"Hey, Crutchie, wake up," Rover was saying after what only seemed like a few hours of sleep. Crutchie groaned, his entire body sore and aching, his leg now throbbing. He slowly sat up and looked to the window. It had only been a few hours of sleep. The sun had barely even risen .
"What time is it?" Crutchie asked groggily. The room was slowly filling with noise as the boys began to wake up and move around. Rover was standing next to the bed, pulling on some pants.
"A little past five," he said, pulling suspenders on. "We wake up early here at the refuge. Fun, ain't it?" Crutchie rubbed at his tired eyes and carefully got out of bed. He ignored the pain in his leg and grabbed his crutch.
"Is there a place I can wash up? Maybe get some water?" Crutchie asked Rover, his mouth feeling very dry.
"Nope," Rover said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "We got two toilets in this room. No sinks, no nothin. They gives us some water at breakfast in about an hour."
"Why is we up so early?" Crutchie asked, watching the other boys mill about the room.
"They like the refuge to look spick and span before anyone actually gets here," he explained. "Most of us will be cleaning the halls, the floors, the rooms. Some go into the kitchens though and prepare the food for the day. Others will do all the guards laundry. Snyda's too."
"Cleaning and laundry?" Crutchie repeated. "Is that all we has to do?"
"Pretty much, yeah," he shrugged. He then looked around him, noticing no one was listening, and then leaned closer to Crutchie and whispered, "I got you a job in the kitchen. It'll be easier than scrubbin floors all day."
"You didn't hafta do that," Crutchie said, slightly embarrassed.
"Sure I did," he said, waving him off. "I just had a little chat with one of the guards. Said you ran away from your pop and then made him feel bad about you bein beat up. He gots a son, ya see. He all of a sudden felt real bad when I brought up that it could very well be his kid in here instead."
"Thanks, Rover," Crutchie said, grateful to have met such a friendly and kid person. About a minute later, the door was unlocked and everyone ordered to their jobs. Boys from all different room spilled into the hallway. Rover grabbed a tall, rather muscular boy coming out if a room across the hall and pulled him over to meet Crutchie.
"Crutchie, this is my good friend, Rat," he said, introducing him. "Rat, this is Crutchie. He just got arrested for bein in the newsie strike. He knows Jack."
"Why do they call ya Rat?" Crutchie asked, rather intimidated by the boy who reminded him too much like the Delanceys. "Cuz you rat out people?"
"They call me Rat cuz I'm the one they go to to kill all the rats," he said rather defensively. "I gotta talent for the sport. So you know Jack?"
"Yeah, we's real good pals," Crutchie said, following the crowd as they turned into the stairwell. Crutchie did his best to walk down the stairs but with his leg worse that ever, he couldn't refuse the help of Rover.
"Rat's down in the kitchens too," explained Rover, as Crutchie put his free arm around his shoulders and leaned on him. "I told him to keep an eye on ya." After walking down two more sets of stairs, Rover left them on the first floor hallway and grabbed a bucket and brush, ready to go to work.
"Basically all we do right now is get all our food ready," Rat explained as they walked to the kitchen. "Then the guards take it and pass it out to everyone. Then we prepare his majesty's breakfast."
"His majesty?" Crutchie repeated.
"Mr. Snyda of course," Rat said, scowling. They had finally reached the kitchen. There were already ten or fifteen boys in it, running around stoves and throwing food into pots. There were some boys set to work on chopping carrots and potatoes. Rat pulled up a chair for Crutchie to sit on, earning glares from a few boys, and told him to help slice the bread. He then ran off to help with the food on the stove.
The kitchen got very hot very quickly. Crutchie noticed how filthy it was too. He expected the refuge to be a dirty place but thought that perhaps the kitchen would be cleaner. He wiped away sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand and flicked away a beetle, one of many he had seen. Then he heard the squeak of a rat and scurrying of claws on the floor.
"Rat! Got one!" Someone shouted. Rat immediately grabbed a lid to a pot and there was a loud clang. He then stood up, dead rat in hand, and triumphantly tossed it out the small window they had.
An hour later, guards had been given pots of stew, bread, and buckets of water along with grimy bowls and cups. They walked off ready to distribute the food to their assigned areas and the boys in the kitchen finally had a break to eat themselves. Being the new kid, Crutchie was the last to get his food. He sat down, looking at his sad meal. He ignored the bits of dirt in his cup and gulped down his water. The "stew" they had made was mostly old boiled carrots and potatoes. The bread was stale. But still Crutchie forced all the food down as he was starving. He wished he could have had more food but it was all gone.
The minute they finished eating, they were out straight back to work. Some of the boys began cleaning the pots while others started to prepare more food. Crutchie, not sure what to do, watched the boys prepare a much bigger meal with better food. His stomach began to grumble as one boy cracked an egg into a sizzling pan. Soon the smell of sausage was in the air too. Crutchie tried to distract himself from his hunger by setting to work washing dishes. It would be a good way to clean his hands too.
But he found the sink to be just as grimy as the rest of the refuge. There wasn't even any soap. Once he had finished washing the last pot, he rinsed off his hands and splashed cold water on his face, trying to rub off the dried blood from his cut. Suddenly Crutchie felt a stabbing pain on his back and jumped around. One of the guards was there and had just hit him with his police baton.
"Quit wasting the water kid," he barked. "I was sent here to tell you that you are supposed to take Mr. Snyder his breakfast. He said he wanted it delivered by the gimp. Personally." Crutchie nodded and walked over to the table, where Snyder's completed breakfast sat on a tray. He carefully picked up the tray with one arm, resting it on his forearm, and followed the man out the room. Before the door shut, however, Crutchie caught the confused look on Rat's face as he watched them walk away.
The whole walk to Snyder's office, Crutchie worried about why Snyder had specifically requested him. Was it just another way to try to get him to reveal information about the strike or Dollface or Jack? What could he possibly gain by making Crutchie deliver his food? Surely he just wanted the pleasure of seeing Crutchie work for him, having finally caught not only a runaway but also a newsie. They reached the closed door of Snyder's office and stopped. The policeman opened the door for Crutchie, whose hands were full, and let him inside.
Snyder looked up from behind his desk at the sound of the door closing. He had been smoking a pipe and leaning back in his chair, feet propped up arrogantly on the desk and eyes closed. He smirked as Crutchie wordlessly placed the tray on his desk and then turned to leave.
"Not so fast boy," his voice called out, stopping Crutchie. "I wanted to ask you a few things. Have a seat, let's chat." Crutchie's heart began to race as he sat down, expecting to be interrogated again.
"How was your first night, son?" Snyder asked, sitting up in his seat.
"Uh... Sorry, sir?" Crutchie said, taken by surprise. He was sure it would be another question about the strike.
"I said how was your first night?" he asked again, picking up a fork and taking a bite of eggs. Crutchie's stomach gave a very audible growl, making Snyder smirk.
"Fine, sir," he said quietly, averting his hungry eyes from the large meal before him.
"I see you made a friend. How darling," he sneered mockingly. "What's that boy's name again? Ranger? Roper?"
"Rover, sir," Crutchie said, not seeing the point to any of this. "If you don't mind, though, I should probably be getting back-"
"How are you feeling today?" Snyder asked, cutting off a piece of sausage.
"I'm doin fine," Crutchie said quickly. Truth was he was in a great deal of pain just from his leg alone. His head was throbbing and every step he took sent stabbing pains through his abdomen. But he pushed all this to the back of his mind, willing himself to appear strong in front of Snyder. If he was going to survive in this refuge, he couldn't let Snyder know he got to him.
"You sure about that kid? Cuz you're limping pretty badly," Snyder said, waving a fork full of eggs at Crutchie. "If you asked me, someone who's in good health wouldn't be chopping potatoes in the kitchen. They should be hard at work. But if you're not up for a little manual labor, then you just keep on slicing carrots."
"I'm up for anything you throw at me," Crutchie said strongly. "Tell me and I'll get the job done."
"So glad to hear that," Snyder said. "Because during your stay here, you will be working for me. When I say jump, you say how high. You clear my plates when I'm done. You fetch my coffee. You scrub these floors until I can see my face in them. You got that boy?" Crutchie nodded, curling his fingers into fists and trying not to let his anger show. Snyder smiled at having successfully manipulated Crutchie. Snyder then forced him to sit and watch him finish his meal, snickering when he heard Crutchie's stomach growling loudly. Crutchie gathered the dishes up when he had finished and left the room, Snyder shouting after him to bring up coffee when he came back.
"Wutchu mean you ain't working down here no more," Rat asked once Crutchie said he wasn't going to be able to help in the kitchen anymore.
"I told ya. Snyda's makin me be his personal servant while I'm here," Crutchie said, pouring a cup of coffee. "I gots to do what he tells me. Like bringing him coffee."
"Man, I ain't eva heard of anyone being Snyda's servant before," one boy, Jersey, chimed in. "I know he sometimes makes us clean his office but that's about it."
"I think he's playin games with my head," Crutchie said, thinking. "He couldn't get any information outta me from bustin me up. Now he's gonna try a different way and see what happens."
"Wutchu think he's gonna do?" Jersey asked.
"No clue," Crutchie shrugged. "That's what scares me. When he was beatin me, at least I knew a punch or kick was comin. With this, I don't gotta clue. Well I'll be back to pick up his lunch. See ya fellas." Crutchie picked up the cup of coffee, left the dirty, though friendly, kitchen and made his way back to Snyder's office. He reached the door and then paused for a moment, overcome with frustration and anger. He quickly looked around and then spit in the coffee, swirling the liquid around. Feeling slightly better, he walked in and silently handed Snyder his coffee.
The rest of the morning, Snyder made Crutchie organize files and cluttered drawers. Crutchie found himself nodding off from the dull work and lack of sleep so was thankful when it was time for him to fetch Snyder 's lunch, glad to be moving. He greeted the boys in the kitchen with a faint hello, scarfed down the moldy bread and small bowl of boiled carrots, and began walking back to Snyder's office. The large sandwich on the plate looked delicious and Crutchie had to force himself not to steal the shiny red apple from the tray, but as his stomach gave another grumble, he quickly ate one of the pickle slices and hoped no one saw.
Still savoring the pickle, Crutchie walked into the office to find Snyder reading the paper. Setting the tray on the desk, Crutchie saw it was The Sun and recalled that was the paper the girl reporter wrote for. He didn't care to look at the headlines, still on strike from the newspapers even though he wasn't there.
"Would ya look at that," Snyder said, trying to gain Crutchie's attention. "Looks like you're little friends made a pape." Though he didn't want to give Snyder the satisfaction, Crutchie couldn't help but look at the paper again. It was a front page article about the strike, about the newsies. NEWSIES STOP THE WORLD was in bold letters above a picture of everyone, smiling happily and their fists thrust defiantly in the air. Crutchie felt a pang in his chest at seeing the happy faces of his friends. He missed them dearly. Rover and Rat were great but Crutchie wanted nothing more than to be sitting around in Tibby's and laughing with each other. As he looked at Dollface in the picture he couldn't help but wonder what she was doing and if she was safe. Crutchie began to read the first few sentences if the article, noticing that Katherine Plumber was the author, but Snyder slammed his hand on the page, blocking the words.
"Looks like you and your dumb friends made the pape," he muttered rather disgruntled. "I'll have to have a word with our guards today. Need to make sure no one sees this. Don't want the boys to think you're something special, now do we?"
"No, sir," Crutchie said, receiving a dirty glare from Snyder. But nothing could get rid of the joy he felt. They were starting to catch people's attention. The editors must be pushing through the strike material, it must be worthy to sell. They might actually be taken seriously. Crutchie bit his lip to keep from smiling as he stole another glance at their picture in the paper. He had made the front page news.
However, his good mood quickly faded as Snyder forced him to sit and watch him eat another meal. The pickle Crutchie had scarfed down did nothing to stop his growling stomach. He could only count down the hours until the next meal, despite knowing the food wouldn't be any better than it had been all day. Crutchie sighed as he cleared Sndyer's dishes and left the room. Too focused on getting down to the kitchen to report the latest news of the strike, he didn't notice the two boys standing in the hallway until one stuck out his foot, tripping him. Crutchie fell forward, dishes clattering the ground, one breaking, and his crutch going flying across the hall. The boys laughed.
"So here he is, the little newsboy himself," one of them said, crunching on a piece of broken glass. Both boys were big, much larger than Crutchie, and looked to be much older too. They had crooked teeth and dirty smiles. But for living in the refuge, they weren't very skinny or frail. They both looked like they ate full plates for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.
"Wanted to meet ya ourselves, kid," the other laughed. "I'm Charlie and this here's Bull."
"We's been eaga to see ya eva since we got word a newsies was here," Bull said. "Even betta when we heard you was a crip!"
"Yeah, great to meet ya too," Crutchie grumbled, crawling for his crutch. His leg throbbed painfully having been knocked to the ground but he was certainly not going to let these guys know that. He reached out for the crutch but Charlie grabbed it first, holding it above his head.
"Oh looks like the crip's havin some trouble today," Charlie mocked. "Would ya like some help?"
"Look, would ya quit it?" Crutchie said annoyed, struggling to stand up without his crutch. "I hafta get these dishes down to the kitchen or else Snyda will kill me."
"See that's what we came here to talk to you about kid," Bull said, stepping closer to Crutchie. "We's been here a while. Nearly six years. And all we's done is clean floors. Clean walls. Clean toilets for cryin out loud."
"And then you come waltzin in here," Charlie said, leaning on the crutch. "And Snyda just hands you the best job in this joint."
"Workin for Snyda's the best job in this joint?" Crutchie repeated. "I gotta tell you it really ain't-"
"Did we say you could talk?" Bull jumped in. "Yeah, it is the best job in the joint. Sure is betta than scrubbin toilets all day long, havin the guards breathin down your necks. Not bein able to take a break, not bein able to talk to ya buddies, if they happen to be workin near ya."
"And we saw you eat that pickle," Charlie said. "We saw you sneak that and eat it in one bite. That could be us. Clearin dishes and eatin pickles. But instead, it's a no good crip doin it. What's ya name, crip?"
"Look, just leave me alone, alright," Crutchie began to say but Charlie shoved him against the wall. His bad leg buckled and he slid to the ground.
"I said what's ya name, crip?" he asked more aggressively.
"Crutchie," he said, embarrassed for the first time at his nickname. His face burned as the boys laughed at him. Crutchie had not been happy at first when he heard what the other newsies had dubbed him but soon embraced it, not wanting to always brood on his gimp leg. Now he merely stood up again and grabbed the crutch from Charlie's hand.
"Oh kid, you's gonna have some fun here," Bull laughed. Crutchie ignored them and began to clean up the dishes. Bull reached down and picked up a cup. He then threw it at the wall, shattering it, and Charlie kicked Crutchie in the side, knocking him over once again.
"We'll be seein you around, Crutchie," Charlie shouted as they ran down the hall. Snyder's door suddenly opened and he looked to see Crutchie on the floor, surrounded by broken glass. He stormed over to Crutchie and slapped him across the face.
"Look what you did!" he shouted at him, kicking glass at him. "You are going to clean this up and so help me God, if you drop one more dish, you won't ever hear the end of it!" He stormed back into the office, slamming the door behind him.
Crutchie sighed, ignoring the pain once again running through his tired body, and began to clean up the broken glass, only scraping his hand once. Once he had cleaned everything, he picked himself up and walked back to the kitchen with the empty tray in hand. He walked in and slammed the tray on the counter, making some of the boys jump.
"What happened to you?" the youngest boy, Patrick, asked, following Crutchie to the sink.
"Made some new friends," Crutchie said, turning on the sink to wash off the cut on his hand. "Bull and Charlie."
"Oh yeah, they's not so nice," Patrick said, folding his arms on the side of the sink. "You know you ain't supposed to be usin the sink."
"I don't really care. I'm gonna get beat up anyway," Crutchie said, turning off the sink and drying his hands on his pants, not caring as he smeared them with blood. "Might as well have clean hands to defend myself with."
"Sorry 'bout Bull and Charlie," Rat said, overhearing their conversation. "They's just about a month away from gettin set loose. But they's the worst ones here. They gotta gang, just a few fellas who would rather be doin the beatin than gettin beat, but when Bull and Charlie ain't with 'em, they don't do much but make bad insults."
"I ain't worried 'bout them, I seen worse," Crutchie said, thinking of the Delanceys and pushing bad thoughts to the back of his mind. "I came down here to talk about the strike. We made the papes." The whole room went crazy, clapping and congratulating Crutchie.
"Yeah, it's real big," Crutchie said once they settled down. "We gots a big headline and a nice picture, front page and everything. It'll get people's attention. They might read it and listen to us. They might start caring 'bout us. And just so all you fellas know, this strike isn't just for us newsies. It's for all us kids that don't got a cushy house with a loving motha and fatha. It's for all of us who gots to work hard to stay off the streets. And it's for all of you kids who live in this godforsaken refuge with Snyda breathin down ya necks. We's fightin for all of you too."
Crutchie left the kitchen feeling much better. Seeing those boys smile and cheer over the good news about the strike made him feel like he wasn't so alone. There was nothing better than when he saw Patrick grinning up at him, his two front teeth missing. He was going to get through Snyder and Bull and Charlie because there was so much more to cheer for. The strike. His friends. Jack. Dollface. And the new friends he was making when he wasn't being yelled at.
this one's a little long but hopefully you guys won't mind :) please leave a review! I know you guys are reading this so let me know what you think!