"I say, 'good riddance to bad rubbish'! Dat's what I say!"
"Oh come now, ye can' mean dat? Da poor man dropped dead as can be. Not a soul around 'im dey say."
"Paah…"
Joseph listened carefully to the two 'old hags' they passed on the street and couldn't help but wonder who they were speaking of. Whoever it was, it didn't seem as if they cared much for him at the time. The third spirit before him wasn't doing much in the way of helping him to understand what he was seeing or hearing.
The streets were strangely busy in the rundown section of the city the pair had entered, as if this little neighborhood was in a world all its own and didn't realize how late at night it was becoming. Everywhere Pulitzer looked, he saw neglected homes and businesses, grime from nearby factories covering their windows forbidding any light from entering or exiting. People rushed to and fro, never once casting a curious glance to the well dressed man and his dark companion. Ratty looking decorations were scattered and sparse in this area; as if no one cared the holidays had arrived.
"To da death o' da tyrant! May he rot in 'is grave wit' da rest o' da worms an' snakes!"
"Here, here!"
A group of bums toasted to each other around their makeshift camp fire in an alley. Their faces illuminated dimly by the fire, and Pulitzer thought for a moment that he recognized them as more of his newsies, though they appeared to be older than he thought they were.
"Who is it that everyone seems so glad to be rid of?" Pulitzer finally asked, following Jack as he turned a corner to his right. Jack didn't answer though. He just kept walking, his hands in his pockets to keep his fingers from freezing. The sounds of newsies on a corner nearly answered Pulitzer's question for him.
"Extry! Extry! Tyrant Newspaper Tycoon Drops Dead in Office! Read all about it!"
"Corps o' Dead Newspaper Big Wig Found Rottin' in his Office!"
Curiosity getting the best of him, Joseph lagged behind Jack some in order to try and sneak a peek at the newspaper. He couldn't help but chuckle at the thought of the tyrant being William Randolph Hearst at least that would be one less paper he would have to worry about competing against. Looking down at the stack of newspapers on the ground next to one of the young newsies, Joseph gasped in surprise when he saw his picture on the front page under the headline. Stumbling backwards in shock, he looked to where Jack stood, head down, leaning against a lamp post, a new cigarette in his mouth while he idly twirled his lasso in front of him. Jack stole a glance up as Pulitzer stormed towards him. Wrapping his rope up, he slung it over his shoulder before turning a corner to his right once more, taking them back towards The World building.
Joseph called and demanded for Jack to stop walking and speak to him; he demanded an explanation! Jack kept walking, a secret smile hidden on his face as he picked his pace up some, forcing Pulitzer to do the same if he wanted answers. By the time they had gotten a block from the office building, Jack had all but broken into a full out sprint. He could hear Pulitzer's wheezing and pleas of mercy behind him. Their plan could just be working on the man after all, he thought to himself as he round one last corner. Sliding to a stop outside building, he ducked into the shadows of the grand pillars and waited. As he saw Joe emerge from the alley, he motioned to Denton and the little newsie known as Jolt.
"Yeah…I 'eard 'bout it. What's it too ya?" Jolt asked, his tiny arms folded over his chest as he looked up at the much taller reporter in front of him.
"Do you have any thoughts on the matter? He was your employer, after all. Doesn't it bother you that Mr. Pulitzer is dead?" Denton looked up from his notepad and down to the eight-year-old.
"Pfft! Did it bother Pulitzer dat me friends died last winter of pneumonia? Jacky-boy didn' even make it ta New Years. Dey found 'im frozen ta death in an alley. An' poor ol' Crutchy, he coughed himself ta death! An' fer what? So Pulitzer could make anuddah buck off us?"
Pulitzer's eyes widened slightly as he heard Jolt tell of Jack and Crutchy's 'deaths'. Looking to where Jack still stood, leaning in the shadows, he couldn't help but gulp. His imagination running rampant, he struggled to breathe as he actually started to believe the ghosts were truly visiting him. But why? Why had they chosen that specific moment in his life to come and try to change him?
"I remember about Jack and Crutchy, they were good friends," Denton said softly, glancing back down at his notepad, "How do you mean Pulitzer was trying to make another buck off of you?"
"He went an' jacked up da prices on us 'gain! Da day aftah Christmas! Can you believe dat?! Whad made 'im t'ink we could afford anuddah jack up like dat?" Jolt lifted his foot from the ground and showed Denton the bottom of his shoe, "Look it dis! I ain't had a new pair o' shoes in years! I gotta patch dese wit folded up newspapers! We all gotta wear layers o' shirts instead o' jackets cuz most o' us don't got da money fer a new jacket."
Joseph saw the sad state the boy's shoes were in and noticed how the child only had on a few thin layers of shirts that were nearly two sizes too big on him. Was it true that his increase of the price to the newsies had caused them lack in the things every living person deserved: decent coats and shoes in the winter, medicine when they were sick, and someplace warm and dry to sleep? Truly the more Joseph Pulitzer thought about it, the more he realized just how much in life he took for granted that those children could only dream of one day having.
"Thank you, Jolt. Is there anything else you'd like to add before I go type this up?" Denton asked, tilting his head and waiting for a reply from the seemingly loud-mouthed child.
"Yeah…'free at last, free at last. Lord A'mighty we're free at last!' An' ya can quote me on dat, Denton." Jolt answered, nodding his head sharply as he picked up his stack of papers and tucked them back under his little arm. Denton chuckled as he nodded and jotted down what the child had said before patting his shoulder and heading back off towards his apartment to type his story up.
"EXTRA! EXTRA! WORLD ENDS FER JOSEPH PULITZER!!" Jolt exclaimed, his hand shooting up into the air as he waved a copy of a fake newspaper around, shuffling off through the snow. Joseph watched as the boy moved off into the darkness and turned to approach Jack.
"I demand an explanation!"
"What's dere ta explain, Joe? Yer dead, an' nobody cares. Well…least not da newsies. Dere's some people who care. People like da mayor, chief o' police, all yer bums workin' in da office who ain't gonna get dere big holiday bonus checks…all da people you'd give big pay off's to in order fer dem ta look da othah way while you rob da poor ta pay yer own pockets. Dey care fer a day or two, da Journal an' da Sun run a nice big obituary on ya…an' den da next day those pages are bein' used ta wrap fish in da fish market. You get forgotten, Joe…just like da rest of us," Jack answered as he pushed himself off the pillar and stepped closer to Pulitzer. "How's it feel knownin' dat in da end, e'erythin' you worked so hard for didn' mean beans ta anybody else? Dat when it all comes right down to it, yer no more important to da world den us street rats?"
"Don't…don't you say that to me, boy. I am more important!" Pulitzer exclaimed, the heels of his hands pressed to his temples as he shook his head in protest.
"No ya ain't, Joe! An' dat's what ticks you off most! Knownin' dat even t'ough you live like a king now, in da end you wind up in da ground with da rest o' us! Buried an' forgotten!"
"You shut up, right now! I won't hear anymore of this nonsense from you!"
"You wanna be remembered in dis city, Joe? You want da world ta remember Joseph Pulitzer, newspaper tycoon, once yer gone?! Den ya gotta start wit' da little people! Us newsies are da ones who're gonna be callin' out da headlines when ya die, Joe. You heard fer yerself what some of 'em are gonna be yellin'. It ain't too late ta change dat, Joe." Jack said, slowly moving back into the shadows, carefully planning his escape. He couldn't help but smirk when he saw Pulitzer close his eyes and continue his demands for Jack to stop talking. Turning and silently darting off down the dark alley, Jack chuckled to himself as he ran all the way back to the lodging house.
Joseph Pulitzer covered his ears with the heels of his hands as he shook his head, words of protest and denial still spouting from his mouth long after Jack had disappeared into the night. Opening his eyes finally when he realized he no longer heard the teen's voice, Joseph looked around the empty streets in mild confusion. Everything appeared to be as it was before, not a single trace of any ghosts or newsies to be found.
Jack's parting words echoed through Pulitzer's mind, refusing to release him from their grasp until their job of driving him mad was completed. Shaking his head as he hurried into his office building once more, Joseph grumbled to himself repeating over and over what Jack had said. As he approached the receptionist's desk, he paused and looked to the phone. Ya gotta start wit' da little people…it ain't too late ta change… Moving swiftly around the side of the grand desk, Joseph Pulitzer picked up the phone and waited for the operator on the other end to answer.
"This is Joseph Pulitzer, get me Martin Anderson of Riverdale Heights…I don't give a blazes what time it is! This is an important business matter that cannot wait! Well keep trying until he does answer, then!"
Jack walked through the front door of the Dune Street Lodging House and quickly shook the snow off his hat and jacket before looking up at the bustling lower level. Medda sat on the tattered sofa in the common room, still dressed in her "Hungarian peasant" dress and hair swept up into a sloppy bun, while the man who had posed as Pulitzer's father sat on a chair near the tree once again playing his violin. The small newsies that played the part of the young Pulitzer family laughed and chased each other through the lobby. Corky, her brother Murdoch, and beloved Racetrack Higgins—back to his normal color and body temperature—gathered by the ledger counter, sneakily placing small treats into each of the stockings while Wish and her boyfriend Skittery sat on the stairs reading "'Twas the Night Before Christmas" to the little ones who had refused to go to bed until Jack returned and so had gathered on the floor in front of them. Denton stood near the back room door, sipping a cup of hot coffee and explaining to David how he had managed to convince the press manager at The Sun to print up a small amount of the fake papers for the newsies to use announcing Pulitzer's 'death'.
It may not have been the Ritz, or a fancy mansion like Pulitzer had, but that drafty old lodging house—in desperate need of maintenance—never felt more like home than it did that Christmas Eve with all his friends and adopted family present. Closing the door and tossing his jacket onto the counter, he smiled at those who noticed him.
"'Ey! Jack's back! Did it work? How'd we do, Cowboy?" A flood of voices questioned as every ran to gather around him. Cowboy did his best to wave them off and move for the table in the common room that held a fresh tray of tea cups as he shrugged.
"How'm I s'pose ta know? Last I saw of Pulitzer, he was swearin' up a storm an' callin' me a liar." Jack answered as he finally made it to the table and picked up a cup of coffee to warm his hands on. He'd never really been much of an actual coffee drinker, to him the stuff always smelled better than it tasted, but given how cold he had gotten out there in such a short period of time, he decided he'd best drink it anyways whether he liked it or not.
"Well, all I can say is, you all did a fantastic job tonight! You're all a bunch of amazing young actors and actresses! If any of you ever want to get into the show business, you come to me first!" Medda said brightly, ruffling the hair of the nearest newsboy lightheartedly. Everyone laughed and nodded in agreement. It was true that every one of them, from the professionals like Medda and her acting crew all the way down to poor scatterbrained Twinks had played their parts flawlessly, and while they were all very convincing it was truly left up to Pulitzer's conscience to decide if he would treat his hired help better than he had been or not.
"How we gonna know if it worked or not, Jack?" Mush questioned from his place by the door, still wrapped in the blankets he'd been wearing while posing as one of the bums in the alley.
"With a man like Mister Pulitzer, I'm sure you kids will have no trouble finding out as to whether your plan worked or not," Denton answered as he pulled his coat and gloves back on and moved for the door. Looking back to those gathered, he smiled some and gave a small nod. "Good night, everyone. I'll stop back by tomorrow afternoon. Merry Christmas."
"Merry Christmas, Denton!" The newsies called as they all waved after their friend. Medda and her crew of actors waded through the throng of children and approached Jack. Holding her arms out for a hug, she pulled him in close and kissed the side of his head.
"We need to be getting on home, too, Kelly. You kids are all invited to come to the hall tomorrow evening for dinner if you'd like."
"T'anks Medda. I'll think about stoppin' by."
"Hey Race! C'mon ya bum. We gotta get on ovah ta Saint Xavier's fer Midnight Mass. I told Squints we'd come an' watch 'im be an alter boy tanight." Corky said, grabbing her ragged old flannel shirt to use in place of a decent coat. Racetrack groaned and his shoulders slumped as he complained about having to go back into the freezing cold after he'd just finished warming back up again. Grabbing his elbow and rolling her eyes, Corky wished everyone a good night before heading out the door with Race, followed by her brother Murdoch who made it a point to go to church at least every Christmas Eve.
"A'right kiddo's! Dat's yer cue ta march up da stairs an' inta yer bunks! Move it or loose it!" Wish instructed, swatting a few little ones gently on the bottom to get them moving up the stairs. Choruses of protest and groans filled the lobby as the remaining older newsies ushered the children up the stairs and into the drafty old bunkrooms. Bringing up the rear and carrying a sleeping little boy in his arms, Jack moved silently up the stairs and down the hall to the boys' bunkroom.
"'Ey Jacky-boy…Merry Christmas." A female voice called from the doorway to the girls' bunkroom. Turning his head and giving a small smirk, Jack nodded slightly.
"Merry Christmas, M. Now go ta sleep, will ya? Don't wanna have Santa skip ovah us just cuz yer bum arse is still awake," Jack called quietly back to the teen girl before disappearing into the dark bunkroom for the night.