by S. L. Stoner
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
“Day before yesterday.”
Sage relaxed back in his chair. “He gave you that black eye?”
At Matthew’s nod, Sage continued, Okay Matthew, if you are willing, I am going to give you the opportunity to get even with that big guy and get your life and, your friends’ lives, back to normal.”
For the first time, light shone in Matthew’s eyes. “You’ll let me help?”
Sage chuckled. “You might not be so eager when I tell you what I need you to do. It will mean missing some classes and it could be dangerous.”
Matthew’s eagerness didn’t abate. “Mr. Adair, I am willing to do anything that will bring this to an end for me and the other messengers. Some of the fellas are saying they need the messenger money, for food and stuff. We’re all scared.”
And so Sage told Matthew about Glad, Terry and Speedy.
Sixteen
Sage had two more stops to make before he could lay his head down. Fortunately, Philander Gray was in his law office. He listened to Sage’s story with mounting outrage.
“Do you think you can round up enough credible witnesses?” was his only question.
Once assured witnesses wouldn’t be a problem, Gray said thoughtfully, “Problem is, we don’t know who is underwriting the Speedy operation. It could be someone with close ties to the police or the prosecutor’s office. We don’t want to alert those criminals that we’re on to them. If we do, they might kill someone else to cover their tracks. I don’t think I could live with that.”
“You’re right. Before we set the trap, we need to know everyone involved. So far, I only have Prang and Kimble. They’re just underlings. And then, there’s the ‘big guy’ who threatened and attacked Matthew. I am sure he’s not the head guy either.”
“You nail down all the miscreants and we’ll snap that trap shut on every last one of them. Until then, I’ll do some research so that, when we know it’s safe, I can lay all the legal arguments in the prosecutor’s lap.”
Millie Trumbull was also in her office and greeted him with a warm smile. “Why Mr. Adair, it looks like you’re still working undercover as Mr. Miner.”
“I am and I’ve learned some things you ought to know.”
She was grim-faced as he told of Speedy’s operation and Doug Spencer’s death. She turned furious when he explained Vera Clark’s role in “educating” the youngest messengers. “I want to rip that woman’s throat out with my teeth!” she declared.
She stood and began pacing her small office. “Do you know that surveys of detention home inmates show that the number of former child messengers far exceeds that of children working in any other profession? Former newsboys run a close second.”
As she made her final point, her eyes turned from fire to cold steel. “And, when arrested, a high proportion of those young boys are ravished by venereal diseases. We are exposing our children to parts of life they are neither ready to see nor experience.” Now her eyes glittered with unshed tears as she asked, “When are we, as a nation, going to take responsibility for these defenseless children?”
“You’re right, in every single respect,” Sage assured her. “But hold off on the throat-ripping. To stop Speedy, we have to be patient and plan carefully. Otherwise, some of the scoundrels will escape. What proof does your board need to close that operation down? Or, at least wound it so badly, that it has to close down?”
“The Child Labor Commission inspects. We surprise inspect. That’s where our proof comes from. Someone telling us of a situation is what usually triggers an inspection. So, that avenue is not too high a hurdle.
“What we need is the kind of proof that will convince members of the Common Council to change our city code. We must forbid children less than sixteen years of age from entering saloons and vice dens. And we have to outlaw direct telephone lines between whorehouses, saloons and messenger companies.”
She stopped pacing and took her seat again. “If you are right and, the Speedy people have gone from committing civil violations into criminal acts, that’ll be our best chance of stopping them. For certain, our Commission’s fines won’t be enough.”
Both of them stiffened and fell silent at the sound of the outer office door opening. Footsteps crossed the floor and a slight, narrow-faced, bat-eared man of about thirty stepped into Millie’s office. She whooped upon seeing him and jumped up to wrap the fellow in a big hug.
Sage rose to take his leave, figuring he was intruding on a reunion.
“No, no! This is perfect! Sit down, Mr. . . . ah . . . Miner,” she said. Turning to the man Millie said, “Henry, this is Mr. John Miner. He is doing some undercover work for us.”
Turning back to Sage she explained, “This is Mr. Henry Russell. He works for the National Child Labor Committee though usually back east and in the South.” The two men shook hands and sat down.
Millie had a calculating look on her face. “How long are you here for?” she asked Russell.
“Just overnight. I’m on my way down to California. The Committee wants me to record the newsies in Sacramento, San Francisco, and Los Angeles.”
Sage and Millie exchanged glances—his puzzled, her’s merry and teasing as she said, “Henry is the National Child Labor Committee’s photographer. He wriggles into factories and takes candid photographs of children working. The Committee uses his photos to show the need for child labor laws. We’ve learned that a photograph of a seven-year-old girl working on a textile loom packs a bigger wallop than a ten thousand word report from notables saying the same thing.”
“That’s got to be dangerous for you,” Sage commented to Henry.
The other man laughed. “Well, I must admit that I’ve had to run for my life a time or two. Still, I’ve taken some great pictures.”
Millie leaned forward over her desk, her face earnest. “Henry, could you stay a few days here in Portland? Maybe take some photographs for us? It would be a great help and right in line with what the Committee wants.”
It was noon before Sage crawled into bed. He was bone-weary tired but also hopeful. They had a plan. And, there was a whole crew of people willing to lend hearts, minds, and skills to its success. Still, his last mental image before sleep took hold remained that of Glad Tobias’s impish grin.
Sage slept straight through Saturday into late Sunday morning. Sunday was the only day Knute didn’t work so it was the rotund Swede who answered Sage’s knock with a huge smile.
“Mr. Adair, Matthew said you vant to talk vit me and the fru,” he said in his singsong Swedish accent. “Please come in and have a seat.”
Sage’s remodel of Mozart’s had created a spacious apartment that used the entire second floor.
Within it, Ida and Knute had created a bright, homey place with cushioned furniture, polished tables and gingham curtains on the windows. Yellow was their favored color.
Matthew entered from the kitchen to sit on the sofa, followed by Ida.
“I’m sorry to disturb your Sunday,” Sage began, only to have Ida wave a dismissive hand at his apology. “Matthew told us what has been happening to him. We are so grateful to you. We were at our wit’s end.”
Ida’s normally cheerful, apple-cheeked face reflected that remembered anxiety and Matthew reached out and took her hand. “I am so sorry, Aunt Ida. I just didn’t know what to do.” His aunt wrapped an arm around his shoulders and gave him a hearty squeeze.
Knute sat on the boy’s other side and patted his knee. “That’s okay, son. It vas a difficult situation for you.”
Eyes stinging, Sage gazed at the three of them sitting side-by-side and so full of love for each other. This child was being given a chance, a head start in life. Ida, besides being a great cook, was one of the most cheerful and kindest people he had ever met. Knute, equally
round and apple-cheeked, had stepped in to lovingly father his wife’s nephew during those terrible days when Matthew was reeling from his brother’s murder and his own jailing.
“I want you both to know that I will understand if you don’t want to give your permission for Matthew to help me stop what the Speedy Messenger Service is doing. I will do my best to see that he’s not in danger but I can’t guarantee that there isn’t some risk,—” Sage began.
“Vhat is it that you need our Matthew to do?” interrupted Knute.
“I need him to befriend a boy and provide a safe place for that boy to stay. I want to install Matthew in a safe boarding house and have the boy, Terry, stay there, too, if he’s willing. It would mean that Matthew can go to school in the morning but might need to miss a class or two in the afternoon.”
“Vat is the danger to our Matthew?”
“I don’t think there will be any, but we are dealing with criminals. I plan to tell Terry that Matthew needs help with his rent to stay in school but that he’s had trouble with Speedy Messenger and doesn’t want them to know where he lives. If I’m right, Terry will protect Matthew. If he doesn’t, we’ll move Matthew out of there immediately.
“And there are two extra layers of safety. A friend of mine, Stuart Franklin, runs the boarding house. He’s helped me before. I stopped and talked to him. He’ll move one of his permanent boarders out temporarily to another rooming house and Matthew can take over his room. Stuart will be on hand every minute that Matthew is there. And, I will ask Mr. Fong to have one of his cousins watch over the house just to make sure there’s no problem.
“How many days will Matthew be gone?” asked Ida.
“I thought we’d give it no more than a week. If Terry won’t let us help him by that time, we’ll have to try another angle.”
Ida and Knute exchanged a look after which Ida gave a slight nod. Knute leaned forward to say, “Okay then. Ve trust you, Mr. Adair. But please take care of our Matthew. Ve love him, very much.” Knute gave the boy’s shoulders a strong squeeze, saying, “Matthew, you must do exactly vhat Mr. Adair tells you to do. And, keep up vith your studies.”
Matthew nodded eagerly, his eyes shining. “I promise.” Looking at Sage he asked. “When do we start?”
“Well, it being Sunday, Terry’s not working. So, tomorrow after school I’ll introduce you to him before he goes to work. Then, if he’s agreeable, I’ll bring him to your place first thing Tuesday morning before school.”
Matthew’s enthusiasm was worrying. The anxious faces of Ida and Knute said they also remembered times when Matthew hadn’t done “exactly what Mr. Adair told him to do.”
“Okay then, let’s head over to Stuart Franklin’s with some of your things,” was all Sage said.
On the way to Franklin’s boarding house, located on the western edge of the North End, Sage told Matthew about Franklin. “He used to row out and intercept ships leaving the mouth of the Columbia River. He’d call out for shanghaied men to jump ship. When they did, he’d pluck them out of the water and row them back to land. Unfortunately, the shanghaiers beat him so badly that he can’t do that anymore. So now he runs a safe boarding house for sailors.”
What Sage didn’t tell Matthew was that it was Sage who bought the house and had Franklin run it and keep all the profits. He figured it was the least he could do for a man who’d been nearly beaten to death for trying to save men from ship-board slavery that frequently ended in death.
Franklin’s large boarding house had a wide veranda, a small vegetable garden and flower beds that burst into bloom every spring. Every time he visited, Sage saw that the retired rescuer of sailors had made yet another improvement, despite suffering from chronic pain.
Franklin opened the door with a wide smile and said, “Greetings! You must be Matthew. Come in, come in.”
Pocket doors opened into rooms on either side of the spacious entryway. One room was the parlor for sitting, reading, visiting and game-playing. The other was the dining room. Sage had eaten there a few times and the food was good, thanks to the old ship’s cook Franklin had hired.
“I’m putting you upstairs in the front,” he said to Matthew as the three of them mounted the stairs to the second floor. “It’s one big room and right beside my own.”
It was a corner room with two single beds, one on each side and a table and two chairs between them. Light streamed in through windows on two sides. Two wardrobes with hanging sections and drawers stood to either side of the door.
“This looks right nice, Mr. Franklin,” said Matthew, as he put his duffle on the farthest bed and his school books on the table.
Seventeen
Lucinda was all smiles as she sat squeezed into a small, non-descript coach with Sage, Matthew, and Henry Russell. Despite the discomfort, she’d jumped at the chance to change into what she called her “kitchen dress” of faded calico and spend late Monday afternoon cooped up with the three of them. Fong sat outside atop the driver’s seat.
“There he is!” Sage said. “Come on!”
He and Matthew jumped out of the coach, but not before he gave Lucinda a quick kiss on the lips and tipped his hat to Henry Russell who’d snapped quite a few pictures of underage messengers entering and exiting Speedy Messenger from his window seat. “Good luck,” he said to them both.
Once they reached the boardwalk, the coach rolled off and Sage and Matthew hurried to intercept Terry half a block from Speedy Messenger.
“Yo! Terry!” Sage called to halt the boy. Terry stopped and turned toward them. His face was pale and exhausted.
“Hey there, Mr. Miner,” Terry said with a smile that didn’t reach his tired eyes.
“Terry,” Sage said, “I want you to meet my friend, Matthew Mason. I think you could help each other out. Matthew, this is Terry Tobias.”
Terry looked puzzled but he stuck out his hand. “Pleased to meet you, Matthew,” he said.
“Matthew here is from out of town and going to high school. His folks send him money but not quite enough. He rents a room with a spare bed. His place is nice and quiet and comes with breakfast and dinner. I thought you might be interested in staying there. He leaves for school early in the morning and doesn’t come back until after noon. You’d be able to sleep undisturbed,” Sage said, as Matthew nodded eagerly.
Terry shook his head. “I appreciate you thinking of me, but I can’t afford a place like that. I’ve got to save money for my family.”
“How much are you paying where you’re staying now?”
“$2.50 a week, but that don’t include any food.”
Matthew jumped in. “That’d be perfect. I’m only short $3.00 a week. What with the food and all, you can save even more money.”
“What time do they serve dinner?” Terry asked, his interest finally caught.
Sage jumped in because that was a question Matthew couldn’t answer. “That’s the beauty of this place. It has mostly sailors boarding there. They come and go at all hours, so the manager keeps a pot of soup on the stove all day in case they miss mealtime.” Sage shut up, fearing he’d enthused a bit too much.
Terry looked skeptical and asked hesitantly, “It wouldn’t bother you rooming with another person? Or, having me coming in to sleep so early in the morning?”
Matthew grinned. “That’s the beauty of it. It won’t hardly be like having another person there ‘cause you work nights. Mostly I’ll be gone when you’re sleeping and you’ll be gone when I’m sleeping. Besides, Mr. Miner’s right. If I don’t get someone to help with my rent, I’ll have to move and I surely don’t want to do that. It’s a great place.”
Pity tugged at Sage as he looked at Terry in the dusky light. No kid should have this boy’s worry and woes. Hope flickered across the boy’s face but his tone remained cautious as he said, “Well, okay. I guess I can give it a try. I’d have to get my stuff and come over in the mo
rning. Where is it?”
Sage jumped in. “How about I meet you after work and take you there?” he asked.
Terry agreed and soon the two of them were on their way to Speedy Messenger while Matthew headed back to Franklin’s to settle in before his new roommate arrived.
“Where the hell were you on Saturday, Miner?” Kimble demanded the minute Sage entered the office. “This is a six-day-a-week job, not some five-day, union job.”
“Sorry, boss. I laid my head down and just didn’t wake up until Sunday,” Sage said apologetically. “I guess maybe I’m still adjusting to the night hours.”
“Well, Number 37, you better be adjusted now ‘cause I’ll boot your butt down the street if you miss another night,” Kimble growled. He looked like he wanted to continue but a call box jingled and he had to answer it. Soon messengers were scurrying out, Sage among them.
When Sage and Terry met again, their shift was over and dawn glowed bright along the cloudbank’s eastern edge. “Are you certain sure my moving in with your friend is on the up and up? And that he’s only going to charge me $3 a week?” Terry must have spent the night questioning such unexpected good fortune.
“Positively sure. There is only one small condition,” Sage said and watched the hope die in the youngster’s face.
“No, no. Nothing bad. It’s just that Speedy Messenger tried to recruit Matthew to work for them. When he refused, they threatened him. So, it’s very important that they not know where you and he are living.”
Terry huffed out a gust of air. “Don’t worry about that. I sure don’t want them to know where I or my friends live.”
They reached the dilapidated clapboard where Terry had been staying. A toothless old crone met them at the door and demanded money before she’d let Terry enter. When he told her all he wanted was the bundle of clothes he’d left with her for safekeeping, she charged him five cents for storage. Once that was paid, they set off for Franklin’s.
