Disclaimer: This is a non-commercial work of fanfiction. Anything recognizable from Newsies belongs to Disney and not to me.
Chapter 127: Pretty and Smart
Jack set his artist's palette down and got to his feet, stepping back to examine the canvas that he'd just been painting on with an appraising eye. Miss Medda's latest commission was for a pair of backdrops depicting an outdoor marketplace, and while Jack generally preferred to render landscapes, it felt good to stretch his skill by depicting a more structured, metropolitan scene instead. His brief stint as a political cartoonist had improved his versatility as an artist (he supposed he had old Joe to thank for that), and though the display that he was currently finishing up didn't have the luminosity of his nature-themed backdrops, he was satisfied with the overall effect.
"That's coming along nicely," Medda remarked, walking over to join him. She'd been in the wings talking with the stage manager about the details of the new show. "Folks are gonna love those splashy colors."
"Thanks, Miss Medda," Jack grinned. "It ain't my usual style, but it's comin' along all right."
The theater owner admired the backdrop for a moment more before remarking, "You've really come a long way as an artist, especially in the last few months. There's something in your painting that's never been there before."
"Yeah, well…" Jack scratched his head, "guess all that drawin' I did for Pulitzer helped some."
"Oh, it's more than that," Medda insisted. "Around here we call it our 'spark' - the thing that makes our performances come alive because we're just enjoying ourselves so much that we can't help but let it flow out. I see it in your paintings now more than I ever have before. They're less brooding - and more hopeful." She smiled, and Jack caught the knowing look in her eyes before she wagged a finger at him. "I'm willing to bet that Katherine has something to do with this transformation. It sounds like you two have been spending a lot of time together."
"Pretty much every moment we can get," Jack agreed, grinning at the mention of his sweetheart. He'd privately considered Katherine his muse from the moment he'd drawn his first sketch of her, but the fact that someone else was remarking on it made him feel proud for some reason.
"I'm actually startin' to think about settlin' down with her," he confessed, figuring that now was as good a time as any to broach the subject with the theater owner. "Been wantin' to ask you for some advice."
Medda's face lit up with a smile that put the stage lighting of Irving Hall to shame.
"Oh, honey, I'm so happy for you!" she gushed, bustling over to give Jack a hug.
"Hey, thanks Miss Medda, but she ain't said 'yes' to me yet," he chuckled. "I still gotta convince her that gettin' hitched is a good idea."
Medda waved him off. "Psh, you don't have anything to worry about!" she declared. "The way that woman looks at you, I'd say she's been waiting a while for you to pop the question."
"Sure hope you's right," Jack agreed. Truthfully, he wasn't really worried about Katherine rejecting his proposal, for she'd hinted at wanting to have a more permanent future with him often enough, but he wanted to give her the kind of proposal that she was worthy of. He couldn't afford the trimmings and trappings that would characterize a marriage offer by a suitor of her own class, but if there was a way to still make the occasion special somehow…
"What kinda things does a fella usually do when he proposes, Miss Medda?" he asked, realizing that at present he had only a vague idea of what the process entailed.
"Well, it depends on the fella," she answered. "But generally speaking, he'll talk to the girl privately and explain what his intent is. Usually he'll present her with a ring or a token of his affection. If she accepts his proposal, he'll go to her father to ask permission for her hand. This step could actually be done ahead of time..." she gave Jack a knowing look, "but I'm guessing that in your case it won't matter whether you talk to Pulitzer before or after you speak with Katherine."
"Yeah," Jack let out a mirthless chuckle. "Ain't gonna make no difference as far as I'm concerned. Old Joe'll kick me to the curb either way. I'm kinda wonderin' if it's even worth the trouble to ask him at all."
Medda didn't say anything, but her expression was sympathetic.
"So after a fella pops the question, then what?" Jack asked, not wanting to dwell on the subject of Pulitzer any longer than necessary.
"That's basically it," Medda answered. "Sometimes a dinner party will follow where the families of the engaged can meet each other and socialize."
Jack snorted, dryly amused at the thought of Katherine's blue-blooded relatives being forced to dine with a lodging house full of rambunctious newsies. That would be a recipe for disaster, and no mistake. The thought of a celebratory meal appealed to him though, maybe just a simple dinner with his boys and Medda and any of Katherine's friends who would be willing to associate with folks beneath their social station.
An idea suddenly began to take shape.
"Miss Medda, if all this goes the way I'm hopin', do you think I could borrow Irving Hall one night when you ain't got rehearsals or a show goin' on?" he asked aloud. "Ain't gonna need it right away - probably not for another month or two - but if you ain't opposed to the idea, I'd sure like to have a special dinner like you was talkin' about."
"Irving Hall would be honored to host such a momentous occasion," Medda replied. "I'm sure we'll be able to work something out, especially if you're willing to have the event on a weeknight. We always have at least one day off for the performers to rest, so you pick a date out, and I'll hold that night for you."
"You's the best," Jack grinned at her. He could already see it coming together in his mind: long tables set up on the stage for communal dining (decorated to make everything look a little more fancy), the lights dimmed slightly to create a relaxed, romantic atmosphere, simple but hearty food (and maybe even a cake or some kind of dessert), the entire event set against a special backdrop that he'd paint himself...
Enthused by the picture, he found his thoughts turning to the other two elements of the proposal that Medda had mentioned: a ring and the procurement of parental permission. Both were equally-daunting obstacles (though the latter was significantly more distasteful than the first), and reality came rushing back in as he realized that he wasn't sure how he was going to come up with the money to buy even a simple engagement ring.
As if reading his thoughts, Medda said casually, "I'm not sure if you had a particular kind of ring in mind for Katherine, but if not, I've actually got a few lying around, Jack. You're welcome to have one in exchange for this last set of backdrops."
"Wait a minute," Jack held up his hands, his elation at the prospect grappling with his sneaking suspicion that this was in no ways an equal trade. He wasn't sure how much rings normally cost since he'd never had the occasion to consider buying one before, but it didn't seem likely that something so nice could be worth the cost of a few dabs of paint on a canvas. "You sure that's a fair exchange, Miss Medda?" he queried, searching the woman's face. "I wouldn't want to be puttin' you out or nothin'."
"You wouldn't be putting me out at all, Jack," she assured him. "When I said I had a few rings lying around, I literally meant 'lying around' - I'm not wearing them, and I don't ever intend to. I'd like them to go to someone who will actually enjoy them."
"Guess you ain't got no shortage of gents fallin' over themselves tryin' to impress you with fancy baubles an' such," he remarked, grinning a little.
"It's a part of the performing life," Medda acknowledged. "Folks get enamored with the glitz and glamor of your stage persona and will do all sorts of things to catch a little bit of that stardom…" She gave Jack a look that was both sentimental and sad. "But when you find someone who really loves the person you are once the lights go off and the show's over...that's the real treasure worth keeping, way more valuable than diamonds and furs and a bank account full of money."
"Yeah," Jack concurred. "It sure is somethin' special…" He gave the theater owner a grateful look. "Well, if you's certain you wouldn't mind partin' with one of your rings, I'd like to take a look at 'em. To be honest, I ain't sure I'd be able to afford buyin' one full price. You's really savin' my skin with this offer."
"Well, you're going to be on your own when it comes to asking Pulitzer for permission to marry his daughter," Medda reminded him. "That's one thing I can't help you with."
"Two out of three ain't bad," Jack shrugged. "You's puttin' it within reach.
Medda gave him another encouraging smile. "I'm glad to help however I can." Glancing towards the clock at the back of the theater, she added, "I'll let you get back to work now, though. It's almost one o'clock, and I've got to meet Frank for a lunch date."
"That late already, huh?" Jack squinted at the clock. He'd gotten so absorbed in his painting that he hadn't realized that half the day had already come and gone. It was time for him to head out, too, for he was due to meet Race at Jacobi's soon, and would have to hurry to make it there on time.
"Enjoy your lunch, Miss Medda!" he called out as the theater owner left the stage. She waved to him, and he turned back to his paints, thankful once again for her generosity and encouragement. Now that his folks were gone, she was the closest thing he had to a mother, and even though he didn't see her now as much now as he used to, it was comforting to have a supportive presence for these kinds of big decisions.
Quickly packing up his art supplies and stowing them off to the side so that they wouldn't be in the way, Jack finished cleaning up his work space and then left Irving Hall, setting out for Jacobi's at a brisk pace.
This lunch meeting with Race was the third one in a series of weekly meals that they'd begun sharing at Jack's initiative. He knew that Race valued the time spent together (even if all they did was joke and bum around) and that it was important to offset the ever-increasing number of hours he was away from the lodging house with some kind of effort to connect with his second-in-command.
The lunch crowd at Jacobi's was mostly gone by the time he arrived, and Jack found Race sitting at their usual table at the back of the deli.
"Heya, Jacky!" the gambler greeted him cheerfully. "I got here a little early, so I put in the order already. Roast beef with cheddar on rye, right?"
Jack nodded. "Sorry I'm late," he apologized, dropping into the chair across from the other newsie. "Lost track of the time."
"Miss Medda keepin' you pretty busy?" Race inquired, passing Jack's sandwich to him before taking a bite of his own.
"Yeah. She's openin' a new show this weekend and needed a fresh set of backdrops. Just finished the last one this afternoon, but it's gonna need a little more touchin' up before it'll be ready to go." Jack took a bite of his sandwich, savoring the crunch of the bread and the thick cuts of roast beef.
"Seems like you ain't hurtin' for jobs even though you ain't got that cartoonist position at The World no more," Race observed.
"Yeah, I've been lucky," Jack acknowledged. "Need to start savin' up for the future, anyway."
It was a cautious admission (for he knew that it would be risky to get close to the subject of him aging out of the lodging house), so he let the statement be, waiting to see what Race would do with it.
"Guess that's true," the gambler remarked, picking up a piece of onion that had fallen on the table and popping it into his mouth. "Mush was just tellin' me that he's been worryin' lately about what he's gonna do when he ain't young enough to sell papes anymore, and I know a few of the other fellas is havin' a little harder time movin' their stock. We's all gettin' older - ain't no gettin' around that. Sooner or later all of us is gonna haf'ta start thinkin' about the future, too."
It was a more forthright acknowledgement of reality than Jack had expected from his live-for-the-moment lieutenant, and he noticed something different in Race's voice, too, an unusual sobriety that would have come across as completely out of character only a few months ago.
You've changed, Racer, he thought, both perplexed and proud at the same time. He'd always seen the leadership potential in Race, but the younger boy's stubbornness when it came to resisting responsibility had put a constant damper on what would have been Jack's otherwise enthusiastic acknowledgement of his commanding qualities. Race, from day one, had possessed the acumen and charisma necessary to lead, but he'd lacked the discipline and maturity, and Jack had found himself frustrated time and time again by his second's lackadaisical attitude, even though he'd continued to rely on Race as his right hand man when it came to running the lodging house.
The plan - in Jack's mind - had always been for Race to take over once the day came where Jack could no longer lead the newsies. He'd never said as much aloud, knowing that the other boy would balk at the idea, but he'd hoped that over time his friend would warm up to the idea.
The strike, it seemed, had helped a lot in that area. It had forced Race into the very role that he'd resisted and had, Jack assumed, instilled a level of confidence borne out of experience and testing. The newsies had become accustomed to the notion of the gambler being in charge, perhaps more easily than they would have if Jack had transitioned out of their ranks completely, and the shift had been so gradual that it almost felt like they were already halfway there. In fact, Jack had never re-assumed full command of the newsies, not since that fateful day during the strike when he'd gone into hiding at Irving Hall after chaos had erupted at the distribution center. Race had been the constant at the lodging house from that point forward.
"You thinkin', Jacky?" the newsie in question interjected, interrupting Jack's train of thought. "I'm startin' to smell the smoke comin' out of your ears!" Race grinned. "Hey, forget what I said about the future, all right? It ain't gonna find us for a while yet, and there ain't no use worryin' about it 'till it does. We got lots of time to grow up and learn to be responsible, so we might as well stow the seriosity and enjoy ourselves while we can!"
"Yeah...guess so," Jack answered reluctantly.
Guess convincin' that bummer to take over ain't gonna be that easy.
"Speakin' of enjoyin' ourselves," Race added, crunching on a pickle, "seems like you and Kath have been spendin' a lot more time together lately. Still stuck on each other like two lovebugs in the Springtime?"
Jack smiled in spite of the simile. "Yeah," he admitted. "Still stuck on each other. I'm actually plannin' on askin' her to marry me soon."
He hadn't intended to disclose his plan to Race, but maybe the mention of a potentially impending life change would be enough to steer the conversation back to the subject of the future...and the inevitable reality that Jack wouldn't be living at Number Nine Duane Street forever.
To his surprise, the other newsie seemed to take the announcement in stride, chuckling a little as he regarded Jack with a look that was half indulgent and half pitying.
"So, you's the first one of us to fall," he drawled. "Was sooner than I thought, but I can't say I'm surprised. You always was a sucker for a pretty face."
"You know Katherine ain't just a pretty face," Jack began.
"Oh, of course she ain't," Race agreed placatingly. "We both know she's smart enough to run circles 'round you any day." He grinned. "But we also both know why you was so interested in her in the first place."
Jack scowled. "A fella can't help but notice a good-lookin' gal, all right? It's only natural."
"Sure, sure," Race answered drolly. "I ain't gonna argue with ya, 'specially since Kath was all ready to follow you to the ends of the earth the day that the strike ended. She's the real deal, and no mistake. You's the slow one, only comin' around to committin' almost half a year after the fact."
"A fella's gotta be sure."
"Course he does," Race conceded. "It's a big step you's takin'." His grin widened, and he reached across the table to clap Jack on the arm. "Teasin' aside, I'm real happy for you, Jacky."
The warmth in his voice was unexpected but sincere, and though Jack would never say it out loud, he was touched by the affirmation. Race wasn't generally the encouraging type, but on the rare occasions when he dropped his usual facetiousness, his words held a particular type of weight.
Taking another bite of sandwich, the gambler asked around a mouthful of salami, "So...when and how are you gonna pop the question?"
"I ain't sure yet," Jack admitted. "I was talkin' to Miss Medda about some ideas earlier today, but I gotta think about it more. Probably ain't gonna have everything settled for another few months, tops. I ain't gonna drag my feet on it, but I also ain't in no hurry." He scratched his head, momentarily remembering the logistical matters still to be settled, then set the thought aside.
"Anyway, I got some time to figure all that out," he continued. "Why don'tcha catch me up on what's been goin' on with you? You been comin' back late a lot the last few weeks lookin' real absorbed. Don't think I ain't catchin' on to that kinda thing even if I ain't around the lodgin' house as much as I used to be."
Race smiled grimly. "I had a personal situation come up," he admitted. "Didn't want to burden you or the other fellas with it, but it had me real worried for a while."
Jack gave him a long look. "Racer, I've told'ja a million times that we's a family. We's supposed to look out for each other. You shoulda told me."
"You was busy," Race deflected, fiddling with a pickle stem. "And there weren't anything you coulda done."
"At least tell me what's goin' on," Jack entreated, biting back his exasperation. Even if it was too late to do anything about the situation, he wanted to know what had transpired. Race had always been reticent in regards to details about his personal life (and, to a degree, all of the boys were), but that didn't stop Jack from pushing for disclosure, even if it was only so he could offer a consoling word or two.
Race hesitated for a moment, but then began speaking, filling Jack in on the events of the past few weeks. Though it was the first that Jack had heard of Sophie and of Race's family in Brooklyn, he wasn't completely surprised; the story of a neglectful and abusive home life driving a young boy or girl to the streets was all too familiar of a narrative.
"You said your sister's gonna be movin' in with Cal's girls?" Jack asked when Race had concluded his tale. As disinclined as he was towards the Bronx newsie, it was a relief to know that Sophie had at least found a place to stay.
Race nodded. "That's the plan. Would've been nice to keep her closer, but there ain't many options for that right now. We's just thankful that she was able to stay at the tenement for a while; Beck's family's been real nice to her, and Sophie's gotten real attached to them."
"Sounds like it," Jack agreed. He was still trying to wrap his mind around the slightly-convoluted chain of association that had yielded a temporary solution to the Higginses' housing problem. From what little he'd experienced of the Becker family (mostly vicariously through the Jacobs brothers' occasional remarks, and secondarily through his brief interaction with the landlord that night he'd been caught scaling the fire escape), they seemed like a stand-up sort of people. Moreover, Davey was clearly in their good graces if they'd been willing to put up the sister of his friend for nearly two weeks without expecting anything in return. It made sense to some degree...but it had still been a serendipitous stroke of luck for Race and Sophie.
The thought made Jack's mind suddenly tangent towards his temporarily-forgotten plans to investigate Davey's suspected affection for the landlord's daughter (who, thanks to a combination of Les' and Race's disclosures, he now knew was one and the same as Sadie - or "Beck" as Race had been calling her). The fact that this girl seemed to have a good family - and that Davey was closer to them than he'd let on - only piqued Jack's interest further, and though his informants had seemed to think that there was little chance of anything romantic actually developing between the two parties in question, Jack was more optimistic in his assessment of the matter. His approach to love had always been to dive in head first and ask questions later (for he was far more apt to quote the adage "love at first sight's for suckers" than to actually let it stop him). Davey was probably playing it far too safe, hung up on his self-assessed shortcomings or else overthinking the situation. If this was the case, Jack could certainly help with that, because overthinking things wasn't something that he did very often. He owed Davey his support in return for the sound advice the other boy had given him about Katherine, after all.
As if one cue, the door to Jacobi's suddenly opened, and Davey himself walked in.
"Hey, Davey!" Race called out. "You eatin' here today?"
"Just picking up something," Davey answered, walking over. "I've still got some copies of the morning edition to sell. I'll eat while I walk."
"You take extra papes today?" Race queried, popping the last of his sandwich into his mouth.
Davey shook his head. "No. I just had a little trouble moving them."
"With a headline like 'Boston Ballplayer Takes Axe to Wife and Children'*?" Race gawked at him. "It's the bloodiest story we've had in months - you don't even hafta improve the truth to sell it! I know you ain't the type to enthuse about that kinda thing, but still, a fella could hawk it half-asleep and folks would still be buyin'."
Davey looked away for a moment, and Jack saw him fiddle with the strap of his newsboy bag.
"I didn't have it in me this morning," he said. "I don't know - I…" he trailed off, then added abruptly, "I probably just need some food. That's all." He gave Race and Jack a forced smile. "I'm going to get a sandwich and then hit the road. Enjoy your lunch."
And before they could say anything in response, he walked over to the deli counter to place his order.
"Somethin's up," Jack murmured as he watched the other boy pay for his sandwich and then walk off to the side of the lunch room to wait.
"Yeah…" Race agreed. "He seemed a little off these past few days, but didn't think of askin' him about it. He was fine last week. Dunno what's got him so clammed up now."
Jack scratched his head. "You think…" He hesitated a moment before plunging ahead, "You think somethin' might've happened between him and that gal you think he's sweet on?" Normally he would have assumed that Davey's preoccupation stemmed from worries about his family or school, but from what Race had told him in a previous conversation, those things seemed to be in equilibrium for the moment, and Jack had romance on his mind.
Race shrugged. "There's always lots of things goin' on in Davey's head, Jacky. Can't say if it's Beck or somethin' else that's got him so preoccupied...but I'll try to get it out of him if I can. He's gonna help me move Sophie out of the tenement tomorrow after we's done sellin', so I'll talk to him then."
They heard Jacobi calling out Davey's order and watched as the other newsie went to get his sandwich, procuring it with a word of thanks and then heading directly to the door, exiting the deli and disappearing immediately into the foot traffic on the streets.
"Guess I oughta get movin' too," Race sighed, crumpling up his empty sandwich wrapper. "I haf'ta stop by the lodgin' house to get some more money for the afternoon edition - took an extra large stock this mornin' on account of the good headline, and lunch set me back a little, too."
Remembering that Race had paid for his sandwich, Jack began digging into his pocket. "I'll save you a trip and spot'cha the money, " he began, but the gambler waved him off.
"Nah, my treat, Jacky. I got the dough, just not with me, and the lodgin' house ain't far from here."
"I'll come with you," Jack offered. He'd hardly eaten any of his own lunch yet, but he could munch on his sandwich as he walked. The plan had been for him to head straight back to the theater to continue painting, but he found himself reluctant to return indoors, not when it was such a nice day and when the fresh air and sunlight were calling to him.
Accordingly, the two of them left Jacobi's and headed in the direction of the lodging house, where Race procured the money that he needed. They continued chatting as they walked towards the distribution center, and Jack decided on a whim to sell the afternoon edition. He'd been missing the company of his fellow newsies, and if all went according to plan, his days to hit the streets with them were numbered, so he wanted to make the most of the opportunity.
He and Race sold together for most of the afternoon, talking and bantering and trying to outdo each other as they peddled their papes, and Jack found himself feeling refreshed as the hours quickly passed. It had been a while since he'd been able to spend this much time with his friend, and if the liveliness of Race's demeanor was any indication, he'd been missing their camaraderie, too.
Soon enough, they'd sold all but the last of their stock, and the sun was beginning to go down, signaling the end of another day.
As they walked down the street in the direction of the lodging house, Race suddenly stopped short, nudging Jack in the arm.
"That's her, Jacky," he murmured.
Jack gave him a confused look. "That's who?"
"Davey's gal - Sadie. Over there, leavin' the tailor's shop."
Jack squinted, his eyes scanning the street. "Nah, you's messin' with me. Not the little minikin wearin' the hat?"
"I ain't lyin'," Race grinned. "Not what you expected, huh?"
Jack shook his head. In his mind, he'd had a vague image of a dark-haired young woman of average height and build dressed in muted, sensible colors with a rather serious demeanor and perhaps a book or two in her arms. The diminutive, jaunty-looking brunette across the street didn't seem like the kind of young lady Davey would go for...but then again, looks could be deceiving.
"I think I'm gonna do a little investigatin'," Jack announced, the idea spontaneously taking shape in his mind. "See if I can get anything outta her without her guessin' I'm in cahoots with Davey. You wanna come?"
"Better I don't if you's tryin' to play it cool," Race replied. "She already knows me. Besides, it ain't my style to meddle with a girl like that. I'll stick to buggin' Dave and leave the risky intervenin' to you." He clapped Jack on the back. "Have fun playin' detective, though. I'll see you back at the lodgin' house."
So saying, he sauntered off, whistling as he went.
Jack straightened his newsboy cap and pulled a paper from his bag, affecting nonchalance as he sidled across the street. He casually followed the girl for about a block at a distance, slowly quickening his pace until he drew even with her. When she glanced over, he flashed her a friendly smile and held up his paper.
"Good evenin', Miss," he said, touching his cap with his free hand. "Any chance you might be interested in readin' the latest news?"
She smiled politely, shaking her head. "Not tonight, but thank you."
"You sure about that?" Jack pressed. "Great headline this evenin': "Baby Born with Two Heads."
"That's very kind of you," she replied. "But I usually buy my paper from another newsboy."
"Oh, is that so?" Jack scoffed, pretending to be offended but secretly pleased at the opening. "What's this other bummer got that I ain't?"
"Well, manners, for one," came her teasing response.
Jack feigned a wince. "Oooh, I'm crushed!"
"Oooh," she copied his grimace. "I think you'll live." She quickened her pace, and Jack had to jog a few steps to catch up with her.
"So where's a nice girl like you rushin' off to all alone?" he asked when he was beside her once again. "You tellin' me you ain't got a sweetheart walkin' you home, not even with a pretty face like that?"
He saw her stiffen just a bit. "Is flattery how you normally make your sales?" she asked, her tone noticeably less warm than it had been before.
"Ah, ah," Jack wagged a finger at her. "A good newsie never shares his trade secrets."
"And a 'nice girl' never reveals her destination to a stranger," she replied saucily. "Good night!" And with a little toss of her head, she disappeared around a corner.
Jack found himself grinning as the sound of her footsteps faded out of sight. Then he slowly turned around and began walking in the opposite direction.
Not bad, he thought. Smart gal, and pretty too, even if she's a short little thing. He hadn't expected her to be so cheeky, but maybe that was part of her appeal. He could easily imagine the petite brunette keeping up with Davey's wit (or perhaps teasing the life out of him), and though he'd assumed that the kind of girl his friend would fall for would be of a more serious persuasion, maybe this was a case of opposites attracting. Or maybe Davey actually appreciated lighthearted playfulness more than he let on.
In any case, if this was the girl Davey wanted, this was the girl Jack was going to help him get. From what little he'd managed to glean from his brief encounter with Sadie, the situation seemed far from hopeless - she'd rebuffed his cursory attempts at interrogation without revealing her hand, but there had also been something in her expression when she'd mentioned the well-mannered newsboy whom she usually bought her paper from, and all that a fellow required was an opening, no matter how small, to make his move. Davey just needed a healthy boost of confidence, and Jack would be happy to impart some of that trait to his far less self-assured comrade, for he was sure that Davey would have more than a fighting chance if he could only get over his reservations.
Pleased with his short detective work, Jack headed towards the lodging house, calling out the headline from his last remaining paper as he went.
A/N: Jack has entered the fray now, watch out everyone! :P Thanks for reading this chapter and for continuing to follow along with this story. I really appreciate you, and I hope you know that! :)
I do have an exciting (maybe?) announcement to share: Something Worth Winning is now cross-posted on Archive of Our Own - or at least, the first few chapters are (and more will be forthcoming)! I've put off uploading most of my stories to another platform because it's time consuming to do so and I don't love Ao3, but I figured that it was probably time I had this story backed up on another platform. I've added a brand new prologue and have revised all of the chapters that I've posted, so the best and most current version of SWW can be found on Ao3 (though those updates will eventually make it over here too when I have time to get to them).
All that to say, if Ao3 is your preferred platform, you'll be able to read this story there as well as here (you can find it under my user name, which is the same as here, pjean19). I'd love to hear what you think of the newly-added prologue and its Easter eggs if you decide to stop by (you'll understand the significance of a lot of it much more than a new reader just coming to the story for the first time would)! And if you feel like leaving SWW a comment or kudo of support while you're there, I'd greatly appreciate that as well (thank you very much to ChibiDawn23 and Ariel_of_Narnia who have already done so!). I've still got a ways to go when it comes to building up my credibility as a writer on that platform, so any willingness to vouch for my abilities is much appreciated if you feel so inclined. :)
Thank you, gracious readers. Until next time! :)
*The headline Race quotes references a man named Martin Bergen, a Boston baseball player who killed his wife and children with an axe in January of 1900. Very tragic and gruesome…but also a headline that wouldn't have required exaggeration to sell.
Guest Review Response:
Sadie and Davey could absolutely benefit from a DTR. It would really help circumvent so many of these problems! ;) (That being said, I'm glad to hear that their back and forth is relatable or realistic at least). Thank you so much for your review! :)
