Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 39: Impressions and Instructions
Before the newsies dispersed (some for what would be very long walks back to their respective neighborhoods), the leaders held a brief meeting in front of the Irving Hall stage. They voted to show their support by following Manhattan's lead and upholding the strike in their own districts, and Race and Davey gave them a quick rundown of how to approach the logistics of the matter as well as some pointers on what to look out for.
It was agreed that some kind of effort would be made soon to hold a group demonstration in front of the offices of The World, but since they hadn't had time to plan for it and the hour was already growing late, Race promised to deploy runners to each of the other lodging houses whenever an official date and time was decided upon. It wouldn't be right away, as the Manhattan contingent was already taxed from hosting the rally, but it would be soon, as soon as they were able to recuperate and to strategize about how to make the most of their larger numbers.
That being decided upon, the leaders all shook hands, then prepared to go their separate ways. The Brooklyn detachment, following Spot's orders, had begun assisting the Manhattan boys with cleaning up Irving Hall while the newsie leaders met, and by the time the brief discussion had concluded, nearly everything had been taken care of, which Davey was grateful for.
"Hey, Spot," he said, catching the Brooklyn leader before he mustered his boys for their return march, "thanks for being the first one to show your support. I know it went a long way in convincing everyone to get on board, so...I appreciate it."
"Nothin' to thank me for, Mouth," Spot responded curtly, looking almost irked by Davey's expression of gratitude. "We'll be waitin' for your signal." And without another word, he walked off, his boys falling into step behind him like the well-oiled machine that they were.
The Bronx contingent was right behind them, and Calico gave Race and Davey a little salute as she passed by. "Nice work tonight boys," she remarked drolly. "I guess I'll be seeing you both shortly." She nodded at the gambler - "Until next time, Racetrack," and smirked at Davey - "Thimble." Then she and the rest of her newsies were gone.
"You ain't gonna live that first impression down," Race grinned, patting Davey on the back. "You should've just told her why you had that thing in the first place so that she could satisfy her curiosity and forget about it - though maybe you was smart not to tell her. She ain't the kind to keep secrets unless it suits her."
"It's not a very interesting story," Davey said quickly.
"Sure it ain't," Race agreed in a voice that said he didn't believe a word of it. He looked around the auditorium, which was by now nearly empty of all except for the Manhattan boys.
"You wanna debrief a little while you and the kid head home?" he asked. "I can send the fellas back and walk with you some before headin' to the lodging house."
"If that won't be too much trouble," Davey answered.
The gambler nodded. "I'll see to the boys; you'd better make sure your brother ain't noddin' off somewhere. Last I saw he was barely keepin' his eyes open."
They went their separate ways, Race calling for the newsies to assemble and Davey going in search of Les. True to Race's prediction, he found the younger boy dozing off in one of the front row seats, leaning against Miss Medda's shoulder. Davey hadn't noticed the theater owner's presence after their initial conversation before the rally, but he knew that she had been around.
He wondered how much she had seen.
"Thank you, Miss Medda," he whispered, coming over to sit beside Les. "Tonight wouldn't have been possible without you."
The woman waved off his appreciation. "You did a great job turning things around," she said, answering Davey's unspoken question as to how much of the rally she had observed. "I'm sure it wasn't easy getting hit with a surprise like that mid-show."
"Yeah, we definitely didn't expect it," Davey admitted.
The feelings that he'd kept bottled up began to stir again.
"I've known Jack for a while," Miss Medda said softly, catching the troubled look on Davey's face, "and I don't know why he did what he did tonight...but I do know it was out of character for him." She paused, shaking her head as though she still couldn't believe it. "Jack was always so protective and so proud of his newsies," she remarked. "Every time he came here, he'd be telling me something or other about what was going on at the lodging house. He told me about the first time he and Race pranked the Delancey brothers over at the distribution center - he was laughing so hard, tears were running down his face! He told me about the winter where Buttons came down with a really bad bout of the flu - it made Jack almost sick himself with worry. And he told me about how Sniper beat out every other newsie in New York in an unofficial slingshot contest - proud as a peacock about how his boy was the best of the best!" She smiled, then looked at Davey.
"He talked about you, too. He told me you were one of the most well-spoken people he'd ever met, and one of the smartest, too - after that reporter he's been going on and on about ever since the strike began."
Davey smiled. Coming in second to Katherine in Jack's book wasn't too bad, he supposed.
"I know you boys are going to have to figure out what to do now that Jack's turned on you," Miss Medda continued, her tone turning serious, "but don't be too hard on him, David." The exhortation in her voice was that of a mother pleading for her son; Davey had heard it often enough when he'd expressed frustrations about Les to his own mother and had been admonished to have just a little more patience for the younger boy.
"I'll try not to be," he answered honestly.
"Good." Miss Medda smiled. Les stirred in his sleep and she looked down at him, making a sympathetic sound. "The poor dear isn't used to being out this late, is he?" she observed.
"No, he's not," Davey answered. "This is way past his bedtime."
"Well, you'd better get going." Miss Medda glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the wall, then gently shook Les' shoulder. "Wake up, honey," she cooed. "Your brother's here now to take you home."
Les yawned, then snuggled once again into her shoulder, and Davey caught the wistful look that briefly crossed the theater owner's face before she jostled Les again, more firmly this time. "I know you're tired, dear, but you need to wake up," she murmured. "You'll sleep better in your own bed. Come on. Up." This time she accompanied her directive with a little push, and Les reluctantly stumbled to his feet, blinking sleepily.
"Is it over, David?" he mumbled.
"Yes, it's over," Davey said, putting an arm around Les to steady him. "We're going to head home now. Say goodbye and thank you to Miss Medda, all right?" Les thanked the theater owner, then impulsively gave her an affectionate hug which she was delighted to return. Davey expressed his thanks as well, and after a final goodbye, they went in search of Race. The gambler had just finished sending off the rest of the Manhattan newsies, who, under the watchful eyes of a few of the older boys, were making their way down the street in the direction of the lodging house.
"Good thing those bummers is startin' to get tired," Race remarked, not sounding fatigued himself in the slightest. "Otherwise it'd be like heardin' cats tryin' to get 'em all back home and into bed." He ruffled Les' hair. "You ready to go home yourself, kid?"
Les nodded, his eyes already beginning to droop again.
Race chuckled. "Hey," he said, patting Les on the shoulder, "what do you say to a ride, huh?"
Les voiced his assent at the same time that Davey protested, "Race, you don't need to do that."
The other newsie ignored his concern, bending down so that Les could climb on his back. "Been awhile since I've done this," the gambler remarked cheerfully, "but this kid ain't anything I can't handle."
"If he gets too heavy, tell me and I'll take a turn," Davey offered. He couldn't remember the last time he'd given Les a piggyback ride, and he was surprised that his brother had agreed to Race's offer, but maybe the younger boy really was too tired to walk. Thankfully, Les had always been rather small and slight for his age, so he wasn't as heavy as he could have been.
They left the theater, and sure enough, Les seemed to doze off within a matter of minutes, his head drooping against Race's shoulder. "Probably worked out for the best," the gambler observed quietly to Davey, "seein' as I'm pretty sure we's gonna be talkin' about things we wouldn't want the kid to overhear."
Davey sighed. "I guess you're right," he agreed.
They walked in silence for a few moments longer, the questions hanging heavy between them but neither one wanting to be the first to broach the subject.
"Why do you think he did it?" Davey asked finally. "You've known him longer than I have."
Race snorted. "Thought I knew him. I don't have a clue any more than you do."
"Miss Medda said that this kind of behavior was really out of character for Jack," Davey insisted. "It seems like there must have been something else involved - besides the money, I mean."
"Money's a big motivator, Dave," Race shrugged. "You know that as well as I do."
Davey didn't answer. Something about it didn't feel right, but he couldn't put his finger on what it was. The logic just didn't make sense - why would Jack have been willing to throw away his reputation in front of such a large crowd if he could have just undermined the strike in its earlier stages when Manhattan was the only group involved? There were any number of ways he could have done it that wouldn't have required such a public and full-scale betrayal, a betrayal that had cost Jack not just the trust of his own lodging house, but the respect of newsies across the city as well. Even if money was the motivator, wouldn't it have made more sense to do things quietly and then collect?
The deal must have been struck recently, he decided, most likely when Jack had gone to see Pulitzer to invite him to speak at the rally. The newsie leader had gone in hoping to make an ally and instead had been lured into joining the enemy's camp.
But was money really enough to make Jack cave? That was the question that refused to leave Davey's mind. The answer seemed to be clear...but what wasn't clear was whether or not it was an adequate explanation. Race seemed to think so; others, like Miss Medda, were less sure.
I have to be overlooking something, Davey thought. He didn't trust his instincts in this case, because the truth was that he'd really only known Jack for a few days prior to the strike, and the newsie leader had disappeared shortly after its inception. In fact, Jack had been missing longer than he'd been present for the short time that Davey had been a newsie, so drawing any kind of reliable conclusion as to his character was a dubious exercise at best.
He wished that Race had more to say about his history with Jack - the gambler seemed to have implied in an earlier conversation that sudden short disappearances weren't uncommon, but that was only conjecture on Davey's part - Race had never said as much, and he didn't seem to want to talk about it.
"What do you think the boys thought about tonight?" Davey asked, deciding to throw out a neutral question and let Race take the conversation in a direction that he was comfortable with.
"'Bout the rally itself? Or 'bout Jack?" the other boy asked, confoundingly batting the decision back into Davey's hands.
"Both." He could parry, too.
"Pretty sure they liked the entertainment, thought you gave a pretty good speech even if you talked a little too much, and that Jacky's a dirty rotten sellout," Race said bluntly. "Loyalty is big for the boys - they ain't gonna forgive that kinda double-dealin' easily, 'specially not when Jack already ran on them after the fight with the bulls. I think if he'd come back eventually, they would've overlooked it, but after tonight…" Race shook his head. "He had it comin.'"
"Do you think he'll return to the lodging house?" Davey asked.
Race snorted. "That son-of-a-gun's probably halfway to Santa Fe right now with the money he got from sellin' out. Nah, Davey," he scoffed. "I'd put money on Jack bein' gone for good. He knows he ain't gonna be welcome with us after what he did, and there's no point in him stickin' around now, not with that kinda cash in his pocket. Like it or not, we's gonna be seein' this thing through to the end, though at least we got some newsies to back us up now, thanks to that speech of yours."
"I suppose we'd better start planning again," Davey said, feeling both excited and a little fatigued at the thought.
"No more plannin' till we've had some rest," Race countered firmly. "We did what we set out to do tonight. It's time to drink in the moment and celebrate the victory." When Davey didn't answer right away, Race gave him an uncharacteristically stern look. "Ya hear me, Dave?" he pressed. "No more strategizin'. Shut down that brain of yours for a few hours so you can get some shut-eye, alright?"
"Did you come all the way here just to tell me to stop thinking?" Davey asked, incredulous. He'd assumed that Race had wanted to talk about Jack or about the next steps they would need to take for the strike, but the gambler hadn't seemed inclined to talk about either of those things.
Race shrugged. "Can't have you burnin' out on me," he answered matter-of-factly. "You's the only partner I got left now."
It was a straightforward statement, but there was a barely-perceptible note of sadness in it that Davey had never heard in the other boy's voice before, and he wondered if Race really wasn't taking Jack's betrayal as much in stride as he was letting on. He knew that Race was angry and had been angry for a while...but maybe something more was there as well.
The conversation dwindled significantly after that, each of them walking silently, lost in his own thoughts, and before Davey knew it, they had reached his family's tenement.
"Alright, kid," Race said, gently easing Les down off of his back. "You's gonna have to climb the stairs by yourself, but it'll be a short trip, and your bed's waitin.'' He grinned, putting a hand on the sleepy boy's shoulder. "I know you's tired, but I got somethin' I need you to do for me, all right?"
Les nodded, still drowsy but eager to help.
"You make sure your brother gets some rest tonight, got it?" Race jerked his thumb in Davey's direction. "I don't care what'cha have to do - sit on him, sing him a lullaby, whatever it takes to keep him in bed until he's gotten a few hours of sleep so that he can be ready to seize the day tomorrow. Can you do that?"
"Sure, Racer," Les answered, sounding determined.
Race clapped him on the shoulder. "Good man." He smirked at Davey. "Make sure you listen to your brother, all right? No thinkin.'"
"Will you be all right going back?" Davey asked, a little concerned at the lateness of the hour and the fact that Race would be making the trip back to the lodging house alone (though he supposed he should have thought of that before agreeing to have the other boy accompany them back to their tenement).
Race gave his characteristic dismissive wave. "I'll be fine - the boys'll be lookin' for me, so I ain't worried." He gave both brothers a cocky grin. "I'll see ya tomorrow." And with that, he turned and began walking in the direction of the lodging house, his footsteps quickly fading away into the night.
"Let's go, Les," Davey said, motioning up the stairs.
They walked back to their family's apartment, and Davey opened the door quietly. As expected, their father had already gone to bed, but their mother was still up, reading at the kitchen table by the glow of her flickering candle.
"How did the rally go?" she asked excitedly, rising from her seat to greet them at the door.
"It went all right," Davey answered. "Not what we expected, but pretty much what we'd hoped for." He removed his cap and hung it on the hook by the door, helping Les with his bowler as well.
"The rally went great," the younger boy said, still sleepy but clearly wanting to give his own version of the night's proceedings. "The place was packed out - newsies from all over the city came. Miss Medda's entertainment was a hit, and David made a speech that got everyone on board with the strike!"
"David, that's wonderful!" their mother exclaimed. "But I'm not surprised. You have a way with words, and you've put so much thought into this rally that I'm sure your speech had a weight to it that made the other newsboys listen."
Davey shrugged, a little embarrassed by the praise. He was surprised that Les hadn't mentioned anything about Jack's betrayal, but was grateful for the uncharacteristic show of sensitivity on the younger boy's part.
"Well, I want to hear more about everything tomorrow," their mother said, "but it's late, and you both need to get to bed." She gave each of her sons a hug. "I'm so proud of you, and your father will be, too, once he hears of what you've accomplished."
With a smile, she sent them off to get ready for bed, and Davey found himself beginning to feel the first signs of weariness as he went through the familiar routine of helping Les wash up and get into bed before preparing to sleep himself.
As he took off his vest to hang it up, he remembered the thimble and fished it out of his pocket, holding it in his hand. In some ways, it was the only tangible symbol of the rally that he had now: the signs that he'd spent hours making were disassembled, placed out back behind Irving Hall to be disposed of. The words that he'd spoken to the newsies were gone, dispersed into thin air, never again to be recalled in their specificity now that they had served their purpose. He'd lost his written notes for the night somewhere in the theater when things had taken a turn for the unexpected (and there hadn't really been a need for a formal program after that). All of it was gone now...except for this tiny object. It hadn't really played an integral part in any of the night's proceedings, but it had somehow shown up here and there, woven unobtrusively throughout the rally's narrative.
Now that he thought about it, the thimble actually symbolized more than just the rally. It was a reminder that he had friends. Friends who would drop everything to help him with a project on the rooftop. Friends who would steal back a pickpocketed item with no questions asked, just because the item was important to him. Friends who would stand behind him and his words, even when his delivery was imperfect and faltering. Friends who would challenge him to rise to the occasion, because they saw something in him that he couldn't see in himself.
Davey set the thimble in a tray on top of the bookshelf by his bed, shaking his head a little at his digression into sentimentality. He knew that he was being ridiculous; it was the perpetual new kid and outsider who was talking now, not his level-headed, rational self. There was no reason to get so sappy about things. The rally had been successful, the strike was still on, and that was what really mattered.
Satisfied, he finished getting ready for bed, not realizing how tired he was until he laid down and a wave of exhaustion hit him out of nowhere. He closed his eyes, listening to the familiar sound of Les snoring softly beside him, content and at peace...
...and in a matter of minutes, he, too, fell into a deep and dreamless sleep.
A/N: If you're at all curious to see what Calico and Spot are up to during this time as they head back to their own territories, please check out the one-shot entitled "The Potentate and the Pickpocket" in my Interstices short story collection. :) There's lots going on behind the scenes!
