“Where’s Charlie?” Angel asked.
“I don’t know. I ran out of papers,” Joshua answered. “I hope he’s not looking for me.”
“You can take mine,” Angel said. “My mama is sick. I tried to work and watch Maria, too, but I can’t do it. I’ve got to take Maria home.” Maria buried her face in Angel’s leg.
“Is it the flu?”
“Yes. Maria and I had it last summer. I thought we would both die,” Angel said. “My father went to Rhode Island to look for work, but then he got sick and stayed there. When Mama got the influenza, Auntie Flora, who lives downstairs, took care of Maria while I worked. But now Flora is sick. So I have to take care of Maria and work, too. But I can’t do it, Joshua.”
“Better take her home right away,” Joshua said. “Your mother probably needs you.”
Angel nodded and reached into her pocket. “I only sold a dozen papers. I hope Charlie ain’t mad.” She handed Joshua the money. “Can I trust you to give this to him?”
“Of course you can trust me,” Joshua answered abruptly. “I wouldn’t steal your money.”
“I’m sorry, Joshua. It’s just . . .” Angel’s eyes filled with tears, and he looked away.
Maria began to whimper and reached up her hands to her sister. “Carry me, Angelina.”
“My family calls me Angelina. That’s my real name,” Angel said with a half-smile. She picked up her sister. “I know you’re tired,” she whispered, “but I can’t carry you the whole way. You’re too heavy.”
“Take the cart,” Joshua offered. “Take her home in the cart.”
Angel brightened. “Oh, thanks. That’s a good idea.” She lowered her sister into the cart, took hold of the handle, and headed north. “Tell Charlie I’ll bring the cart back later.”
Joshua sat on the curbstone. He wondered about Angel. Why did she dress like a boy? Maybe she didn’t have enough money to buy clothes.
Joshua counted the money in his own pocket. Almost three dollars. Not bad for an hour’s work. Of course, he had to pay Charlie half of it. Still, he had another fifty papers to go. If he could make five dollars today, he’d have enough money for Mom to fill up the coal bin in the cellar. He put Angel’s money in his pants’ pocket. Angel had given him a couple of dozen more papers. He’d sell those in no time.
He was heading back to State Street when he spotted Charlie talking to a well-dressed middle-aged man with a mustache. Charlie had his hands on his hips and he looked mad.
“Hey, kid!” Charlie yelled when he caught sight of Joshua.
When Joshua reached them, Charlie said, “I’ve been hearin’ you did really great up there on State Street. The big shots love you.”
“I came back for more papers, but I met Angel and—”
“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you. This here gentleman works for the newspaper. He wanted to meet you.” Charlie turned to the man. “This here is Gentleman Josh.”
The stranger spoke up. “I had an appointment up at the bank this morning and I saw you selling those papers like crazy. You sang out that headline like I’ve never heard it done before. You’ve got talent, kid. I think I could do business with someone like you.”
Charlie rolled his eyes. “He’s only been on the job one mornin’. Besides, he had a good headline to hawk.”
“Now, Charlie,” said the man, “I give you good tips for what you do, but you can’t be everywhere at once. This young man seems to fit in up there in the banking district, and I think he can help me in that area.”
“Selling papers?” Joshua was puzzled.
“Sure, you can still sell papers for Charlie. But I have some other work you can do for me on the side to make some extra money.”
Charlestown Charlie looked daggers at Joshua and sputtered, “He’s green. He don’t know nothin’.”
The man ignored Charlie and put out his hand. “So you’re called Gentleman Josh?” He grinned. “It’s nice to meet you, Josh. My name is Muggeridge. Marc Muggeridge.”
Mom’s new boarder!
The Mysterious Mr. Muggeridge
“HOW DO YOU DO?” JOSHUA stammered, shaking the man’s hand.
“Let me explain what we’re talking about,” Mr. Muggeridge said. “You see, I need someone like Charlie here who knows the ropes. So we’ve made a little business arrangement that’s working out right well. Someday Charlie is going to be a reporter, aren’t you, Charlie?” He slung his arm around Charlie, who gave Marc a smug grin. “He knows the business. And he knows what makes news,” Mr. Muggeridge continued. “He keeps his eyes and ears open, and then reports anything newsworthy to me. I check it out, write it up, and I give Charlie some extra money for his help. You might say he’s my apprentice.”
“He’s going to write for the Boston Traveler someday?” Joshua asked. He couldn’t picture Charlie writing anything, let alone a newspaper column.
“Whatsa matter, kid? You got a problem with that?” Charlie growled.
“Cut it out, Charlie!” Mr. Muggeridge admonished. “Charlie’s learning the business, Josh, and being paid for it at the same time. I think you’d do well at this, too, from the way you handled yourself on State Street this morning.”
“He had a good headline. That’s why he sold so many papers,” Charlie said with a frown.
“Gentleman Josh is creative with his headlines. He comes up with good lines that hook customers,” Mr. Muggeridge said. “If he’s in the banking area, he might hear of some leads for newspaper stories. If so, I’ll make it worth his while. Two or three bucks a week for a lead—even more for a scoop—that could add up. What do you say, Josh?” He put out his hand again. “Do we have a deal?”
Joshua wasn’t at all sure what this was about, but he shook Mr. Muggeridge’s hand, anyway. “So you’re a reporter?” he asked.
“Yes, I’m a reporter—and an editor. I was with the New York World down in New York City, but moved up here a month ago. Just now settling in.” He clapped Charlie’s shoulder. “When I met Charlie here I knew he’d be a great resource for me, and he’s already come through with flying colors. I feel the same way about you.”
Charlie interrupted. “I’m not sure I want Joshua sellin’ my papes. He’s cuttin’ in on me already.”
“Oh, don’t get in a lather, Charlie,” Mr. Muggeridge said. “You’ve got a great newsie here. You’d be foolish to let him go. The business I have with you and Joshua is altogether separate, so don’t give him a hard time.”
“I . . . I don’t want to horn in on Charlie,” Joshua said. “I’m not even sure what it is you want me to do, Mr. Muggeridge.”
“Just keep your ears open for anything interesting. The war overseas made the big headlines, but now that the fighting is over, I’d like to zero in on news around Boston. If you hear about a robbery, or a fire, or some other disaster, let me know as soon as you can. Contact me—no one else. I’ll take care of everything. If it turns into a scoop for me, you’ll be paid for the tip.” He scribbled on a slip of paper. “Here’s my telephone number at the office and my business address. That’s all you have to do, Josh. I’m sure you’re the right person to be discreet when you search for news that might interest me.”
“Discreet?” Charlie asked.
“Tactful. Diplomatic,” Mr. Muggeridge explained. “I know I can count on Gentleman Josh being tactful and polite, but I’m not so sure about you, Charlie!” The reporter laughed and winked. But as he turned to leave he shot a warning look at Charlie. “Leave Josh alone, Charles. He won’t cause any problems for you.”
“Well, Mr. Mugg sure is keen on you,” Charlie said icily after the reporter had left. “Let’s get somethin’ clear, pip-squeak. You don’t cut in on my stories and my kale. If you do, you’ll be in big trouble. Got it?”
“I get it, I get it,” Joshua said. “I didn’t go after this Mr. Mugg. I didn’t try to butt in on you, Charlie.”
The older boy nodded. “Okay. Keep your mouth shut about our arrangement with Mr. Mugg. People don�
��t talk when they know a reporter might be listenin’.”
“I’ll keep quiet.”
Charlie looked around. “What did you do with the cart I lent you?”
“Angel has it. I let her take her little sister home in it.”
“You what? Who said you could do that?”
“Her mother is sick, so Angel can’t work. Angel tried to sell papers and watch her sister, too. But she couldn’t, so she had to go home. I gave her the cart to carry Maria back.”
“Whadda ya think I’m runnin’ here? A taxi service?”
Joshua ignored Charlie’s snide remark. “Here’s the money that Angel collected for you and my money, too.”
Charlie counted the money and stuffed it in his pocket. “Gentleman Josh to the rescue,” he muttered.
“It was an emergency, Charlie!” Joshua’s voice rose. “Some things are more important than your business.”
Charlie looked mad enough to hit him, but Joshua didn’t flinch. The two boys stared at each other, their breath steaming in the cold air.
Then, surprisingly, Charlie changed the subject. “Okay, we’ll get the cart later. There’s another fifty papes waitin’ for you. What are you gonna do with them?”
“I’ll carry them up to State Street myself.”
“Come get ’em, then.”
Joshua followed Charlie to a side street. Stacks of the morning Traveler were piled on the sidewalk, covered with canvas. Charlie stuffed twenty-five papers into Joshua’s bag, then flipped it around his neck so it hung down his back. He stacked the second batch into Joshua’s arms. “Get up to State Street,” he ordered. “And bring that cart to me when you come for the afternoon papes.”
Joshua didn’t answer. He shifted the bulk in his arms and headed for State Street.
Later, while Joshua was working on his corner, Angel returned with the cart.
“Thanks, Josh. I left Maria with my neighbor, Mrs. Clougherty. I told her I’d come right back.”
“How’s your mother?” Joshua stacked his armful of papers into the cart.
“She’s weak. She coughed all night.” Angel counted some coins in her hand. “I’ve got to get some fruit for her.”
Across the street a vendor was selling apples and penny toys. “I’ll get them. Wait here and watch my papers.” Joshua darted to the opposite sidewalk. He bought six McIntosh apples for a nickel. Then he caught sight of a small celluloid doll among the penny toys. It wore a lace bonnet and pink crocheted dress.
“How much for the doll?” Joshua asked.
“A nickel.”
“I thought these were penny toys.” Joshua started to walk away.
“All right, kid, you can have it for three cents,” the vendor called after him.
Joshua doled out the money, stuffed the doll in the apple bag, and ran back across the street. “Here, take these apples,” he said. “Eat one yourself, Angel.”
Angel took the package. “How much?”
“Nothing. Just take them. Oh”—he pulled out the doll—“give this to Maria.”
Angel held the doll as if it was a treasure. “Oh Josh, you ain’t gotta do that,” she whispered. Then she wheeled around and raced down the sidewalk.
Joshua was about to set up his newspapers again, when he noticed a group of poorly dressed girls skipping rope near the corner.
One child jumped into the swinging rope as the others chanted:
“There was a little bird;
Its name was Enza.
I opened up the window,
And in flew Enza.”
Influenza had killed thousands of people, including his own dad! It wasn’t a game. It wasn’t something to sing about!
“Get away from here!” Joshua hollered at them.
The girls stopped jumping. One girl put her hands on her hips and stuck out her tongue.
“Get away from here yourself,” she yelled.
“This is my corner,” Joshua shouted. “Move away or I’ll tell Charlestown Charlie.”
Immediately the girls rolled up their jump rope and scurried away.
Charlie sure had a reputation around town.
Joshua held up the morning edition and projected his voice—just like Mr. Albert had taught him.
“EXTRA! STRONG-LAST SHOES MOVES TO LYNN!”
The New Boarder
WHEN JOSHUA ARRIVED HOME THAT night, his mother was in the kitchen washing dishes.
“Thank goodness you’re back,” she said. “I was getting worried. I don’t like the idea of you coming home so late, Josh.”
“Well, I made over three dollars today.” He emptied his pockets onto the kitchen table.
“Wonderful! Why do they pay you in change?”
“Money is money,” Joshua answered.
“But all coins? Why didn’t they give you paper currency?”
Joshua shrugged, avoiding her eyes. “What’s for supper?”
“Red flannel hash. Your plate is on the pantry counter. It’s cold now. You can warm it in the oven.” She slipped the money into her apron pocket.
“I’m too hungry to warm it.” Joshua brought the plate to the table and sat down. He noticed his mother had a larger stack of dishes than usual. “Did the new boarder move in today?”
“Yes, Mr. Muggeridge moved in lock, stock, and barrel. He has one of those newfangled typewriters upstairs. My beautiful old bedroom looks like an office.”
Joshua stuffed a large spoonful of cold hash into his mouth. “Why didn’t you keep your bedroom instead of moving into the den? At least you’d have a bed instead of the couch.”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Mom said with a frown. “The den is all right for me. Besides, there are personal papers and things of Dad’s in the den that I still have to go through—things a stranger shouldn’t see.”
“So, is Mr. Muggeridge nice?”
“He’s all right. He’s looking forward to meeting you. I told him that you worked for the newspaper, too.”
Joshua hoped Mr. Mugg hadn’t already made the connection between Gentleman Josh and Joshua Harper.
“Joshua, when you’re finished, would you dry these dishes? I feel as if I’ve been chained to this kitchen.” His mother held her hands up to the overhead light. “Just look at my hands. They were always so beautiful. Now they’re all red and chapped.” She sighed. “I wish Annie were still with us. I’ve never had to work a day in my life, and look at me now.”
“I’ve worked all day, too, Mom. Just leave the dishes to dry themselves.”
“I’d like you to meet Mr. Muggeridge,” she said, setting the dish towel on the sink. “I’ve explained that you’ll be calling him Uncle Marc.”
“Uncle Marc?” Joshua exclaimed. “Mom! People will find out he’s not my uncle. I feel like I’m lying.”
“It’s all right, Joshua. Mr. Muggeridge is satisfied with this arrangement. After all, he’s in one of the finest neighborhoods in Boston. He knows I’m a widow and having difficult times. He’s not going to let on to anyone that he’s boarding here.” She put the milk and butter in the icebox. “Go on and meet him. He’s in the parlor.”
Joshua wolfed down the rest of his dinner, then dropped the plate in the dishpan. “I’m going to bed. I’m too tired to meet anyone.”
“But . . . I told him . . .”
Joshua raced noisily up the stairs and headed for his room.
Aunt Caroline’s door was open; the light was on. “Is that you, Joshua? Come in here.” she called.
Joshua stepped into the room, closing the door behind him.
“How did you do today?” Aunt Caroline’s hands were folded over a book in her lap.
“I did all right. I sold over a hundred papers.” He leaned forward and whispered, “I met Mr. Muggeridge on the street.”
“Oh, really? He didn’t mention that to us.”
“He doesn’t know I’m me. He only knows me as”—Joshua rolled his eyes—“Gentleman Josh.”
Aunt Caroline stifled a
laugh.
“It’s not funny!” Joshua exclaimed. “If Mr. Mugg . . . er . . . Muggeridge realizes I’m Gentleman Josh, he might tell Mom.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Through Charlie. Mr. Muggeridge asked me to work for him on the side. He wants me to find news around town and tell him about it so he can write stories for the paper.”
“Well, there’s nothing wrong in that. You might make some extra money.”
Joshua paced nervously. “Charlie finds stories for him, too. Charlie thinks I’m horning in on him. What if he finds out that Mr. Muggeridge lives here—and he’s my Uncle Marc!”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’ll stay away from Mr. Mugg. I’ll leave early and come home late. I can’t let him know that Joshua Harper and Gentleman Josh are the same person.”
Aunt Caroline raised her eyebrows. “Joshua, I think Mr. Muggeridge already knows who you are.”
“How could he? Did you tell him?”
“Of course not. But Mr. Mugg—as you call him—was in the parlor looking at the photographs on the table. There’s a picture of you there, Joshua. He had it in his hand.”
“Oh, no!” Joshua sank into a chair. “I forgot about those pictures. Did he say anything?”
“Not a word. But he sure was eyeing that photograph, let me tell.”
“Then he knows who I am.” Joshua stood up. “I’ll have to talk to him. I’ll ask him not to tell Mom that I’m a newsboy.”
“Secrets have a way of coming out.”
“I know, but this secret would upset her too much.”
Aunt Caroline nodded. “All right. Now, would you take a look at this?” She held up her book. “It’s a music book—mostly hymns and old songs.”
Joshua waited.
“I’d like you to have it, Joshua. I’d like you to sing for me sometime. Your mother said you have a beautiful voice.”
Joshua headed for the door. “I don’t sing anymore and I don’t want your book!” He rushed into the hall.
Joshua's Song Page 3
