Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Aw, quit whining Davey, ain’t nobody’s died from a summer rain.”

David Isaac Jacobs (Vice President of the Newsboys Union of Lower Manhattan, the brains behind the strike of 1899, and “the walking mouth” to his friends and compatriots) was currently soaked to the bone. His selling partner, Jack Francis Kelly (President of the Newsboys Union of Lower Manhattan, renegade cowboy who once escaped the now defunct Refuge on the back of Teddy Roosevelt's carriage, and soon to be part time illustrator at the New York World) was crouched under the makeshift umbrella of newspaper ads David held over his head. He sketched haphazardly on a small leather sketchbok with his initials engraved on the binding; a gift from Katherine. In front of them was a dead pigeon, its neck cracked at an unnatural angle and its insides spilling through a gash from where the trolley had hit it. David didn’t know what was worse; the fact that his friend was keeping him outside during one of the worst downpours of the summer where there wouldn’t be any customers, or that any customers they could get would be scared off by their proximity to the bird corpse. He tapped his boot impatiently while Jack began to shade in the skewered beak. Jack pretended not to notice.

“It’s a metaphor, see Davey? The bird is the working folks of New York, and the trolley that sliced it represents the bosses that work ‘em to the bone and leave ‘em to die when there’s no more use for them.”

“You sure the World would let you publish something that radical?”

“Well, I’m not gonna actually tell ‘em that.” Jack turned his head to give his friend an exasperated look. “I’ll tell the editor it’s about littering or something, but the readers will know.”

“How is anyone supposed to see a worker in a dead pigeon?”

“Maybe I’ll put a little hat on him.”

Even with the rain soaking through his boots David couldn’t help grinning. It was hard to tell sometimes whether Jack was being facetious or he really was just that sincere. He had a tendency to go head first into whatever new passion he had, and his naturally infectious charisma usually dragged at least twenty other newsboys with him. His only fault as leader was in the long term planning. That’s where David came in. He had gotten this far in his short life being cautious to a fault, and while Jack often could help quell his fears and bring him outside of his comfort zone, Davey balanced Jack out by filling the gaps in his plan and pointing out potential outcomes to Jack’s sporadic actions. That’s how they won the strike. That’s how they worked their union. And that was how they would protect the working kids of New York until they outgrew it and the reigns were passed down to someone new. At his most cynical David had to admit that his father’s injury was one of the best things to ever happen to him. In only a few months of being a newsie he had changed so much he hardly recognized himself. He was louder. More confident. He didn’t shuffle anymore, he walked with a stride and held his head up, his hands free from his pockets. He was less anxious and cared less what other people thought of him. He was happier. It was almost like-

“Christ, Jacobs! Is that you?”

He knew that voice. Jack stood up, grabbing David’s papers with him so he could continue to shield himself while looking across the street to see where the noise had come from. David didn’t move a muscle. He felt a field mouse in one of his old biology texts, trying to blend in with his surroundings so he wouldn’t get eaten alive. Across the street were three boys around David’s age, their hair varying in levels of towheadedness. Sarah always joked that all goyim looked the same to him, but then again she had never been to never been to David’s school. Jack squinted through the rain.

“Who’re they?”

“No one, they’re nobody. C’mon I think we might catch some customers coming out of the barber shop on 15th if we move quickly.”

“Wait, let me just finish up the wing-”

“Aw jeez Jack-”

“Look, if it’s about those towheads crossing the street I ain’t moving. If they have a problem with us we deal with them the way newsies do-with our fists out and their jaws broken.”

David didn’t have the time to explain to Jack that street logic didn’t apply anymore, maybe if he could just turn around quickly enough-

“Jacobs, I can’t believe you’re not dead! We thought you choked for sure after you stopped showing up to school. Hey Walter, you owe me a dime-” David instinctively grabbed Jack’s fist as the tallest blonde made his way over to their corner, flanked on either side by the smaller two. David turned back to his friend.

“Let me handle this.” He took one last look at the dead bird to his left, then turned to face his former classmates with an expression that he hoped displayed the right amount of confidence and disinterest. Then he grinned. “Hi fellas, long time no see.”

Tall blonde grinned back. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll say! It was real lousy not having you around, there was no one copy homework off of for the rest of the year. I nearly failed geography ‘til Walter over here managed to bribe Mister Johanson with some real nice cigars. They were what, Red Dots? Real nice.”
Walter, the stockiest of the three, nodded in agreement. “Real nice.”

David could hear Jack quietly snort behind him. They both knew Race wouldn’t have been impressed by their choice. David’s grin tightened slightly. “That’s nice.”

Tall continued. “But man, working stiff? That’s a real bummer. Makes sense though, can't keep you yids away from that quick cash, huh?”

David reached back again to block Jack’s fist; instead he was met by his chest. He was standing at his full 5’9” height, both hands in fists, chest puffed out, and a sneer on his face previously reserved only for the Delanceys. His voice was unnaturally quiet. Quiet for Jack anyway.

“You call Davey that again and I’ll sock you. You open your mouth again and I might just sock you anyways. So think real hard boys about what your next move is gonna be, you understand?”

“Didn’t mean anything by it, didn’t mean anything by it!” Tall held up his hands in mock surrender. He was still grinning, but David could sense a new nervousness in his stance. “He knows we’re just joking, we used to talk like that all the time back in school, right Davey?”

The two others snickered quietly behind him as he drawled out the last phrase, imitating Jack’s thick downtown accent. In a swift motion Jack grabbed the blonde boy by the collar and hoisted him off the ground, his other hand clenched in anticipation. David forced himself between the two boys, pulling Jack to the other side of the street corner. His cap had been knocked off in the scuffle, and the rain seemed to speed up its traction, drenching his face and blurring his vision. Even through the rain he could see that Jack was furious.

“The hell are you doing Davey? They’re just a bunch of punks, we could take ‘em on easy!”

“It’s not like that Jack! These aren’t some street kids, I used to go to school with them.”

“So?”

“So?” David looked back at the boys. The tall one looked shaken, talking quietly to his friends. This was clearly not the way he was expecting his afternoon to go. David turned back to Jack, who was anchoring up his fist for another blow.

“See that guy, Walter? His dad manages a textile factory. My mom does work for sometimes. Scrawny kid next to him, his dad’s a green grocer. Cheapest prices on the lower east side, and we’re already on thin ice with him ‘cause he’s not always thrilled about Jews dirtying up his nice Polish establishment.” To his credit, Jack seemed to be a bit cooled down, though his hands were still tightly wound.

“And who’s the tall one with the mouth, his dad Van Wyck or something?” David shook his head.

“Superintendent of my school.”

“Christ.”

“No kidding.”

“So why the fuck do you go to school with these goons? You’re clearly not from the same neighborhood.”

“It's...it's a long story, but can we just go now, okay? You’re...your bird’s getting wet.” Jack looked down at his damp sketch pad. Tears of ink and rain water were smearing across the half finished bird, its broken wing melting into its spilled out stomach. Underneath the drawing in Jack’s shaky hand was written:‘How Much Longer Must We Wate?’

The two boys snuck into the entrance of the train station on the next block over. The high awning allowed them to dry out the papers that hadn’t been fully protected by their bags, while also catching the afternoon rush of business men leaving their Manhattan offices for their homes in Westchester. David distracted himself by shaking out the rainwater that had gotten lodged in his cap, which he now found to be smattered in thin patches of mud from where he had dropped it. He had rubbed most of it off on his pants, bracing himself for whatever his mother would say when she saw his ruined clothes.

David let Jack finish up their last sales for the day while he aired out the pages of his sketchbook. Pencil and ink sketches flipped through David’s hand like a picture show; Katherine at her typewriter, a study of Crutchie dozing off by the fire escape, a recreation of last week’s suffragette rally, and then to his surprise Les, grinning ear to ear as he hawked papers from on top of an overturned crate by Hester Street. Jack finished his last sale for the day, and reclaimed his notebook with a playful shove. He took a pencil that seemed to miraculously appear behind his ear and opened to a fresh page. He leaned up against the brick alcove, one boot against the wall, looking every bit the cool and casual leader David knew he personally could never imitate. As it was right now, he was still scraping dried mud onto his one good pair of pants. Jack wetted the charcoal tip on his tongue and began to sketch.

“So, these goons. Why the hell have I never heard of them before?”

“Are you drawing me?”

“Maybe I am. Don’t deflect the question Davey. How does a kid from the lower east side end up at a school where all the brats are blonde?”

“It’s a long story.”

“The rain ain’t letting up anytime soon.”

“I’ll need to get Les back home soon.”

“Crutchie probably took him back to the lodge by now. He’s fine. But you really need to give a better excuse than ‘they’re richer than me’ to explain why we couldn’t kick their asses back there.”

David exhaled loudly, letting his shoulders deflate as he sunk into his side of the wall. He put his hands in his pockets and tried to mimic Jack’s stance, but found he could not let go of the tenseness in his body. He finally slid into a sitting position, one hand wrapped around his knee.

“So remember how I told you my father taught me not to lie?” Jack raised an eyebrow but continued to draw silently.

“We may have let that slip...once. But not anything bad, we weren’t hurting anyone. It was just...we may have lied about our address so I could go to a different school.”

This time Jack looked up from his page. “What was wrong with the one you had?”

“Well, there were fifty kids to a class for one thing, and we had a lice outbreak every other week, and there weren’t any good English classes because half the kids were still learning English…” God, he sounded like such a jerk. He could be pretty much describing the crew at the lodging house. The only difference between them and his old classmates was that most newsies were at least second generation. The ones who knew their parents at least.

“My parents...well, they’re really intent on me going to college. All of us, Les and Sarah too. But I’d need scholarship money to afford it, and you can’t get scholarship money if you don’t get good grades, and you can’t get good grades if the teachers don’t bother to show up most days, so…”

Jack’s face was unreadable. Come to think of it, Jack never mentioned attending any school in his life. The newsies were pretty good at teaching the younger ones the basics of making change and deciphering headlines. Any other night schooling or vocational training was up to the individual to figure out on his own. Where did a newsie go after he got too old to sell papers anyway? David’s stomach churned, recalling how desperate Jack was to get to Santa Fe only a few weeks ago before he was convinced to stay. He finally understood why. Jack returned to his sketch.

“Okay, so your old man messes around with some forms and you get to go to the hoity toity school. No one figured out you were from the wrong neighborhood?”

“Oh, they did. Pretty quickly. I told them I was living with an aunt to finish my education. By the time the principal came around to it I got a couple of teachers to speak on my behalf, saying I had so much potential and it would be a tragedy if I had to leave and so on…”

“So you got to stay cause other people begged for you?”

David gave a noncommittal shrug. Jack stuck his pencil into the bow of his book and pushed his cap back, his hand shaking from laughter.

“I dunno if that's the saddest or most impressive thing I ever heard.”

“Oh come on, it's not like I could just go in there and stick a knife to his throat ‘til he allowed me to stay. It’s called diplomacy Jack. Last time I checked I was pretty good at it.”

Jack smirked and picked up his pencil again, using it to scratch the tip of his nose.

“Christ, sometimes I forget what a mess you were when we first met.”

David scuffed his boot against the floor. “That's just how things were Jack. You play the system the best you can, and when you’re caught you roll over and beg for forgiveness. It wasn't until I met you that-” David forced his mouth shut, feeling a rush of heat behind his ears. This was territory he vowed he'd never go into. Jack was still sketching, oblivious to the slip up.

“-I mean, until I met the newsies, I'd just deal with it that way.”

“So when that guy calls you a yid….”

“Trust me, they’ve called me worse before.”

“And you let them?”

“I don’t let them! It’s just...if I let it get to me they’ll just keep egging it on. It’s not just about me being Jewish to them; it’s what I wear, it’s how I talk, where my parents work, the fact that my mother even works at all…”

“So like the Delanceys, only a little more scrubbed behind the ear.”

David grinned despite himself. “Couldn’t have said it better myself.”

“So what’s stopping from dealing with them the way we do with the Delanceys?”

“It’s what I’ve been trying to tell you Jack, the rules are different there! You can't get fired for messing with the Delanceys. If I lost my temper just once that would be the end of my school career. Have you ever seen my folks get angry?”

“Never when I'm around.”

“Exactly! They don't get angry, they get disappointed. And trust me, it feels a million times worse.”

“But that ain’t a way to live Davey! After everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through, you ain’t the same person anymore! None of us are. Are you honestly gonna let those creeps treat you like dirt when your pop gets back on his feet? What’s gonna happen when you go back to school?”

School. The word sent a chill down his damp spine. How could he have forgotten? The past few months had gotten him so swept up in the strike and his new friends and his new life that the very concept seemed alien to him. What happens when his dad gets back on his feet? If he ever gets back on his feet? Yet Jack had said it so naturally, he almost seemed to speak it into existence. Of course David would go back to school. What else was there for him to do? Sell papers until he aged out? Work in a factory like his dad and get his own leg crushed?

And how the hell was he ever supposed to catch up? Continue to feed his family? Get money for college, now that any chance of getting scholarships was close to nil. And for that matter, what would become of Les’ future? Or Sarah’s? Or any of his new friends who would be entering their eighteenth year with no education to speak of. David looked into the cloudy shop windows across the street, where condensation had gathered between the rain and muggy heat. He could feel his heart pounding at rapt speed. The world seemed to be swirling around him. Footsteps into puddles, the clock ticking over the station’s entrance, the yells of passersby all seemed to fall into a rhythm that mocked him from his shelter. This wasn’t permanent. Nothing was permanent.

“Davey?”

“Huh?” David looked up to see Jack standing beside him. He looked concerned. For Jack, anyway.

“You alright? You look like you might be sick.”

David reached up to mop his brow, only to realize he was still holding the leftover ad section of yesterday’s paper, now reduced to a grimy pulp. The ink had run wet and was staining his hand a milky greyish black.

“No, I’m fine. Just thinking.”

"Listen, I gotta meet Katherine at four, but this talk ain’t over. You’re looking far too shaky to be ‘fine’ Davey.” He leaned over to give a playful shove, then wordlessly ripped a page from his notebook and handed it to him. Adjusting his hat against the harsh downpour, Jack hurried across the street, dodging streetcars and carriages until his silhouette disappeared into the rain and smog and the thousands of people forcing their way through the New York heat.

David looked down at the paper, cupping his hand over the side to protect the fresh charcoal from smearing. It was him, crouched against wall; his cap askew, hands in his pockets, one knee up against the chest, the other stretched before him. There was shading on his pants that David suspected to be dirt, and Jack even managed to get the small hole that was forming on the sole of his left shoe.

The one thing it didn’t have was a face.

Chapter Text

The one thing you could say about Katherine Pulitzer was that she was always straight to the point. It was the natural journalist in her, David guessed. He was still fretting over the confrontation from a few weeks ago when she slapped her notebook and pen down in the middle of the poker game he was playing (and losing) with Jack, Crutchie, and Race. Her grin was megawatt.

“I got my first byline.”

With a whoop, Jack tossed down his cards and swept her into a long kiss, ignoring the groans and wolf whistles around them. Race took the opportunity to peek at Jack’s cards before his hand was swatted away by Crutchie.The two eventually broke their embrace and Katherine perched herself on Jack’s knee as he checked to make sure his cards hadn’t been meddled with. Crutchie put down his own deck.

“So Ms. Reporter, what’s your first big article gonna be?”

“Long term health effects of the city’s factory workers. Apparently the amount of job injuries in the U.S. has gone up by about….15% in the last twenty years, I think? Actually, that’s why I wanted to talk to you Davey.” David looked up from his own cards.

“Me?”

“Yes, I’d like to set up an interview with your father. Ask him about about his accident, how’s he’s coping, things like that.”

It took a moment for David to fully process what she meant.

“I mean…I guess. I’ll have to ask him first, I don’t know how comfortable he’d be talking about it.” Actually, David wasn’t even sure how comfortable he’d feel about her coming over at all. It would have to be at their apartment; Mayer Jacobs still struggled getting down the stairs most days even with a cane. An interview at Jacoby’s would be out of the question.

“Look, he’s still not in great shape right now. If you interview him, you’ll have to come over to our place, and-”

“Katherine’s coming over?” Les bounded over from where he had been dishing marbles with some of the other younger newsies. “That’ll be great! You can meet mom, and Sarah too! Katherine, you’ll love Sarah. She’s real mouthy, like you!”

“Les!” David looked up apologetically. The rest of their friends, Katherine included, were shaking with laughter. Jack grinned broadly.

“Mouthy girls are the best kind, Les. They keeps you on your toes!” Katherine swatted him playfully with her notebook. “Anyway ain’t Davey the one in your family who don’t shut up?”

David rolled his eyes as Les answered. “No, he hardly talks at all when we’re home. It’s Sarah that does the talking mostly, she’s got too many opinions! That’s why she and Kath will get along so good, they can’t keep it to themselves.”

“Yeah, speak for yourself kiddo.” Jack playfully pushed down the brim of Les’ bowler. He turned back to David.

“Hey, if Kath is coming over let me in on this too. I could use another one of your mother’s knishes, I think I’m turning into a regular addict from her cooking.”

“Only if they want us, of course!” Katherine seemed to sense David’s trepidation. “It’s perfectly fine if your father doesn’t want to talk, I’ve got plenty of interviews lined up.”

Les piped up again. “Aw, I’m sure he won’t mind, will he Davey?” He looked up at David with that winning gap toothed grin. No wonder the kid was selling prodigy. David couldn’t help but break into a smile of his own.

“We’ll ask him tonight.”

David hated to admit it now, particularly to Jack, but there was a point in his life when he really, really, really did not like Katherine.

That was on him, looking back on it now. He had projected on to Katherine, who, with her nice clothes and high class accent and confident demeanor, reminded him of the kids who wouldn’t give him a second glance at school. It didn’t help that the first time he met her she had come off as haughty and a bit of a snob, calling their freshly formed union a “rag-tag group of ragamuffins” and asking if they even “had a chance”. David hadn’t exactly behaved either, telling Katherine they would rather save their story “for a real reporter”. He knew if Sarah had heard that comment he would’ve slugged before he could get another breath in.

And at the end of the day, Katherine did all that she had promised and more. She got them on that front page. She helped him organize the rally. And she brought out the best in Jack, turning him into the leader she knew he could be just when they needed him most. She had even gotten her own friends in on it. David never thought in million years that he’d be rubbing shoulders the heirs of the biggest newspaper moguls in the country, much less breaking the law with them. They had been surprisingly friendly too, Darcy in particular. The newsies owed a lot to Katherine. David in particular owed a lot to Katherine. And to his own surprise, in the last few months they had even developed a close friendship. After all they had been through, Katherine had simply become one of the gang.

Except.

Except it wasn’t that simple, was it? When David brought Jack over to his apartment for the first time, he had been embarrassed because he was acutely aware how little Jack had in comparison to him. Now with Katherine visiting he realized he was fearing the opposite.

It wasn’t that he was embarrassed by his family’s situation. He never had the need to be. Everything happened so fast after his father’s accident he hadn’t really had the time to assess the situation. The few teachers he had told before he dropped out were properly sympathetic and had offered to get him caught up as soon as he was able to come back. There were no friends to tell at school because he didn’t have any to begin with. The newsies, of course, had been refreshingly blaise. His and Les’ sob story was nothing compared to Henry watching his family’s deli go under after his dad died or JoJo spending his first few years with some of the nastiest nuns this side of Harlem. Everyone was poor, everyone had pain, and there was no use mulling over it. It wasn’t until he had bumped into his classmates a few weeks ago that David had truly reflected on the full extent of his family’s situation. Katherine coming over would be like picking at an old scab and praying it wouldn’t bleed. That wasn’t a fun image to start out your evening.

The Jacob’s apartment was on the third floor of a seven story building. The location had been pretty ideal up until Mayer’s accident, when the two flights up became a nearly impossible task on his leg. His left leg had been broken just above the ankle where the delivery truck had hit it, and there was still no confirmation on how well it would heal. It made leaving the building exceedingly difficult, and even basic duties, like going to the outhouse, required assistance. David remembered Crutchie once bemoaning how only fancy buildings got special assets like elevators while he had to tangle through staircase after staircase at the lodging house.

“It’s the poor that are more likely to get crippled than the rich. The least they could do is put the kitchen on the first floor or something.”

David was hoping to avoid any such awkward topics tonight. But now they were at the end of the hallway heading towards the Jacobs’ door, marked so with their tell-tale mezuzah guiding the way, and things so far were fine . At least they felt fine. No, they were going to be fine. They’re fine. Everything’s fine. Everything’s gonna be just-

“Mama, Papa, we’re hoo-ome!” Les pushed past David and bounded ahead the group, pushing the open the door with an energetic bang.

“Oh for Godsakes Les, I was napping!” That was definitely Sarah. David quickly followed Les into the apartment with Jack and Katherine on his heels. He was met by his very tired looking sister; her long, brown hair disheveled, wearing the same skirt and blouse she had on yesterday. Her eyes, though, were as sharp and furious as ever.

“Hey David, do you want to tell that brother of yours not to enter every room like he’s the next Barnum and Bailey?”

David rolled his eyes. “He’s your brother too Sarah. Try not to be too much of a jerk tonight, we have guests.”  He gestured with his head to his two friends behind him. Sarah’s face lit up.

“Jack! And you must be Katherine, right? It’s so good to finally meet you!” She swept them both into a tight hug, then called over her shoulder.

“Mama, Jack and Katherine are here!”

“Oh really? I had no idea from all that shouting.” The Polish lilt in Esther Jacobs’ voice sounded especially dry from the stove on the other side of the room, her body half masqueraded by a heaping pile of fabric that overtook their kitchen table. Mayer Jacobs sat nearby, his foot propped up on a small stool that had once belonged to Les. He was smoking a cigar, puffing out as much as he could towards the open window that lead onto the fire escape, and rereading the morning edition of The World. David felt a tinge of guilt.

“Here Papa, we got you the evening edition.” He handed his father the paper from his messenger bag and turned to give his mother a kiss. Esther wrinkled her nose.

“Eugh! You smell David, like street sweat. Get you and Les to wash up before we eat, yes?”

“It’s good to see you too Mama.” He finally managed to plant one on the center of her cheek. His mother swatted him away affectionately. David called for his brother.

“Hey Les, you need to wash up in the hallway before dinner. And not just your hands, you gotta your whole face this time.”

If Les had heard him, he was doing a great job of ignoring him, choosing instead to give Katherine the grand tour of the apartment by pointing to things and guiding around by her arm.

“...and this is mine and David’s bed. I used to sleep on the outside so he wouldn’t squish me, but then one night I fell out ‘cause he rolled over on me so now I sleep on the inside and he sleeps on the outside. And these are my books, I have all of the Frank Merriwells, except the one where the girl almost gets hit by the train ‘cause Mama said it was too violent. And this is where everyone else sleeps-”

“Les, don’t show our guests the second room, it’s a mess!” Esther gave David a Look that he instantly got the meaning of. He casually loosened Les’ grip on Katherine and guided her and Jack over to his parents.

“C’mon kid, both of us need to get washed up….Mama, Papa, this is Katherine and you know Jack…”

At the end of the hallway David crouched down beside so he and Les were at eye level. Les turned on the spigot and began to vigorously splash his face, making a big display to show how clean he was getting.

“Listen, I’m gonna need you to be on your best behavior tonight. This is a part of Katherine’s job, and she’s gonna be asking be asking questions that might make dad uncomfortable, so try not to interrupt, okay?”

Les gave a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll shut up. But only if you quit acting all twitchy.”

David tried to straighten his shoulders a bit. “I’m not twitchy.”

“See, you just did it then!”

“I did not!”

“You did too! I’ve been watching you all day David, it’s like you’ve got bed bugs or something. Are you nervous?”

David thought about lying for half a second before deciding against it. “Yeah, maybe I am a little nervous.”

Les shrugged his shoulders “Well, don’t be! It’s just Katherine. We’ve had friends over before, it’s no big deal. Just don’t think about it.”

God, David wished he was still nine.

Back in the apartment, David had found that his mother had prepared knishes, much to Jack’s delight (though she admitted this time they were a donation from Ruthie Chernin at the synagogue, Jack assured her that hers tasted much better). Sarah and Katherine hit it right off like just as Les predicted, and were soon in a lengthy discussion about the suffragette movement. Even Les had held up his promise and had fallen asleep immediately after he finished eating. David never ceased to be impressed of what his brother managed to sleep through, considering their bed was only a few feet away from the kitchen table.

Sarah said something to Katherine that made her burst out laughing. She put a sisterly arm around Sarah and turned to Mayer.

“I’m sorry Mr. Jacobs, I’ve been neglecting you all evening. I still have a few more questions I need to get down.”

“It’s no problem at all Miss Katherine.” Mayer stroked his handlebar mustache. “You were asking me about compensation, yes?”

Katherine nodded. “You sent a letter to Broadwell, right?”

“The day after the surgery, when the doctor gave us the bill. I still didn’t know I had been let go then, so we thought it was worth a try.”

Katherine winced slightly as she scribbled a few notes on her pad. “I’m guessing that didn’t go the way you planned, huh?”

Mayer shook his head. “They didn’t even bother to send a letter back. Only a telegraph: ‘ Sorry Mister Jacobs, but your dutys are no longer needed here at Broadwell Cigars. ’ They didn’t get the spelling right, did they David?”

David looked up from the cabinet table where he was piling dinner plates to be washed later. “No, Papa. ‘Duties’ has an ‘I E’ when it’s plural.”

“American spellings.” Mayer gave an exasperated wave. “It’s like they go out of their way to confuse you.”

“And how long had you been with Broadwell Cigars before the accident happened?”

Mayer looked thoughtfully down at his plate. “I was hired shortly before Les was born, so I’d say around...twelve years or so?”

“And did you ever get a raise in that time?”

Mayer shook his head. “None. I never bothered to ask, the men that did would always get accused of ‘communist sensibilities’ or something like that. I thought if I had just did my job and kept my head down everything would be fine. Guess I had my head down too much, I couldn’t see that that truck coming.”

David coughed and gave a weak grin. This had become Mayer’s way of coping with the accident; making jokes to divert from the pain. It didn’t always work

Katherine gave a tight lipped half smile. “What about the man who had been driving the truck, did you ever consider pressing charges against him?”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want to do that!” Esther interjected.  “The man has a family of his own, we didn’t want him to lose a job too. Mayer tried to contact him  about helping out with the hospital bill, but...well,” She gave a sharp exhale and looked sadly over at her husband. “We still haven’t heard back from them.”

“They didn’t even take responsibility for the accident,” Sarah said suddenly. “Broadwell, the driver, nobody! You know what they told us at the end of that telegraph? They said that because he wasn’t inside the factory, it technically didn’t take place on their premises!” She snorted as she began to spoon Katherine’s pudding into several chipped dessert cups. “Papa got hit by a truck, of course it wasn’t inside! Like they would have responded any different if he had slipped on a strip of tobacco or something.”

“Sarah, you don’t need to be so crude!” Esther admonished. “The important thing is that your father is still with us. What’s happened has happened. You’ll wear yourself out getting angry over it.”

“I’m already worn out Mama.” Sarah closed her eyes and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I did two shifts at the glove factory today, I’m allowed to get angry.”

“But still-” Esther did a quick jerk of the head towards Katherine. “It’s impolite to talk about it in mixed company. Miss Katherine just wants the facts, not some big outburst.”

“I am giving her the facts, Mom.” David inwardly winced at Sarah’s very American tone.“You supported David and Les when they went on strike, why couldn’t you do the same for yourselves?”

“The newsboys’ strike was different.” David could hear a new edge in his mother’s voice. “It was about wages, and it affected a whole group of people, not just one person. They had a clear list of demands. It was simple .”

“Well, it was hardly that simple-” Jack began before getting a quick kick to shin under the dinner table from Katherine. He cleared his throat and went back to finishing his peas.

Sarah was now scraping the sides of the bowl to get the remaining pudding out. “I’m just saying, you’re placing your hopes in the wrong basket. Broadwell isn’t going to magically come to its senses and pay our bills. We’re gonna be stuck with this debt for the rest of our lives.”

She tossed her spoon down on the table with an angry clang. David could practically see the fumes in her eyes. “And you know it would be a different story if that truck had gotten damaged instead of Papa’s leg.”

“That’s enough Sarah.” Mayer’s voice was just above a whisper, but the resonance it had swallowed the room in an icy silence. Sarah’s cheeks flushed and she rubbed the corners of her eyes. She wordlessly passed around the dessert bowls, then briskly left the table and stormed into the family’s bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Jack and Katherine shifted nervously in their seats. Mayer Jacobs looked over at David with a new tenseness in his face.

“David, do you have anything to add?”

David almost matched his father in quietness. “No sir.”

From his corner of the room, Les stirred.

“Whassa happenin’? Did I miss dessert?”

The evening had ended as quickly as it had begun, much to the relief of David. He had walked Jack and Katherine to the front door of his building, and had gotten long hugs from both of them.

“Thanks for having us over tonight Davey, I really mean it.” He had never seen Katherine look this sincere before. Or this sad. “I know this wasn’t easy for your family, but...I’ll be sure to send my rough draft to you before I publish it, I want to make sure I’m doing your father’s story justice.”

David gave a small grin. “I think we all have a different idea of what that means.”

“Also-!” Katherine ripped out one of the back pages of her notepad. “Make sure to Sarah my address. Tell her she can contact me any time.”

David’s grin widened. “Thanks Kath, you’re a real mensch.”

Jack cocked his cap down slightly and gave him a pat on back. “See you bright and early partner.”

David wished it could stay here forever, just him and his two friends on a dark street corner, where he could relieve himself of this goddamn pressure and finally breathe.

But he knew he eventually had to make his way upstairs. Sarah would be curled up on her cot, pretending to sleep as tears rolled down her cheeks. Les would be confused, angry he was being left out of the conversation yet again and not completely sure why. His parents would be arguing; quietly, viciously, a continuation of the same argument they’ve had since the accident, an argument with no ending in sight.

David wouldn’t say anything at all.

“David?”

David blinked a few a times and raised his head from his pillow. Was it five already? It couldn’t be five, it was far too dark for it to be that close to morning. Adjusting his eyes, he could make out the silhouette of his mother’s slight frame against the black surroundings, her hair framing her face like a halo.

“David? Are you awake?”

He rubbed his eyes, trying not to look annoyed.“Yes Mama, what is it?”

“Your father needs to use the bathroom.”

Every breath David took was slow and deliberate; in through the mouth, out through the nose. The dark blue of the sky was slowly giving away to a more softer, pinker tone. David strained to look at it between the overbearing outlines of gray-black buildings that surrounded him. Anything to keep him distracted from the stench of the outhouses. Or the fact that he was waiting for his father in one of them. He heard a knock on the one closest to his left, and ran to open the door. He ducked his head so Mayer could rest his arm on his shoulder, then led him out, cane first, onto the dirt floor of the apartment building’s backyard. The two of them hobbled together to the back door, then braced themselves for the three flights of stairs that awaited them. Step by step, they limped in silence. Then Mayer spoke.

“You were quiet at dinner tonight.”

David shrugged. “Didn’t have much to say, Papa.”

“You’ve always been a quiet boy, even when you were young. I’ve always wondered what you’re keep up there.” He tapped the side of his head with his free hand.

“You know,” Mayer continued, “When I was your age, I was quiet too. My parents...they were very German. Or at least they tried to be. I guess, being Jewish, they over… over…”

“Overcompensated?” David readjusted his grip on his father’s side as they made their way onto the second floor.

“Yes, that’s the word. It was always the same arguments over and over them. Mostly with your Uncle Otto. There’s a lot of Sarah in him, I guess you could say. But they would frustrate me too.” Mayer paused and looked at his eldest son. “We could could never complain with them, you know? We could never talk about our troubles because we would just be told that someone else in the world had it worse. But if you don’t talk about what’s wrong nothing will get better, yes? That was what made me and Otto move to America, to get away our parents ways. Last night I realized I became my parents.”

David felt slightly taken aback. He had never his father be this forthright before. They had finally made it to the third floor, and David could feel his eyes begin to droop again. He bit down on his lower lip, hoping it would help him remain conscious ‘til the end of their trip.

“I need to apologize to Sarah, before she goes to work. But I must apologize to you and Les as well. What’s happened to me...it’s been hard on the whole family, I know. And I don’t know when things are going to go back to normal for us. So don’t keep quiet anymore, yeah boychik? If you need something or want to talk about anything, just be honest with me, please?

They were now finally at the door. David looked at his father, and for the first time saw how much his features mirrored his own. Same nose, same long face, same grayish green eyes framed by thick dark brows. But his father’s face seemed to have been permanently glazed in aura of exhaustion. His mustache was twinged with gray that seemed to have gotten more and more noticeable since the accident. He just looked so defeated. In his deepest fears, David wondered if he too would look just as defeated twenty years down the line. Maybe it was the haziness of the early morning, but he knew if he didn’t speak he probably wouldn’t get the chance later.

“Actually Papa, there is one thing I want to talk to you about-”

“-How would you feel about me going back to school?”

Chapter Text

The rest of September ended up being a lot busier than it had any right to be.

‘99 was one of the earliest high holiday seasons in years, maybe even centuries. It was also the first year David had to balance them with a full time job.

Rosh Hashanah was surprisingly the easiest to handle; the Jacobs’ synagogue allowed for evening services, followed by large dinners shared with several other families in their building. Sukkot was ignored, as usual (though David had a vague recollection of his mother trying to stick a couple of poles in the back lot years ago when they first moved to the building, before giving up after a few hours because of the smell).  

It was Yom Kippur that was the main issue. That was the one day every year the Jacobs never seemed to miss. The fun holidays could be overlooked, but ignoring the day of atonement was one of the few things David’s mother could not abide by. Think of it as washing your undergarments or getting a lice check. Unpleasant, but ultimately necessary in living a wholesome life in Esther Jacobs’ book. Mayer, the more secular of the two, would still go to work, but he’d drink an incessant amount of coffee before the fasting began in order to curb his appetite for the rest of the day. And anyways, Mayer was the man of the house. If he wanted work, his wife wasn’t going to get in the way of that. But after his injury the dynamics had quietly begun to change in the Jacobs’ household. And the children were still very much under Esther’s domain.

So his parents argued. They argued the way they always did; sequestering themselves in the second room and talking in a Yiddish so rapid and hushed David could barely understand them. Sarah covertly moved her cot next to the boys’ bed just in case the fighting lasted late into the night, and the two of them tried to distract Les by having him read some of his dime novels to them out loud.

Ultimately economic necessity won out and the children were allowed to work, just as long as they fasted for the majority of the day. But as David was about to leave for the morning edition, his father snuck a pair of leftover Rosh Hashanah apples into his bag.

“At least make sure Les has one, I don’t want you boychiks to faint on my account.”

Les gratefully took his apple around midday, and David gave his own to one of the younger newsies who had slept in an alleyway the night before. He felt the need to atone for something, or at least try to get back in God’s good graces. Anything to get his family through the rest of the year relatively unscathed.

“I don’t get it,” Jack said, as Davey clenched his stomach for what felt like the millionth time that day. “Your people already suffer all the time. Why create a holiday just to suffer some more?”

David was too woozy to bother coming up with a proper response.

So yes. David had been busy. Very, very busy. Which was why it was well into mid-October when he finally made the half hour trek back to his old school. He had, after all exhausted all his other choices. Night school was essentially a repeat of his old primary school days, only more tiring, and trade schools weren’t giving him the curriculum he wanted.

“I just wish there was some type of program that did pre-college schooling and didn’t interfere with work hours.” He complained to Specs once as the two of them looked over at a flyer advertising training sessions at the local electricians union.

“When they let Negros into college I’ll let you know if I find anything.” Specs replied dryly, and David felt a pang of guilt shudder in his stomach. He really needed to remember how lucky he still was sometimes. It was bizarre how quickly he could go sometimes from throwing a self-pity party to feeling like the most privileged person on earth. At least when he was around his friends. The larger world was a different story.

As he made his way towards his old school, David’s heart lurched. He kept his distance, waiting for the majority of his class to leave the building before he could grasp up the nerve to duck inside. It was definitely weird, watching as an outsider as his class passed through the gates, seeing them chatting casually with each other with their school satchels slung over their backs. They looked almost alien to him now, with their too clean faces and lack of world weariness in their eyes. It was hard to believe he was one of them only a few months ago.

Soon the crowd began to wane, and David walked through the gates, his cap pulled extra low to obscure his face. God, this was stupid. He had every right to be here, he shouldn’t be trying to hide himself. If he just focused on getting from point A to point B; from the courtyard into the building, he should be just fine. Just a few more steps and-

“David? Is that you?”

He was halfway across the courtyard heading when he heard his name. Dammit. He did not want a repeat of what happened in August, only now without Jack to defend him. But the voice sounded softer this time. And less mean spirited. Whomever was calling to him seemed as if they had good intentions, at least better ones than the classmates he met downtown. He turned around and was met by a tall girl in glasses, her two braids in loops and held together in the back with a green bow. She was looking at him quizzically.

“Oh, Alice, hi! I…wasn’t expecting to see you.”

“I could say the same for you as well, doofus.” She gave him a playful punch. “You disappeared on us completely a few months ago. I didn’t even see you for final assessments.”

David felt his heart drop a bit. “Oh yeah…I forgot I missed those. How was the ranking this year?”

Alice gave a small eye roll. “It was pretty typical. Clarence got top marks again in everything except English Comp. Marlene McPherson beat him this year, can you believe it?”

David grinned. “I bet he took that well.”

“Oh, you know Clarence, he was a regular angel. He threw this big tantrum about how some girl mick couldn’t’ve done better than him, and demanded the teachers recount the grades. And of course they wouldn’t, so he- “

“-Had them call his father?” They both finished the sentence together and laughed. David forgot how much he missed this. Alice van Ness had been his lab partner in biology for the last two years. They two of them originally stuck together out of necessity, her being the only girl in the class, and him, well… David was sure his classmates could list several reasons for not pairing up with him. Most of which included his last name and home address.

Alice never seemed to care though. Or, at least, she cared significantly less than the rest of the school. She looked at him warmly. “Gosh, I’ve missed you David. I’m sick of doing all the lab work alone. Frog dissecting isn’t the same without you.”

“Oh, yeah…well, I got busy.” David played with his cap, trying to dance around the subject as best he could.

“Clearly.” She leaned in slightly and lowered her voice to a whisper. “Listen, you should probably know, Walter and the others have been talking about you. They said they saw you downtown a couple weeks ago selling newspapers with this big Irish boy.”

“…Did they now?” David tried his best to keep a blank face, unsure of how to respond. He wasn’t going to deny it; that was the coward’s way out. But confirming would lead to a much longer conversation, one that he really didn’t want to have right now. “I didn’t realize I was that interesting to talk about.”

She held up a reassuring hand. “Don’t worry, no one really believes them. They’re just a bunch of jerks who get bored easily. Everyone knows you left because you were sick, why else would you be away for this long?”

“Oh, well…” David’s mouth felt heavy and dry. There was a part of him that desperately wanted to tell her. To sit her down and explain everything that’s happened to him in the last few months. But he liked his friendship with Alice. He liked being liked by her. And he wasn’t sure if that would continue if she knew the truth.

“Listen, I gotta get going. I want to meet with some of the teachers before they escape for the day.” He started to back away, keeping his face towards her. “But it was great catching up with you Alice!”

“You’re coming back, right?” She called out to him as he passed through the open front doors. He pretended not to hear her.

The best way David could describe Mr. Mouldan was soft. At least physically. In school he was known for being one of the toughest teachers the history department had to offer. But that never betrayed his general demeanor, which was always warm and comforting. He had a heavyset frame, besieged by a round balding head and spectacles that gave him an owlish look. His expression was unreadable. But then again, David had never been good at reading people.

“And what can I do for you, Mister Jacobs?”

“Um, well… first of all, thank you for seeing me, sir. Um, I really appreciate it, and-”

“Save the formalities, David. You don’t need to give me a preamble. I know why you’re here.” He gestured for David to take a seat.

“Oh…you do?” David pulled a chair from one of the front tables to Mouldan’s desk. His former teacher leaned forward in his seat, linking his fingers together and resting them under his chin.

“First things first, how’s your father doing?”

“He’s fine…he’s better than he was in July at least.”

Mouldan nodded understandably. “He was working at Broadwell, right? As a floor manager?”

“Well...sort of. He did a lot of different things for them.That’s why he got hurt, he was helping load the trucks, and...” David didn’t want to finish that sentence.

Mouldan sat back in his seat and exhaled loudly. “Listen, David, I like you. I always have. And I think I can speak for most of my colleagues here that letting you stay at this school was one of the best investments we made. You’re a real credit to your people, son.”

“Um… thanks.” David’s mouth felt like chalk.

“Now then, about you coming back, I’m of the opinion that if you can prove to us that you haven’t fallen too behind in your studies, we can offer you a spot in the current junior class. But that’s only if-”

“Well, sir, that’s why I came to see you, sir. I was hoping we could discuss...alternate options towards getting my diploma.”

Mr. Mouldan raised an eyebrow. “Getting your diploma? You do realize you have two years left of high school left to complete?”

“I know that, but with the way things are going right now with my family… and our finances… I can’t afford to be back at school right. Not while my brother is still working too.”

“If you like, I could speak to them. I understand things might have been done differently back in the old country, but I’m sure if I could get them to understand the importance of education…”

It took all of David’s self restraint not to immediately storm out of the room. “My parents understand the importance of education, thank you sir. It’s just that right now we have different priorities.”

“Well, shouldn’t school be your first priority?” Why couldn’t this guy stop talking in circles. Race would’ve slugged him by now. As would’ve Albert. And Finch. And Sniper. Hell, even Crutchie would’ve been done by this point.

David leaned forward in his seat, his keeping his voice as calm as possible. Any nervousness he had before was since vanished.

“Mr. Mouldan, I am asking you if there is anyway for me to finish high school while still working. I don’t care if I have to give up sleep, or rearrange my schedule, or-”

“Where do you work right now, David?”

David took a deep breath, bracing himself for any reaction he was going to get. “I’m a newsboy, sir.”

“Not the same ones who won the strike against Pulitzer, I presume?”

Which other newsboys are there? David bit his tongue to keep from saying it out loud, and cleared his throat. “Yes, me and my friends were a part of the strike. We started it actually, here in Lower Manhattan. There was an article done on it, do you read The Sun?”

“Ah, this is starting to make sense now. That must have been an exciting time for you, making new friends, earning your own money. Having a rebellion against authority, if you will. I think that’s healthy for any young man. But it’s also important to eventually settle down, to prioritize what’s really important in life and-”

“Thank you, Mr. Mouldan. It’s been a pleasure.” David was on his feet, his legs stiff and his back stick straight. He bit his mouth into a straight line and headed towards the door.

“Mr. Jacobs, my offer still stands. I’d ask you to please consider it. After all, what does working on the streets give you that a school environment couldn’t?”

“AND IT’S….NO! NAY! NE VAH! NO NAY NEVAH NO MOOOORE! SHALL I SAAAAIL THE WILD ROVAH…NO NAY NEVAAAAAH! NO MORE!”

"Sit your ass down, Race. I don’t want Kloppman thinking I’ve been getting youse all drunk. This is a good Christian establishment." Jack looked back down at his cards, shaking his head affectionately. Les rested his head on the lodging house table beside Jack's arm.

"Do Christians not drink?”

“Oh sure they do.” Jack gave a mock-serious nod. “Us real ones, Cat’lics drink all the time. Them Proddies though, they like to keep it under wraps. Say that they’re all for temperance, then they swig from the bottle when they think no one’s looking.” He tossed a card onto the main deck and gave David a nudge. "Hey, speaking of Proddies, how'd it go back at your old turf."

David sighed and started to reshuffled his hand. "About the same as I expected. It was like talking to a brick wall with a posh accent. I don't think he even listened to me half the time I was there. I don't know how I managed to survive that place for as long as I did."

Les nodded thoughtfully. "Yeah, school's awful. I'm glad we don't go there anymore."

"Les! No, that's not what I meant! School's very important! It's just that...certain schools work better for some people than others." He made sure he was looking at his brother directly in the eye. "Once Pop's on his feet, you're gonna be the first one back, not me."

Les adverted his gaze and fiddled with the corners of his brother's cards. "Great, I can't wait to learn all about lice checks again."

"Hey, why don't you tap Katherine head for ideas? She's done plenty of school." Jack wiggled his eyebrows from above his deck.

"I don't really have a lot of ambition to get into Barnard, Jack."

Jack looked exasperatedly his friend. "Hey, it's worth a shot. My girl's real creative, you can't be a lady reporter by eighteen if you ain't. You've got friends here Davey, don't push away help just 'cause you think you gotta do this alone."

Before David could respond a lanky, dirt stained arm wrapped around his shoulder. It's twin fell on Jack's head a gave it a small noogie. Jack playfully swatted away. "Christ Racer, you really need to stop hanging 'round Brooklyn so much. They're making a real lush outta you there."

Race leaned down and gave the older boy a kiss on head. "I do as I likes, ain't no can tell me otherwise. C'mon Jackie, let's show 'em how we Irish boys do it- NO NAY NEVAAAA! NO MORE!"

Chapter Text

David could feel the man’s glare baring into the front of his bent head.

He kept the grandfather clock that stood in the corner of the small shop in the periphery of his vision. He had been in the bookstore for nearly fifteen minutes now and the bookseller’s gaze hadn’t left him since he’d entered. A couple of months ago it would’ve frightened him off. Hell, a couple of months ago he would’ve just avoided the shop entirely, content on looking forlornly at the hefty leather tombs through the display window.

It was Race that had enlightened him on the act of skimming. “Jus’ go in there and start readin’ the damn thing. Pretend like you’re considerin’ buyin’ it, but at the last minute shake your head an’ say ‘sorry, not sure yet’. Then keep doin’ that every day ‘til you finish. Works like a charm, I ain’t never bought a locomotive rag in my life!”

What Race failed to mention, however, was that all his literary conquests took place at magazine stands. Several magazine stands, in fact, so no one would wise up to what he was doing. David on the other hand had been milling in the same high end bookstore for the last three days. And it was very clear the owner was catching on.

But this wasn’t just any book. George Egerton had finally given the Swedish novel Hunger an English translation and had distributed it in the U.S just earlier this year. Stylistically it was naturalistic, and based in the works of Dostoevsky. Or at least that’s what the literary critic from The World said.

In the very least it was good enough for David to keep coming back for the last three days, memorizing the page he’d left off on and absorbing as much as he could, so he’d make the most of his seventeen minutes and fifty two seconds (he’d been keeping track). By this rate he’d hope to finish it in a week. Maybe two. Or maybe never, if that damn bookkeeper had any say in it…

“Are you considering purchasing that, sir ?”

If that ‘sir’ had been any more sarcastic it would’ve come from Albert. David looked wearily at the clerk, who stood half an inch below him and seemed to have one eyebrow raised in permanent bemusement. On a different turf that smirk would’ve been smacked off in an instant.

Then again, on a different turf David would’ve had friends with him.

But here, he was alone. And he definitely couldn’t cut an impressive figure by himself. Without the rest of the gang he just looked awkward and gangly. Not to mention shabby. David took a deep breath and braced himself for whatever was about to come.

“I think I might need more time, sir.” He tried to keep his phrasing deadpan, clipping his vowels to sound as uptown as possible.

“Oh, and how much more time would that be? Another day? ‘Til the end of the month? This is an awfully vast book, sir . For a slower reader it might take a while.”

David decided to ignore that jab. “This is an open establishment, sir. I have the right to be here as long as I’m not causing any trouble.”

“And this is also not a lending library. So if you can’t produce the exact payment of this book within the next minute, I’ll have to escort you out, sir . And if I can’t, I’m sure a nearby officer will.”

David felt his stomach clench at the sound of the word ‘officer’. This was the time to cut his losses and leave; anything to avoid being on the receiving end of a cop’s baton again.

He snapped the book shut and started to head towards the door. David tried to focus on the pattern of his breathing; in through the nose, out through the mouth. Keeping his anger at bay had never been an issue for him in the past, but lately it had been getting more and more difficult.

He paused at the door, hand lingering on the knob. The seller was still glaring, daring him to make another move.

Then a bell rang, and a gust of cool air rushed through the small store. David stepped back awkwardly, trying to avoid the cold and keep out of the way of whomever had just entered the store.

The seller’s face brightened instantly.

“Ah! Mr. Reid! What a pleasant surprise!”

Mr. Reid? Was that-?

“Davey? Is that you?”

It was.

Darcy Reid, heir to New York Tribune was standing in the doorway. His glasses were fogged, and he looked a lot more put together than when he had first seen him in the wee hours of the night that past August, but it was unquestionably him. The tension in the room seemed to dissipate. Darcy was clearly unaware of what he’d just walked into.

David cleared his throat, his mouth unusually dry. “Oh. Hi Darcy. It’s been a while.”

“I should say so!”

The older boy gave David a firm handshake and a pat on the back. “Katherine’s been telling me about-oh! I’m sorry, were you about to leave? I don’t want to keep you.”

David was enjoying this a little too much. His gaze settled on the bookkeeper, who seemed to grow more and more uncomfortable by the second. “No. In fact, I’m not ready to leave yet.”

Darcy beamed. “Oh good, I came in to pick up a package, it shouldn’t take too long. Mind staying with me?”

David returned the smile.

“I wouldn’t mind at all.”

“It was awfully nice of you to wait for me, I hope I’m not interfering with your work hours.”

They were now a block away from the store, their arms crossed almost identically to ward off the frigid November air. Darcy was the shorter of the two, but it was David who was trying his best not to lag behind. His boots had been giving him trouble lately. The left one’s sole was now precariously stitched together with a fading supply of leather and thread, and the hole at the bottom seemed to nag at him more and more as the temperature dropped. Every few steps a small gust of frigid air snuck in through the ridges and sent a chill through his body.

“It’s no trouble at all. I still have some time left.” said David.

Actually, David was now two minutes late for the evening edition. He should be feeling a lot more anxious than he did at the moment. Though to be fair it was usually Les that did the heavy lifting when it came to finding a place in line, with David being dragged along beside him.

Darcy cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “I’m actually glad I bumped into Davey, Katherine and I-”

“To your left, Mouth!”

The wind was knocked out of David for a brief second as a small body slid past him and stopped briefly in front of them. It took him a second to realize it was Sniper.

“Hey Davey, your brother’s been around askin’ for you. Says that he won’t hold your place in line forever.”

“Aw sh-” David quickly remembered himself and altered his language. “Tell him I’ll be there in a bit, I just got preoccupied.”

“Preocc-? Never mind, I’ll tell him some version of that.”

Sniper flashed a grin before racing off again, precariously balancing the strap of his thick newsbag on his skinny shoulder. It made David conscious of how light his own was. He needed to get over there. Soon.

“Wait, what did he call you earlier? Mouth?”

David looked back at Darcy. “Well, I didn’t have much of a say in it, but yeah. Jack started using that on the last day of the strike and it’s kinda stuck.”

“Katherine told me what you said to her father that day. Let me tell you, in all my years of knowing Mr. Pulitzer, I don’t think anyone’s ever shook him up like the way you and your friends did. It was absolutely splendid to watch.”

“Oh. Wow. Um, thank you, Darcy. I really appreciate that.” David wasn’t sure what to make of that compliment. “I’m sure Katherine’s told you this before, but you and Bill are welcome at the lodging house anytime. We really wouldn’t have won the strike without you.”

There was an awkward silence between the two, each not sure of what to say, but neither wanting to leave just yet.

Then David saw a rip at the top of Darcy’s square parcel. That printing looked all too familiar…

“Hey, is that Hunger ?” David was surprised at his own bluntness.

“The Egerton edition? Sure, it came out just a few months ago. I had the store save me an advanced copy for when I finally have the time to sit down with it.”

“You’re gonna really love it, it definitely lives up to its reputation.”

“Oh, you’ve read it?”

“I’ve been…skimming it.” David wasn’t about to divulge into Race’s ‘skimming’ methods.

“You know,” Darcy was looking down at the parcel thoughtfully, “I’m a fairly quick reader. I’ll probably be done with it in a week or so. I’d be more than happy to lend it to you after I’m done.”  

David’s heart did a little leap in his chest “Are you kidding me?”

Darcy blinked owlishly behind his glasses. “No. Why would I do that?”

“Oh geez, no— I didn’t mean it like— never mind. Tell me when you’re done, okay? I’m sure Katherine can pass it on between us.”

David turned away quickly, hoping Darcy hadn’t seen his face flush. He needed to get over to that damned line now, before he made an even bigger fool of himself.

“Next Wednesday.”

“What?” David turned back to see Darcy looking slightly bemused.

“Next Wednesday, I should be finished with the book by then. Are you free that evening? My place is only a short walk away from the Tribune office.”

“Oh…” David was not expecting Darcy to be that welcoming. Or that forward. But then again, he was Katherine’s friend. Maybe she had rubbed off on him over the years.

Darcy seemed to take David’s pause as trepidation. “That’s only if you feel comfortable doing so, of course! I can always have the book delivered to the lodging house, or-”

“Darcy-” Darcy blinked and readjusted his glasses again. It was rather endearing. “I can make it next Wednesday.”

The older boy beamed. “Excellent! It’s date then!”

“Yeah…” David stood in shock as he watched Darcy go off in the opposite direction. “It’s a date.”

He was now seven minutes late for the evening edition.

“Alright everyone, shut ya pie holes! Specs, is everyone here?”

“Aye aye, Captn’ Jack!” Specs gave a mock salute and held up a worn piece of paper, marked at least twenty times with a mishmash various nicknames and the occasional ‘X’. “Oh wait, I gotta ask if we’re all here too.”

Jack rolled his eyes and Specs pointed a finger at him menacingly. “Hey, if we’re gonna do this, we need to do it right, so-” Specs added an extra flourish in voice. “Mr. President, are you here?”

Jack rolled his eyes. “Yeah Specs, I’m here.”

Specs nodded and made a mark on the attendance sheet. “Treasurer, are you here?”

Crutchie gave a half wave. “Here.”

“Vice President?”

David raised his pencil “Here.”

“Shop Steward?”

Race waved his arms from across the room. “Hiiii everybody!”

“....And your secretary is here and accounted for.” Specs made one final flourish on the sheet. “Okay, now we can continue.”

The attention fell back to Jack.

“So first of all, some unfinished business. I talked with some of the boys from the Bronx, they said they’ll stay out of Marble Hill as long as we make sure to stay off their turf. We all good with that?”

A resounding group of ‘ayes’ came from the kitchen of the lodging house. Jack turned David. “Davey, what do we have for new issues?”

David stood up and cleared his throat. He felt his knees tense up and tried to breath. Public speaking was one of those things that would never come easy to him, no matter how much practice he had.

“Alright, so Race and I rounded up some of your latest concerns, um…” He shuffled through them, trying to decipher Race’s handwriting.

“So there’s been a complaint about someone stealing potatoes from the kitchen? If someone’s having an issue with paying for food, just let us know. That’s what the rainy day money is for…. uh let’s see, this one’s from Kloppman, he says anyone found playing craps on the facility grounds will be kicked for the rest of the week. Please don’t try to test that, it’s gonna snow any day now.”

“And if you got any brains at all you’d know you’re supposed to play behind the building where no one can see ya!” Race shouted from the back.

“Um, no, Kloppman was pretty clear; no playing on the premises in general. We can’t risk anyone sleeping outside, especially with winter coming. It’s dangerous.”

There was a shout from the back of the room. “Like you’d know Mouth!”

David held up his hands in an act of defeat. “Okay, okay that’s fair, I don’t. But still…” He was wavering, losing his audience.

“Me and Crutchie have been talkin’ this over actually,” This was Jack, thank god.

“We can’t risk anyone dying on the streets this winter, not this year. Money shouldn’t get in the way of that. I don’t want to hear all that crap about you bein’ a tough guy or not needing help from no one. We’ve lost too many that way, and now that we’s officially organized it don’t have to be like that no more. So here’s what’s gonna happen- someone can’t pay for a bed, we all chip in. Someone gets sick, we all chip in, for medicine an’ the doctor. Someone’s shoes is falling apart ...”

David self consciously tucked his left foot further underneath his stool as Jack let the group fill in the rest.  

“Snow’s coming up soon. That’s what Crutchie’s leg’s been saying. Right Crutch?”

Crutchie nodded. “Four to six inches by next week. Plus wind.”

Jack gestured appreciatively. “See? You heard the man, four to six! Now I don’t know about you boys but those odd ain’t looking too good to me. I, for one, will be sleeping inside this winter, and if any of you knumbskulls have any common sense you’d do the same.”

There were some shouts among the crowd, broken up by Specs saying “Alright, time for break, we’ll be back in five minutes. Kloppman’s got some potatoes in the next room.”

David went up to Jack as the crowd disbursed. “Hey, thanks for cutting in back there.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s no problem. But, you know, I meant what I said. The offer still stands, even if you're not in the lodging house." 

“I appreciate that, but we’ll be fine. Really.”

David ate his words the moment the first snow hit.

There was no gradual build up like he’d been hoping. Instead, he was greeted Tuesday morning to three feet of wet, miserably thick snow that covered nearly surface on the streets below.

Street sweepers in the more commercial neighborhoods pushed the snow onto the sidewalks in tall barriers, making it close to impossible to hauk papers without getting hit a streetcar or carriage. By the next day he had strained several muscles he didn’t know he had, and Les had gotten a head cold, keeping him up half the night with his coughing. By Wednesday he was almost tempted to ignore Darcy’s offer all together.

But now here he was, on the fourth floor of what must have been the nicest building he’d ever been in (unless you counted the office of The World, and David certainly did not), trying to kick the excess snow out of his left boot without Darcy noticing. Darcy meanwhile was fiddling with his key ring.

“Do you like tea? I’ve got several different types; cinnamon, chamomile, oh-!” He turned around, and David quickly straightened up and tucked his foot behind his leg. “I recently got a coffee press, though I’m afraid I’m not too good at it yet.”

“Anything warm is fine.” David tried to keep his voice as casual as possible.

Darcy nodded in agreement as he started to unlock the door. “I don’t think I’ve seen this much snow since my father took me up north for beaver trapping.”

“Yeah, it’s been nuts- Wait, did you say beaver trapping?”

Darcy fumbled with the key a bit more, grunted, then opened the door with a satisfied tug. “It wasn’t my idea. A family friend had a lodge up in Ontario. My father thought that freezing outside and eating nothing but beef jerky for a week would make a man out of me.”

He turned and gestured for David to follow him inside. “The consensus is still out on whether or not he succeeded.”

“Considering we walked over three snow banks for a book, I’d say it worked part way.” David unwound his scarf from around his neck and checked to see if Darcy looked offended. To his relief, he older boy was grinning.

David still wasn’t sure how to act around Darcy. On one hand, he wasn’t one of the newsies, so any crude jokes or blunt language would be out of the question. But on the other hand he didn't seem to be much like the boys from David’s old school; he wouldn’t have taken the time to invite him over if he was. David had to guess his closest comparison for interaction would have to be Katherine, but even that came with restrictions too. It was different being friends with Kath. After all, he had just thought of her as a reporter when they first met. Coming into Darcy’s life knowing him as the son of one of the wealthiest families in New York, that was intimidating.

But he didn’t look all that intimidating with Darcy coming in with two mugs of tea in his hands. Maybe he was overthinking it. After all, he was the one who agreed to go his his place. And now that he was finally here, he wasn’t sure if he wanted to leave.

“So, the Egerton translation.” Darcy was now in the armchair beside him, gently placing the two cups on coasters beside them. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

“Oh, definitely.” David nodded and reached his cup. The tea tasted sweet, sweeter than anything he had before. It jolted his senses into something more awake.

“What part did you say you were at in the book? I can get a bookmark for you if you like.” Darcy got up again, then paused. ”I hope you don’t find this too much of a bother, but I’m kind of particular about my books, I don’t like it when they’re creased.”

“I’m the same way,” David said. “I think the biggest fight I ever had with my sister was when she borrowed my Twain and left all the pages creased. We barely talked for a week after that.”

“You have a brother too, right? How old is he again?”

“Ten.” David took another sip. “But depending on when you ask him he’ll say he’s seven. And when he’s not working he’ll tell you he’s almost eleven.”

“That’s quite a gap. My siblings and I are only two years apart at most.”

“Yeah, Sarah and I are only a year a part too. Les was a bit of a surprise for my parents. I don’t think they’ve still gotten over him being in the double digits now.”

“Your parents-?” Darcy’s brow was furrowed as he looked into his cup.

“Yeah, my parents…” David wasn’t exactly sure what he had said wrong.

Darcy was blushing deeply. “I’m sorry, this must sound so ignorant of me. It’s just that, I thought I overheard your brother mention one time…”

David realized where Darcy was going. “Oh, that’s just a selling technique! He just says he’s an orphan because…” he gets more money that way.

How do you explain that to someone like Darcy?

“It’s a joke. Just a joke we do sometimes. Sort of like the age thing.” David tried to sound as conclusive as possible.

“And to think, I was going send the book over to the Lodging House if you didn’t come over!” Darcy began to laugh

David joined in weakly. “Somebody would’ve creased it up for sure there. How long did it take you to finish it?”

“About three days. It’s not one of those books you can put down easily. How far did you get in it?”

“Uh, I believe he was at the church? Page 52.”

Darcy raised an eyebrow. “You have an excellent memory. Here, hold on.” He opened the drawer of the small table between them. David looked in, seeing an array of leather clad bookmarks.

“Wow, you weren’t kidding.” He picked one up and examined it in his hand. It was deep red, with gold engraving and a matching tassel punctured through one of the corners. “This thing’s gorgeous.” He squinted a bit at the engraving. 

"'A Man Who Doesn't Think For Himself Doesn't Think At All'- O. W. Who's O. W.?"

"Only the greatest writer who ever lived! Don't tell me you've never heard of Oscar Wilde?"

"Uh, no. I'm afraid I haven't." 

"Well, he's sort of fallen out of favor now a days, but his writing's absolutely amazing! And he does everything, plays, poetry, oh-!" He rushed out of his seat, then came back with another book in hand. 

""Dorian Gray', it's one of his best. You can borrow it too, if you like."

"Oh, thanks." David looked over the blue and gray cover. "Is it like 'Hunger'?"

"Hardly. This one's pretty heavy on plot, but the prose is still strong as well. Not so much character introspection...well, in a way there is, but-" Darcy shook his head. "Oh, I won't give it away. Just read it, you won't be sorry." 

"Oh, thanks. So, the Egerton edition, was it worth waiting for? Finishing it, I mean."

Darcy took a sip of his tea. "Oh, absolutely! You said you were at the church section, right? It's incredbile how the author got into his character's mind like that."

"I'd say so, considering the guy's delusional."

Darcy paused in putting the cup back in it's saucer. "What?"

"Well, yeah. The character, I mean. He hasn't eaten for what, nearly three days? And then he starts obsessing and raging over God? That's a guy who's lost his last marble, until he starts taking regular meals again." 

Darcy seemed to be listening, so David continued. 

"If you think about it, he's lost all sense of self. The main character doesn't even have a name. He can't function in normal society because he doesn't have the money to get in. So he just wanders around aimlessly till he's emaciated."

Darcy seemed to be thinking deeply.

"It is interesting that he never blames the society for his problems. He just seems to accept it as a fate from God."

David almost jumped up from the armchair. "Well, see! That just proves that he's delusional!"

They went on like this, until their tea was half finished and cold, David realized that over an hour had past. 

"Aw geez, it's pitch black out there. I should probably get going soon."

Darcy started to collect the cups. "Let me tie up the books for you, they'll be easier to carry."

"Thanks." David felt oddly calm. But at the same time, incredibly invigorated. Talking with Darcy was the easiest thing in the world, societal conventions be damned. 

Darcy came back with a thin belt, and David passed the two books to him. He stacked 'Dorian Gray' on top of 'Hunger', then wrapped the belt around them, first tightening, then buckling the package securely together. He passed it back to David, holding it by the leftover belt. 

"Doesn't that bring back memories?"

"I didn't know prep school boys carried their books with their dad's belts. I thought public schools had the monopoly on that."

"Well, we usually have them delivered by automobile, but just in case the engine breaks down..." The two of them laughed. 

"Katherine told me you went to Harvard, how do they carry the books there?"

"She did, did she?" Darcy looked frustrated for a second, then seemed to shake it away. "Katherine talks too much sometimes. I was only there for a semester." 

"Oh. Sorry." David found his jacket and began rewinding his scarf around his neck. 

"Speaking of school, are finishing high school soon? I bet you're a top student there." David felt his insides turn cold. He really did not want to talk about this, especially after how well the evening had been going. 

"I dropped out. After my father got injured, back in July." He tried to keep the response as emotionless as possible. 

Now it was Darcy's turn to apologize. "I'm so sorry, I thought for sure Katherine said-"

"Wait, what did Katherine tell you?"

"Nothing much! Just that you were looking to finish high school soon. I didn't mean to pry into anything personal or-"

"No, it's fine. I'm just trying to figure out how she knew, because I never told her..." In fact, the only people who knew about his school plans were his family, not to mention Jack... David groaned. "Jack and his big mouth! Of course he would've told Katherine, he tells her everything!"

Darcy grinned sheepishly. "Those two were made for each other." 

"I've always wondered, are you fine with them...being together?"

Darcy was now rinsing his cups in the sinks. "If you're asking if Bill and I had our reservations, then yes. But seeing them together..." he paused in midwash. "It made sense. They acted like each other's missing link. They're the only two that can truly handle each other. And it dispells any rumors that we were going to be betrothed."

David couldn't help himself. "And I bet it makes all your families furious."

Darcy playfully wriggled his eyebrows. "Yes, that's part of the charm."

He set aside the cups and dried to excess water on his pants. "Before you leave...I know we didn't set a date for you to return the books, but if you want to come back next week..."

"Oh, I'm not sure if I'll have finished both by then."

"No, no, it's not that." 

Darcy paused, and David stared back at him. They took each other in, David in his cap and scarf and coat that should have been retired years ago, and Darcy in his glasses and sleeved shirt, his collar detatched and suspenders wet from the sink. The two of them made an odd pair, David thought. But maybe, there was something...

"David?"

"Sorry, yes?"

"I was just wondering, if you came by next week...

Would you like a tutor?"