Charlie let go of Joshua’s collar with a shove. “Do you want the job or not?”
“Where would I work?”
“I’d try you out on the corner of State and Devonshire—where the snobs are. They’d like Gentleman Josh. You’ll need to show up here every mornin’ at six o’clock to pick up your papes. This is where I get my papers dropped off. We meet at two to divvy up the kale.” Charlie saw Joshua’s confused look. “Kale—that’s money. Get it? Then you pick up the evenin’ edition and you sell those until seven o’clock and you come here again with the kale.”
“Six o’clock until seven? That’s a long day.”
“Ain’t that too bad!” said Shawn.
“Look,” Charlie explained. “I got plenty of young kids wantin’ to work for me. I buy the papes and you guys work for me.”
Joshua thought about the newsboys he’d seen in the past. Did they all work for Charlie?
“Listen, kid. I’m doin’ you a favor. Be here bright and early on Monday mornin’. Okay?”
“I’ll think about it,” Joshua said. “If I decide to do it I’ll be here at six on Monday.”
“You can make at least a buck a day if you work hard,” Charlie said. “Could you make that much as a messenger?”
“Maybe.”
“I take care of everything—the papers, the route. All you have to do is bring a cart. You’ll need it to carry the papers from here to State Street.”
“How am I supposed to bring a cart on the El every day?” Joshua asked. “I thought you took care of everything.” Shawn nudged Angel, and Joshua wondered if he’d gone too far.
Charlie stuck his face close to Joshua’s. “I’m tellin’ you—again—be careful how you talk to Charlestown Charlie. It could be dangerous, Gentleman Josh.” He stood back, crossed his arms, then nodded. “Okay, I’ll provide the cart.” He shot a warning glance at Shawn and Angel. “Just so you know, the only reason I’m doin’ this is that I need someone up on State Street. Gentleman Josh might be just the ticket.” He turned again to Joshua. “Monday mornin’ at six.” Then Charlestown Charlie signaled his friends, and the three walked away toward the wharves.
Joshua sighed. He couldn’t go looking for any other job with torn trousers, so he might as well go home. He found the El station at the corner, followed the signs that said NORTHBOUND, then waited for the train. He supposed a dollar a day wasn’t so bad. At least until he found another job. And maybe he’d get tips like he did today.
He couldn’t tell Mom. She’d die if she found out Josh was peddling newspapers on State Street.
Joshua’s Secret
WHEN JOSHUA GOT HOME, HIS mother was in the parlor talking to a tall, well-dressed man who had his back to Joshua. He took the front stairs two at a time and raced down the hallway to his room.
At that moment Mrs. Fryor came out of the bathroom, leaning on her cane. “Watch out!” she shrieked. “This is no place to be running.”
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Fryor . . . Aunt Caroline. I was just . . .”
“No excuses!” She hobbled back toward her bedroom, then stopped. “What happened to you?” she asked, looking down at Joshua’s trousers.
“I . . . fell,” he answered.
“You should be more careful. That’s a nice suit.”
“It wasn’t my fault.”
“Humph!” Aunt Caroline snorted. “Were you in a fight?”
Joshua could feel his face reddening. “Um, not exactly.”
“Well, what exactly?” Aunt Caroline leaned on her cane and waited.
Joshua tried to avoid the woman’s eyes. This was none of her business!
“A fellow knocked me down.” There. That was all she’d get for an answer. He tried to pass her, but Aunt Caroline held up her cane, blocking the way.
“Your mother will be upset if she sees those pants.”
“I know,” said Joshua impatiently. “That’s why I’ve got to change my clothes.”
“After you change, bring your trousers into my room. I’ll see what I can do to fix them.”
“Could you?”
She bent over with difficulty and examined the tears. “Hm, maybe I can take a piece from the cuff and do some patching.” She stood up and tapped Joshua lightly with the cane. “Go on, now. Get changed. Then bring those trousers to me straight away.”
Joshua nodded and headed quickly to his room. “Thanks, Mrs. Fryor—er—Aunt Caroline,” he called before closing the door.
After changing into comfortable knickers, Joshua took his trousers to Aunt Caroline’s room. “I’ve brought my pants,” he said softly as he entered. “I hope you can fix them, if it’s not too much trouble. I didn’t want my mother to know. She’s worried about money and—”
“Well, don’t think for one minute I’m going to keep secrets from your mother,” the old lady stated emphatically. “I’m only trying to fix them so they won’t look so bad.” She turned the trousers inside out. “I used to repair my children’s clothing. We had plenty of money, but I never believed in being wasteful. Waste not, want not.”
She sat by the window. The sunlight seemed to shine right through her skin, and her snow-white hair glowed like an angel’s. Only, Aunt Caroline was no angel. Aunt Caroline was wrinkled, crotchety, and bossy. But at least she offered to fix his pants, and Joshua was grateful for that.
“All right, Joshua,” said Aunt Caroline. “Tell me what’s going on.”
“It’s no one’s business.”
“Now that I’m going to mend your pants, I’m in on your secret. I don’t want to be part of something that could be dishonest, or dangerous.”
Dangerous? Dishonest? He had to tell Aunt Caroline the truth. “Please don’t tell my mother,” he begged as he slumped onto the window seat. “I’m going to sell newspapers.”
Joshua told Aunt Caroline about his encounter with Charlestown Charlie, and how he successfully sold one paper and got a nice tip.
“Charlie says he’ll take care of everything. At first I didn’t think I’d want to sell papers, but Charlie talked me into it. He thinks people will like me. He says I’d be good up on State Street, where the snobs are—because he says I’m a snob—just because I’m polite,” Joshua concluded.
“People on State Street knew your father,” said Aunt Caroline. “And many of them went to the concerts where you used to sing. Someone will be sure to recognize you. Your mother will be horrified when she finds out.”
“You’re not going to tell her, are you?”
“No. But you’ll need to tell her yourself before she hears it from someone else.”
There was a knock on the door. “Aunt Caroline?” It was Mom.
“Just a minute, Gwendolyn.” Aunt Caroline quickly tucked the trousers under the chair cushions. “Come in!”
“I wanted to let you know we have a new boarder. His name is Marc Muggeridge. He’s a respectable gentleman—intelligent, educated. I think you’ll like him.” She looked at Joshua as if seeing him for the first time. “Oh, Joshua. How nice that you’re visiting with Aunt Caroline. Did you find a job?”
Joshua nodded nervously. “Um . . . maybe.”
“Oh, just maybe? Did you go to any of the other banks?”
“I may have a job . . . um . . . for a newspaper. I’ll find out on Monday.”
“That’s wonderful. What newspaper?”
Joshua frowned. What papers did Charlie sell? “The Boston Traveler.”
“What a coincidence!” Mom exclaimed. “Mr. Muggeridge is an editor for the Traveler. Maybe you can go to work with him.”
“I have to be at work at six o’clock on Monday morning.”
“It’s not even daylight then,” Mom exclaimed. “You can’t go into town at that hour.”
“I have to. My boss told me so. And I won’t be home until after seven o’clock at night.”
“Those are terrible hours, Joshua.”
“It’s only for a while. Just to see how it works out.”
“Isn’
t there something about child labor laws that would prohibit those hours?” Aunt Caroline asked.
“Nobody pays any attention to those laws.” Mom sighed. “Well, we do need the money. Try it for now, until we get ahead a little financially. Having Mr. Muggeridge here will help with the bills. Maybe he can do something about those hours they want you to work.”
Joshua and Aunt Caroline exchanged glances.
“I’m sure you don’t want Mr. Muggeridge to feel any obligation to your family,” Aunt Caroline said in a scolding tone to his mother. “After all, Gwendolyn, this is a business arrangement you have with your new boarder.”
Mom looked embarrassed. “Oh . . . of course. That’s right. We shouldn’t ask favors of Mr. Muggeridge. At least not right away. But I simply must tell him that Joshua is working in the same company.”
“I’ll be working all over the place, Mom. I’ll probably never even see Mr. Mugg . . . whatever his name is,” Joshua stammered.
His mother smiled. She’ll tell him, Joshua thought. I know her. She’ll try to get me a better job or something. And then I’ll have to tell her the truth.
“What will you be doing for the Traveler?” Mom inquired. “And how much do they pay?”
Joshua hesitated, then answered, “I’ll be helping with . . . distribution.”
“Distribution. My goodness. That sounds important. How much do they pay?” she asked again.
“It depends on . . . how many papers are distributed. I should do all right.”
Mom looked puzzled, then shrugged. “Well, Mr. Muggeridge will be moving in next week, so that will give us some money on a steady basis. You can help me get his room ready this weekend, Joshua.” Mom turned and left, leaving the door open.
“Thank you,” Joshua whispered when Mom was out of hearing.
“Let’s get something clear, young man. As I said, I’m not about to help you keep secrets from your mother,” Aunt Caroline declared. “She’s bound to hear it from someone.” Her voice softened. “But I don’t see any need to bring it up right now.”
Joshua nodded. What Aunt Caroline said was true. If he worked for Charlie, Mom would find out sooner or later.
“You know, you don’t have to show up on Monday,” said Aunt Caroline. “You’d probably never see that Charlie fellow again.”
Charlie had called Joshua a stuck-up snob. Shawn and Angel had said Joshua didn’t have what it takes. Well, he’d show them. He’d sell one hundred papers on Monday, and then he’d quit.
When Charlie sees how many papers I sell, Joshua thought, he’ll beg me to stay on. And maybe I will or maybe I won’t.
“I’ll show up,” Joshua told Aunt Caroline. “It’s something I’ve got to do—even if it’s just for one day.”
Gentleman Josh on the Job
AT PRECISELY SIX O’CLOCK ON monday morning joshua stood on the corner near the El station where he had first met Charlie. Wind whistled around the buildings, and waves lapped briskly against the boats tied to the docks nearby. The harbor air was raw. Ice had formed on the edges of street puddles, and in the early morning sunlight Joshua could see his own breath. He stomped his feet to keep warm, glad to be wearing his heavy gray knickers and black woolen jacket. He pulled his cap down as far as he could, then sank his hands deep into his pockets. Where was Charlie?
“Well, if it ain’t Gentleman Josh himself. All ready for work?” Charlie appeared from an alley, pulling a wooden cart. The sides had been built up with extra boards to keep the papers from falling out.
“I’m ready,” Joshua answered.
“You’ve got enough papes here to keep you busy all morning. You better get up to State Street before the crowds come.”
“How many papers are in there?” Joshua asked.
“About fifty.”
“What if I run short? I want to sell a hundred.”
“A hundred, eh?” Charlie laughed. “Don’t worry. I’ll come by and check on you. If you need more, I’ll get them to you.”
“What if someone needs change?”
“Didn’t you bring any?”
Joshua pulled some nickels and pennies from his pocket. “I have some. But what if—”
“There you go again. ‘What if!’ Just get up there and sell papers.” Charlie dragged a canvas bag from the wagon and tossed it to Joshua. BOSTON TRAVELER was stenciled on the cloth.
Joshua pulled his arm through the strap, then asked, “How do I get to State Street?”
Charlie yanked Joshua around by the shoulder. “Go up this street to the end.” He pointed his finger and spoke slowly as if Joshua were a little kid. “Turn right and you’re on State Street. Once you get there you can go up Devonshire, then down Milk Street, and around the whole shebang, as far as I’m concerned. Just stay around the banks and sell those papes.” He gave Joshua a shove. “Hurry up and get goin’!”
Joshua took hold of the cart’s handle. “One more thing. If I get tips, they’re mine.”
“Sure, kid. You’ll sell these fifty papes for three cents a copy. Then you give me a dollar. That leaves you fifty cents plus tips. Hey, I’m letting you have the use of the wagon for nothin’, so don’t complain. That’s one dollar for me. Right? If you can sell the other fifty later, you owe me another dollar and you’ll have made a whole dollar today—plus tips that you get to keep for yourself.”
Joshua added the sums quickly in his head. “I guess so.” He hoped Charlie wasn’t cheating him. The fifty-cent commission seemed like a lot of money.
“I’ll see how you do today,” Charlie said as he headed down the street. “Then I’ll decide about keepin’ you on.”
And I’ll decide about keeping you on! Joshua thought as he took off up the sidewalk, pulling the load of papers.
At State Street he tucked his cart in a nearby alley, took out one paper, then sat on the back steps of an office building to read the front page. Most of the headlines were about the end of the war and people way off in France somewhere. But here was something local. The Strong-Last Shoe Company was moving to Lynn, Massachusetts. Two hundred workers in Boston would be out of jobs. Joshua thought about the factory workers he saw on the train and in the streets, carrying their lunch pails. What would happen to them? “More than half the discharged employees would be women,” the newspaper story said.
“STRONG-LAST SHOE COMPANY MOVES TO LYNN. HUNDREDS LOSE JOBS.” That was a catchy headline.
Joshua stuffed his shoulder bag with papers, then hid the cart under a stairway. Out on the street people were hurrying to work. “Extra!” Joshua called out. “Shoe company moves to Lynn.”
Only one person took a paper. “Project!” the choir director, Mr. Albert, used to command Josh. “Breathe from the diaphragm—let your voice float out on the wings of your breath.”
But that was when Joshua was a boy soprano and had a voice. When his voice began to change, he croaked instead of sang. He wasn’t singing today. He was hawking papers.
“STRONG-LAST SHOES MOVES TO LYNN,” Joshua yelled, holding the paper up to show the headlines. “HUNDREDS OF WOMEN LOSE THEIR JOBS!”
A man stopped and took a copy, handing Joshua a dime. “That’s bad news for Boston.” He walked away, glancing over the front page without waiting for his change. Joshua shoved the dime into his pocket and pulled out another paper.
“BAD NEWS FOR BOSTON! STRONG-LAST SHOES MOVES TO LYNN. HUNDREDS LOSE THEIR JOBS!” Joshua’s voice boomed and echoed across the street. People stopped and took his papers. Some folks who had passed him by turned and came back.
“Are they building a factory in Lynn?” one woman asked.
“I guess so, ma’am,” Joshua answered. “Perhaps this will be good news for other towns.”
“I may try to get a job out there,” the lady said as she looked over the paper.
“Good luck, ma’am.” Joshua nodded. “Lynn might be a nice place to work and live, I would think.”
“Thank you.” She smiled. “You’re a ray of sunshine.” She
handed Joshua a nickel. “Keep the change.”
“JOBS AVAILABLE AT SHOE FACTORY IN LYNN!” Joshua called out as he walked up the sidewalk.
A small crowd gathered to buy Joshua’s papers.
“That should make real estate values go up in Lynn,” a well-dressed man said to another.
“Boston’s loss, Lynn’s gain,” agreed his companion.
“BOSTON’S LOSS, LYNN’S GAIN,” Joshua yelled, handing out the papers as fast as he could. “POSSIBLE REAL ESTATE BOOM IN LYNN.”
In a few minutes all the papers in his bag were sold and Joshua’s jacket pocket jingled with change. He hurried to the alley, filled the bag, and returned to the street. “NEW JOBS AVAILABLE IN LYNN.”
Suddenly Joshua recognized one of the officers from his father’s bank having his shoes shined by a bootblack. Joshua pulled the visor of his cap down over his eyes.
The man hollered to him. “Hey, newsboy! Give me a paper.” He pulled his foot off the bootblack’s stand and yanked some change out of his pocket. The bootblack, who seemed about Joshua’s age, looked up impatiently. The man put his foot back on the stand, and the boy began buffing the shoe with a soft brush.
The banker handed Joshua the correct change. “Are you new here on the street?”
“Um, yes, sir. I’m new here.”
“You look familiar.”
Joshua didn’t answer. He looked up and was relieved to see the man was reading the headlines while the shoeshine boy put paste on his other shoe.
He didn’t even give me a tip, the cheapskate.
“EXTRA, EXTRA! SHOE COMPANY CLOSES IN BOSTON.”
Within an hour, Joshua had sold all the papers in his cart and headed back to Atlantic Avenue to meet Charlie. He raced down the sidewalk towing the cart by its handle, careful to avoid pedestrians who might be potential customers. “Excuse me, ma’am,” he called. “Excuse me, sir.”
The corner at Atlantic Avenue was empty. Joshua saw Angel coming toward him. She was wearing boys’ tweed knickers with long black socks. Her newspaper bag hung over the shoulder of her black woolen jacket. A little girl of about three or four clung to her hand. The two girls both wore gray knit caps pulled over their ears. Curly raven-black hair peeked out in wisps around their faces.
Joshua's Song Page 2
