“You’ve been down there?” Marc looked surprised.
“Yes. Those places are awful. I was thinking you should write a story about how miserable it is there. Kids like Angel are stuck. She’ll never get out of those slums.”
“The tenements are new to you, Josh, but they’ve been there for years. It’s not big news.”
“That’s what Charlie said.”
“Listen, I’ve been looking for a trademark for the paper. I like this boy calling out the headlines as he zooms along on the Traveler wagon.” He grinned. “Can I take it to work tomorrow and show it to the publisher? If he likes it, we’ll buy it from your friend.”
Money for Angel! “How much?”
“Fifty simoleons, maybe.” Marc put up his hand. “But that’s not for sure yet, so don’t get your hopes up.”
Fifty dollars!
“Angel needs money badly. Her mother’s sick, so Angel can’t work.”
Marc nodded. “I’ll see what I can do.”
Joshua got up to leave, then paused. “I wish I could come up with another big story for you,” he said. “But now Charlie’s warned me not to talk to Billy . . . er . . . the boy who gave me that information about the Jupiter Bank.”
“Just keep your eyes and ears open and you’ll find more stories.” Marc stood up.
“What do you think Charlie will do when he finds out I’m going to buy my papers directly?”
“He may try to work you over. Watch your back and let me know if I can help. I think you’ll do just fine once you get over the hurdles Charlie may set up.”
“Thanks, Marc,” Joshua replied. “And don’t forget about Angel’s picture.”
Joshua could hardly sleep. He would have to wake up before dawn to get down to Newspaper Alley. He’d be just like Mr. Fitzgerald. Mom wouldn’t like it, but Dad would be proud of him.
One thing was certain, though. It wasn’t going to be fun facing Charlestown Charlie.
Joshua Breaks the News
THE SNOW AND ICE HAD started to melt and then froze during the night. Before dawn Joshua got up, filled a bucket of ashes from the cellar, and sprinkled them on the slippery walks. A warm wind, unusual for Boston in January, whistled around the house.
He went back into the kitchen, closing the door quietly behind him. He mustn’t wake Mom. She’d wonder why he was leaving so early and ask a million questions.
Marc was there, already dressed. “I heard you getting up,” he said.
“Yeah. I decided to face Charlie.”
“I’ll go in with you, in case you need some moral support.” Marc put some coffee and water into the percolator and set it on the stove with a clatter.
“Shh! Don’t make so much noise,” Joshua whispered. The stove came on with a loud POP! “Pipe down, Marc.”
Joshua planned to make his own lunch and leave before Mom woke up. He opened the icebox. There were three chicken breasts left over from last night. He’d take them—and that extra bottle of milk—to Angel and her family.
His hands were full, so he slammed the door shut with his foot. Bang!
“Now who’s making noise?” Marc whispered.
Joshua wrapped the chicken breasts in waxed paper and fastened them with a rubber band. He took some bananas, a half dozen of Aunt Caroline’s rolls, and stuffed everything into a shopping bag.
Mom came into the kitchen, dressed in her dressing gown. “Why are you up so early?” she asked Joshua as she sliced some bread.
“I have things to do in town.”
“What things?”
“I made my own lunch,” Josh said, changing the subject.
Mom peeked into the shopping bag. “Josh, you’ll never eat all this.”
“Yes, I will.”
“You’re going in early, too?” she asked Marc.
The percolator was bubbling. Marc poured himself a cup of coffee and joined Joshua at the table. “Josh has some business at the paper. I thought I’d go with him. I’ll introduce him to the proper people at the Traveler.”
Mom’s face brightened. “Wonderful! See, Joshua? It helps to know the right people.” She pulled the bread from the toaster and buttered it. “Joshua won’t need to work once we sell that land in Revere. It’s oceanfront property.” Mom handed Marc the plate of toast.
“Thank you. That land sounds valuable.” Marc stuffed his mouth and gulped his coffee. “Let’s go, Josh,” he said, wiping his mustache. “We can talk business on the El.”
Joshua grabbed a slice of bread, covered it with jam, and bolted it down quickly.
Mom sighed and shook her head. “Whatever it is you’re doing, I hope things go well for you today. Remember to be polite to your employer, Joshua.”
“Why, he’s known for being polite,” said Marc with a quick wink at Joshua. “ ‘Gentleman Josh,’ they call him.”
Joshua sent Marc a seething look. He jerked on his jacket, slammed his cap over his head, and grabbed the lunch sack.
“What’s that bulge in your jacket?” asked Mom.
“Nothing!” Joshua held his lunch over the pocket where his newspaper bag was stuffed.
“Wait for me.” Marc took a final gulp of coffee, pulled on his coat, then followed Joshua out to the street.
“Don’t call me ‘Gentleman Josh’ in front of my mother!” Joshua sputtered.
“Don’t be so touchy,” Marc responded. “She doesn’t know it’s a street name.”
The sidewalks were slushy, and the warmer air on top of yesterday’s melting snow caused a bleak fog to rise. The street lamps glowed eerily as the two walked silently to the train station. It was hard to believe it was only the middle of January. It seemed more like a late March day when the last snow of the winter would be melting. Joshua pulled his gloves from his pocket, then changed his mind and put them back.
Finally Marc asked, “Are you coming directly to the paper?”
“Yes,” Joshua answered. “I’ll buy fifty papers to start. I’d get a hundred, but I don’t have a cart.”
“I’ll find you one. When you get established, and are faithful about your work, the newspaper may drop them off for you each morning.”
“They do that for Charlie sometimes,” said Joshua. “And they give him rides in the wagon, too.”
Marc laughed. “Charlie can talk anyone into anything. He’s a real four-flusher.”
The El brought Joshua closer to downtown—and closer to Charlie. He suddenly felt sick to his stomach.
Marc noticed Joshua’s silence. “Getting nervous?”
“Yeah, wouldn’t you be if you had to face Charlie?”
“I sure would.”
Joshua got off at Marc’s stop—Newspaper Alley.
Although it was still early, the building was alive with lights. Newsboys were lined up in the alley, picking up their stacks of newspapers. Among them was Charlie, piling up bundles of papers onto two carts.
“I’ll go with you to help you sign up,” Marc offered.
“I can do it myself,” Joshua said.
As they approached the line, Charlie looked up. He seemed surprised to see Marc, but when he saw Joshua, his expression hardened.
Instinctively Joshua grabbed Marc’s sleeve. “Stay with me while I break the news to Charlie,” he muttered.
Charlie pushed his way through the crowd toward Joshua. “What are you doing here?” he asked in an accusing voice.
“I’ve decided to get my own papers from now on.”
Charlie looked Joshua up and down, then flicked his head toward Marc. “How come you’re with him?”
Marc spoke up. “Hey, Charlie. Didn’t you know? I’m his uncle Marc. I live at his house.”
“You’re his uncle? Since when?”
Marc put his arm around Charlie’s shoulder, but Charlie pulled away. “Look, Charlie,” Marc said. “Josh has every right to sell papers himself. You know that.”
“I set him up and put him on my best street. This is how he thanks me?” Charlie’s voice was
shaking.
“I won’t bother you. I’ll just stay on my corner and mind my own business,” Joshua promised. “If I hadn’t met you, I probably would have done it on my own, anyway. Besides, I need the money, Charlie.”
“Yeah, sure you do. Gentleman Josh, the society boy, needs money,” said Charlie bitterly.
“Joshua’s dad passed away last year. His mother’s taking in boarders. That’s how I came to live there,” Marc explained. “It hasn’t been easy for them.”
“You really live with him?” Charlie turned and glared at Joshua. “I just paid for your papers. Now what am I supposed to do with them?”
“I’ll pay you for them. After today I’ll get them myself.”
“I guess you’ll be giving Mr. Mugg here all the good stories, too,” Charlie said.
“You know more about what’s going on than I do,” said Joshua. “You can still find news for Mr. Mugg . . .”
“Of course you can,” said Marc. “Our arrangement isn’t changing, Charlie.”
“Yeah, says you,” Charlie muttered. “Go tell it to Sweeney.”
“I mean it, Charlie,” said Marc. “I want to help you write, too. Nothing has changed. Besides, Josh here doesn’t know the ropes about Beantown like you do. Leave Josh alone. He’s had a tough time losing his dad. There’s a lot of stuff going on with him that you’re not aware of. So back off. Okay?”
“Okay, kid,” Charlie said with a shrug. “Go ahead, sell your own papes. I’ll find some other chump to take your place.” As he walked away he called, “I don’t need you, anyway.”
“See, Josh? Charlie will get over it,” Marc whispered. “Give me your lunch bag. You go order a hundred daily papers and I’ll get you a cart.” Marc disappeared into the crowd.
Joshua made his way to a window where a worker tossed out bundles of papers to the newsboys. “I want to sign up for a hundred copies of each edition,” said Joshua, “to start.”
“Fill this in,” said the workman, shoving a form and pencil toward him. Joshua filled it in and handed it back.
As the man glanced over the form, he whistled. “Nightshade Lane? You live on Nightshade Lane?” He looked Joshua over from head to foot. “How the mighty have fallen!” he declared. “Do you need papers today?”
“No, sir,” said Joshua.
“Collect your papers here every morning at this time. The evening editions are ready by two in the afternoon.”
Joshua spotted Charlie putting his stacks of papers into one of the horse-drawn wagons.
“Hey, Charlie,” he called, running alongside. “I’ll buy my share of the papers from you now. Oh, I almost forgot. I owe you money from yesterday. We didn’t divvy up last night.” He pulled coins from his pocket and counted them.
Charlie held out his hand, and Joshua dropped the change into his palm. Charlie checked the money and stuffed it into his pocket. Then he hoisted a stack of a hundred bound newspapers off the wagon and flung them at Joshua’s feet.
Joshua picked up the heavy bundle of papers and struggled off with them.
Marc appeared, pulling a wagon behind him. “You can pick up a cart over in that shed when you need one. Just be sure you sign it out and return it.”
Joshua packed his papers in the wagon. “Where are you going to work?” Marc asked, handing him the lunch sack. “State Street?”
Joshua crammed the bag into the cart and pulled on his gloves. “I have customers there,” he said. “I’ll be okay at my corner. Charlie can’t do much to me right in the middle of State Street.”
“Good luck. You know where I am if you need me,” said Marc as Joshua headed up the wet cobblestone street, pulling the rattling cart behind him.
Trouble in the Wind
JOSHUA READ THE DAY’S HEADLINES: “FORMER MAYOR JOHN FITZGERALD RECOVERING FROM INFLUENZA.” Joshua knew that firsthand. The national headlines had to do with the proposed constitutional law prohibiting the manufacture of alcoholic beverages.
“SIX MORE STATES RATIFY THE AMENDMENT!” screamed the headlines. “NATION PREDICTED TO BE DRY BY JULY FIRST.” People who blamed broken homes and crime on “Demon Rum” would be elated if the law was passed. Owners of bars and taverns that lined the Boston Streets would lose their businesses. Yes, this was big news.
“SIX MORE STATES RATIFY PROHIBITION,” Joshua bellowed. “NATION WILL BE DRY BY JULY FIRST!”
People lined up to buy papers.
“I’m going to stock up on wine,” one banker said to another as they glanced over the first page. They each handed Joshua a dime and said, “Keep the change.”
“NATION IS GOING DRY! PEOPLE STOCKING UP ON WINE!” Joshua yelled.
A well-dressed matronly woman bought a paper and counted out exactly three cents. “At last!” she said. “Demon Rum will be off the streets.” She smiled at Joshua, then, after rummaging through her small leather purse, she handed him a nickel. “Go celebrate. Buy something nice for your mother.”
“This is mighty bad news for me,” a man groaned. Joshua recognized him as the well-known owner of the Boston Tavern. “I’ll be out of business for sure.” He handed Joshua a nickel and waited for the change.
“Those goody-goods in New Hampshire voted for prohibition!” someone muttered.
“NEW HAMPSHIRE VOTES FOR PROHIBITION!” Joshua called.
All of Joshua’s papers were sold within an hour.
Joshua sat on the back steps of the bank and pulled out a piece of chicken from his lunch bag. No, he decided, putting it back. He’d save all of it for Angel, Maria, and their mother. Instead, Joshua ate a roll and a banana. Then he tugged on his gloves, picked up the lunch bag, and headed toward the North End, leaving the cart in the alley.
It was getting warmer. The fog had lifted in the bright sun. The front doors of Faneuil Hall were open, and the gilded copper grasshopper weathervane on the cupola glistened in the sunshine. An orchestra was playing the Pathetique, a symphony by Tchaikovsky that Joshua recognized. He decided to go inside the hall. Just for a minute.
Joshua peeked into the Great Hall where a group of musicians were playing on the stage. It was the Amphion Orchestra that had accompanied the Boston Boys’ Choir many times.
Joshua removed his cap and gloves and took a seat near the rear of the hall. There was no one else in the audience. The powerful music drifted and echoed through the building.
The symphony was loud, pulsating, forceful. The pounding of the drums reminded Joshua of ocean breakers rising and crashing in gale winds. Brass horns blared and trumpeted. He leaned back and closed his eyes. Joshua remembered seeing his father’s broad smile from the audience when Joshua sang with the choir in this very place. After, his father would say in his quiet, deep voice, “Well done, son!”
The music subsided to pianissimo, and faded to almost silence.
Now the strings took up a new strain as an indescribably peaceful melody filled the auditorium.
Aunt Caroline’s words echoed with the lovely, melodious theme. “As long as there is music within me, I’m never alone.”
The symphony ended. Members of the orchestra talked and laughed as they gathered up their music and stands.
Outside, the sharp scent of molasses was heavy on the warm wind. At Haymarket Square, a man with a cart was selling hot sweet potatoes
“Smell the molasses?” Joshua asked the vendor.
“I smell it sometimes when there’s a north wind, but it sure seems stronger today. I think a tanker came in recently and filled it.” The vendor poured melted butter into a dish. “The thing is supposed to be sealed tight.”
Joshua set his bag on the sidewalk, bought a potato, and doused it with melted butter and brown sugar. “Molasses is oozing from the seams.”
“The stink isn’t good for my business,” the man complained.
Joshua wolfed down the hot potato, then headed to the North End. Along Salem Street, little shops featuring Italian groceries lined the narrow road. Skinned rabbits were hanging on display in t
he windows along with garlands of dried green and red peppers and mushrooms. Bottles of wine glimmered like rubies among various cheeses and breads.
Before heading down Copps Hill to Commercial Street, Joshua gazed toward the city skyline. The hands on the Custom House Tower Clock pointed to noon. No need to rush. The afternoon papers wouldn’t be ready for a couple of hours.
Joshua finally arrived in Angelina’s neighborhood. Across the street from Angel’s house was a line of freight cars on the spur tracks of the Boston & Worcester freight terminal. Melting icicles hung from the rooftop of the Fire Boat 31 Headquarters and sparkled like crystals. Horses whinnied inside the stable next to the Public Works Department. Outside the fire station, firemen in their shirtsleeves were enjoying the pleasant morning.
Joshua crossed under the El train trestle. A train thundered overhead, shaking the ground and rattling windows. He walked up the steps and into the gloomy hallway of Angel’s tenement. He could hear voices and someone coughing as he climbed the long wooden stairway. On the third floor he chose one of two doors, and knocked.
“Who’s there?” Angel’s voice.
“It’s me. Josh.”
In a few moments the door opened. “Hi, Josh. What are you doin’ here? Come in.”
Joshua hesitated, still fearful of the dreaded influenza. He stepped into a dim hallway.
Angel turned on a gas light. “This place hasn’t been wired for electricity yet,” she said apologetically. “Someday we want to live on the west side of the house, so we’ll face the afternoon sun. But the rent’s higher there.”
Angel looked pale in the lamplight. Her dark eyes seemed larger than usual. Joshua was surprised to see how long her hair was. Usually it was tucked up under a hat, but now it fell to her shoulders in curls. Joshua was also startled to see she had on a black skirt and a cream-colored sweater that looked handmade.
“You look right nice, Angel,” said Joshua.
“Charlie brought these for me the other day. They were his sister’s clothes,” Angel said shyly.
Charlie brought clothes for Angel?
Joshua's Song Page 7
