word "Noël" sloppily painted across it in red and green paint had been carefully hung on a wire from the door. From the outside, it was clear that the building had seen far better days and was in desperate need of mending. On the street where David and Pulitzer stood, the sounds of laughter, songs, and games could be heard.
"Follow me." David said, starting up the steps for the door. Nodding, Pulitzer carefully made his way up the snow covered steps, ducking his head ever so slightly in silent thanks as David held the door open for him.
The lobby of the lodging house was sparsely decorated with hand drawn cards and pictures on the walls. Small hand knitted stockings hung from the front of the ledger counter, each with a piece of paper attached baring the name of a newsie on it: Murdoch, Sparkles, Cowboy, Kidah, Jolt, Skittery, Wish, Corky, Racetrack, Dutchy, Tink, Blink, Snitch, M, Tellie, Twinks, and Dewey were just some of the names Pulitzer read. How those kids ever came up with their nicknames, Joseph would never know. To his left was the common room where he could make out a small tree that was truly nothing more than a twig with a few sticks coming from it. The few needles that were on it were brown and brittle. The smell of a roasting chicken and corn biscuits drifted from a back room, where the sounds of laughter and song were coming from.
"Jingle bells, jingle bells, jingle, jingle bells, jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle, jingle bells." A merry little voice sang, clearly only knowing those two words of the song. A small girl with blond hair and blue eyes came dancing out of the backroom, still singing merrily while a horde of teens followed her into the common room.
"Ya jist had ta teach 'er a new song, didn't'cha?" a girl with long black hair asked to a boy a good three inches taller than her. The boy smiled sheepishly and shrugged.
"Sorry Wishie. I really didn't think Twinks would take to it like she did."
"Skittery, this is Twinks we're tawkin' 'bout. She picks up certain t'ings like nobody's business," a second girl stated, moving her glasses up on her nose a little as she shook her head sadly. Skittery shrugged again and wrapped his arm around Wish's waist, pulling her close and kissing her head lightly.
"Sorry," He said simply. Wish frowned and shook her head.
"Ya ain't sorry yet, Skitts. You aren't the one who's gotta share a bunkroom with 'er. We'll nevah get any sleep tanight," Wish answered.
"Oh, Twinks'll go ta sleep. Believe you me, Wish. I don't care if I gotta spike 'er milk with somet'in' in order ta get 'er ta go ta sleep…she will sleep tanight." The second girl threatened as she moved past Dave and Pulitzer without giving them even so much as a glance.
"Corky yer horrible!" another teen laughed, smiling as they moved into the common room also.
David did his best not to full out laugh at the scene before them. Oh how he loved the camaraderie of the lodging house teens. They acted as their own separate family. Most of those who were present that night either had no parents or had runaway, and so they really had no family to ring in the holidays with save for each other. The older ones acted as both older siblings and mother or father figures for the younger ones, making sure they had something to eat that night, washed behind their ears, said their prayers, and were tucked safely into the bunks at lights out.
Pulitzer watched as the group of children gathered in the common room, some opting to sit on the cold hard floor, others extinguishing the candles to sit on the drafty sills; some sat on the tattered couch while others perched themselves on the small table in the middle of the room, a few littler ones even managed to carefully climb their way to the top of a short bookcase to sit. The older teens who had managed to steal the cough away from the six and seven year olds, smiled and laughed as they playfully grabbed the kid's hats and batted their heads with the pieces of fabric before scooping them up and placing them on their laps.
To Dave and Pulitzer's right, an older gentleman with kind eyes and white hair stepped out of the back room holding a large tray carefully in his hands. On the tray were a variety of cups, some small tea cups baring a flowery design on them, others a bit larger with their ceramic handles missing or chips taken out of the edge, each filled with a warm brew of coffee for the older kids and warm milk for the younger ones, a spoonful of sugar mixed into each for an extra special touch. Behind the older gentleman, a much younger boy in his late teens followed, holding yet another tray of cups. Together, the pair moved through the common room dispensing the cups until everyone had received one.
"A toast!" one boy called out, standing up from his place on the window sill. Pulitzer moved further into the common room in hopes of better hearing what the lad had to say. The boy appeared to be about sixteen or so, with a crop of dishwater blond hair, glasses and eyes the color of forget-me-nots. The noise level of the common room diminished and all eyes turned to the lad.
"To Mister Joseph Pulitzer, may the good Lord look down and take pity upon him on this most holy and sacred night. Without his want to rule the free world as the largest newspaper publisher ever, none of us would have the scant money to indulge in this wonderful feast of ours," the boy said, smiling as he raised his cup of coffee up in 'honor' of the newspaper mongrel. A few teens raised their cups also while others simply made rude noises and shook their heads.
"Ta Pulitzer my arse! That bum's prob'ly at his mansion right now, bitchin' cuz his bathwater's turned cold or orderin' for the fatted calf to be taken to be butchered so that he can have it along with his ham and turkey for his Christmas dinner. He'll be sleepin' all nice an' warm under a dozen or more silk an' cotton blankets, visions of newspapers an' dollar signs dancin' in his head while we're all 'ere freezin' in our sleep, visions of increasin' prices an' the bulls chasin' us for stealin' a loaf of bread runnin' through our heads! He can fall asleep warm an' content, knowin' he'll stay that way all through the night an' be able ta wake up the same way when his butler tells him to! Us? We'll fall asleep wonderin' if we'll wake up when the sun peeks through the window, or freeze to death in our sleep," the boy called Skittery said, his voice thick with revulsion towards the man. A chorus of "Here, here's" sprung up throughout the common room while more children lifted their glasses to that toast than they did to the first.
Pulitzer's anger boiled into rage when he heard those words leave Skittery's mouth. How dare those children mock his good fortune! He had once upon a time been just as poor and forgotten as they were, also! Yet with hard work and determination, he had been able to rise to the level of power and status of millionaire that he was at then. Perhaps if they used even half of their energy on something worth while as he had done, they too could emerge from the depth of poverty and make something of themselves. Bristling with anger, Joseph glared at the teen boy before looking back to David who was watching him with a raised eyebrow.
"You don't seem to be very well liked, Mister Pulitzer. Why is that, I wonder?" David asked, looking back out at the common room where his friends continued to banter and rant about their employer.
"Jealousy! Those insolent teens are jealous!" Pulitzer exclaimed, his anger turning his face red as he spoke.
"Are they, Mister Pulitzer? Or are they just as misunderstood by you as you are by them?"
"No, ok, Pulitzer uses twenty dollar bills ta light his cigars with, ok? He does that while we're out freezing our butts off in the winter and dyin' o' heat in the summer just ta make a buck. Soir he lets us sell our unsold papes back now, but for less than what we originally bought 'em for! He's killin' us jist so he can keep on makin' his precious hundreds e'ery day. After all, he don't care if one o' us happens ta die. Jist another street urchin ta be tossed inta Potter's Field, right?"
"Oh now, Bookie that's not true. If one of us dies that means there's one less newsie out on the streets making him money. Of course he cares if we live or die."
"'Ey, c'mon guys, it's Christmas, cut da man some slack huh? For just one day, forget all his faults and be thankful that he has allowed us to sell back all our unsolds. If it weren't for that, how many of us would have been able ta pitch in and help to buy that medicine last winter when the little ones all came down the pox?" the teen who had originally toasted Pulitzer piped up, looking around at everyone solemnly.
"Pft…lotta good it did us, Squints, we still lost Squeaks an' Sleepah. How can ya stand dere an' defend da man who had a hand in yer own bruddah and sistah's death?" Corky questioned from her place on the couch, a little boy with dark curls perched on her knee.
"It's not Pulitzer's fault my brother and sister got called home. Pulitzer will be judged when his time comes, but not by us. And when he is judged, I have faith that the good Lord will give him what he rightly deserves. So, I propose that we all do as the Good Book says and for just this Christmas, 'love thy enemy'. We can all go back to hatin' him once Christmas is over," Squints stated. A small murmur of acceptance moved through the common room as everyone present nodded and looked down at their cups.
"I propose a new toast. To friendship. No matter how rich Pulitzer thinks he is, he's no match to the richness we all have. No man could be richer than a man with true friendship in his life," A new boy said, sitting on the arm of the couch next to Corky. Raising his cup, he smiled at everyone and nodded. "To friends, new and old, and to those who are waiting in a much better place for da day when we all can be together again,"
"I'll drink ta dat, Doc."
"Finally, somet'ing worthy ta drink to, Murdoch!"
"I'se not a man! Corky! Is I a man? What's a man?"
David smiled at Twinks as she bounced in place, looking up at her friends in mild confusion. When no one answered her, she simply shrugged her shoulders and continued to sing her merry little song. Looking to Pulitzer as the rest of the teens groaned and rolled their eyes before joining in, singing the right words against Twinks version, David took hold of Pulitzer's jacket once more and started for the door.
"Come, Joseph, our time here has ended."
Pulitzer stood outside his office building once again, silently mulling over everything he had heard at the Dune Street Lodging House. Could it be that those street rats were right and that the richest man alive was the man who had true friendship in his life? The more Pulitzer stood on the street alone thinking about that, the more he began to realize how right those teens were. Of course Pulitzer had people surrounding him at all times, but never had he really had anyone to call his 'friend' and to offer him an honest and sincere friendship. All the money in the world could not buy the joy and love that a friend could willing offer free of charge.
Moments before, his second ghost had vanished into the night just as the first had, warning of a third and final ghost who would approach him when the bell tolled ten. Though common knowledge told Pulitzer everything that was happening was still just a façade, an overpowering wave of uncertainty towards the whole matter made him believe he truly was being shown the different Christmases of his life so far. One thought haunted him though as he stood listening to the last strikes of the bells, if he had visited the past and the present, that mean the only place left to go was…
"Heya Joe." A gruff voice said from the shadows to his left. Spinning his head around to look, Joseph watched as a lone figure moved through the shadows, the smoke of a cigarette drifting out into the yellow circles of light from the street lamps.
"What? Who's there? What do you want?" he questioned anxiously, doing his best to see the face of the third spirit.
"I t'ink you know what I want, Joe. Da question is, what do you want? Don't go answerin' me yet, t'ink about it for awhile…gimme yer answer when we're done," the voice answered still staying mostly hidden within the shadows. Pulitzer didn't need to see this spirits face to know who it was under the hat and shadows though. He could tell just by the cold way this boy spoke to him that it was none other than the strike leader himself, Jack "Cowboy" Kelly.
Dressed in his usual dark grey garb, his black cowboy hat pulled down low over his eyes, Jack flicked the remainder of his cigarette to the ground before turning and motioning for Pulitzer to follow. Jack wasn't about to take hold of the man who had threatened his and his friends well being, placed him in jail, and allowed his hired henchmen to beat up upon a cripple. Stealing a quick glance over his shoulder to make sure the old man was still following behind him; Jack gave a slight nod to his friends hiding in a dark alley sending the last part of their plan into motion.