“We can’t cook nothin’ like cabbages,” said Mouse, bringing Spider back down to earth. “Somebody’ll be lookin’ in every room ter see wot might o’ died if we done anythin’ jackassy stoopid like that.”
“No use talkin’ ’bout wot we’re goin’ ter eat and wot we’re not goin’ ter eat if they ain’t nothin’ ter eat, which right now they ain’t,” Duck said. “Not even no bread. One o’ us is got ter go git somethin’ after we’re done workin’.”
Go get something, Robin thought. Milk! There was not only no food left for all the boys, there was nothing for Danny either, and he would have to have his milk by the middle of the morning. There could be no waiting until after work, whatever that work was.
“I’ll go,” Robin said quickly. “I’ll take Danny with me and go. I can carry things in my shopping bag. But … but he has to have milk this morning.”
“If you want ter do that,” Duck said. “Wot we c’n do is all put in maybe three cents, an’ you c’n get wot yer able fer that.”
“Oh, you don’t need to put in anything,” Robin said at once. “I’ll pay for it all. I … I’d like to.”
“You got the money?” Duck’s eyebrows went sailing up his forehead. “Where’d you git it? We ain’t got round ter askin’ wot you do fer work, but wotever it was, didn’t yer step-pa take it all ’way from you?”
“I never worked,” said Robin, feeling his face redden. “I … I just went to school and then helped my mama with Danny. She hid some money in the kitchen, and told me about it before she died. That’s what I have now.”
“How much you got?” asked Mouse.
What, tell street boys how much money he had in his pocket? What kind of madness would that be?Yet had they not already had the opportunity to take everything he had, including his watch? And were they not trusting him with their hard-earned money to go shopping? But more than anything, there were the baby bottles and the tiny tin spoon and bowl lined up against the wall with probably all the boys had in the world. What, tell these street boys how much money he had in his pocket? Yes, of course! Why would he not do it?
“I …I have two dollars and fifty cents,” he said.
Two dollars and fifty cents? A fortune by the sound of the collective whistles around the breakfast table.
But Piggy then frowned and shook his head. “Sounds like a heap, but you can’t be spendin’ it on us. You got ter save it fer Danny. Milk don’t come cheap. Right?”
“Right!” they all agreed.
“An’,” said Duck, “’pears as how you ain’t earnin’ nothin’ neither. You jist been goin’ ter school. You was goin’ ter leave yer baby brother on the steps o’ this here church, but how was you goin’ ter take care o’ yerself after the two dollars an’ fifty cents were gone?”
Robin threw out his hands helplessly. “Sell papers, I guess.”
“Which you never done b’fore,” said Duck. “In yer guessin’, was you guessin’ as how you got ter buy yer first stack o’ papers ’fore you c’n go sellin’?”
“N-n-no,” stammered Robin.
“Takes some o’ yer money right there,” offered Spider.
“An’ then findin’ a good corner wot ain’t been took by some other bleedin’ paper boy,” said Duck. “An’ then if he finds you there tryin’ ter horn in on his biz, you might jist’s well kiss off the rest o’ yer bleedin’ life.”
“Then,” said Mouse, “night comes, an’ you still got most o’ yer stack left. Nex’ day you got ter buy ’nother stack, only you never made no money the day b’fore ter buy it. So back you goes ter yer two dollars an’ fifty cents, which now ain’t two dollars an’ fifty cents no more. Then the nex’ day …”
“Aw, can it, Mouse,” said Duck. “He’s got the picter by now.”
He did indeed get the “picter.” And was feeling more and more beaten down by it. What had ever made him think he could survive on the streets? And before he came up with the idea of the church steps, which of course had gone the way of all his other ideas, what had made him think he could take care of himself and Danny? It appeared that he could not have even taken care of himself very well. And now it had gone back to being himself and Danny. The “picter” was no longer merely bleak, it was totally hopeless!
“It doesn’t matter any more that I don’t know the first thing about selling papers,” he said. “How can I go out and do anything and leave Danny? Who would take care of him? You heard what Mouse said. Milk doesn’t come cheap. My money would soon go, and then what?”
Robin saw nothing funny in what he had just said, yet why were all the boys suddenly grinning at one another? Happy to have a reason to kick him out, were they? Did not perhaps like being awakened in the morning by Danny howling? Realized they had made a big mistake taking the two of them in, had they?
“Well, so happens the ‘wot’ is already been figgered out,” said Duck, his grin broadening. “We got it all figgered out b’fore we even arsked you ter join up. Piggy’s who’s goin’ ter take care o’ yer Danny.”
“P-P-Piggy?” said Robin. “H-h-how?”
“Tell ’im, Piggy,” said Duck.
“You tell ’im,” returned Piggy.
“Ain’t it time somebody telled ’im somethin’ ’bout all o’ us?” Mouse said. “Robin’s done telled us ’bout hisself, but none o’ us is said nothin’ ’bout where we come from nor how we come here. Ain’t it proper we ought ter do that? Then he’ll know ’bout Piggy an’ the rest o’ us. Duck, whyn’t you do it?”
“Well,” said Duck, “all o’ us met whilst we was paper boys. It’s why we knows so much ’bout it. We was friends wot found out we all got a ma what had more kids’n you c’n count. We all had a pa wot beat us regular when we brung home less’n wot he were expectin’ from sellin’ papers. You got ter know it ain’t jist a step-pa wot beats his kids. An’ we got beat a lot more when our pa come in from visitin’ at the corner.”
“Anyways, Piggy’s pa decided as how Piggy weren’t makin’ ’nough with the papers. Like yer step-pa, he figgered as how he’d put Piggy in the fac’tries. Piggy don’t look nowhere near sixteen, so his pa tol’ the boss at the fact’ry Piggy c’d read an’ write ter get by passin’ fer fourteen. Piggy ain’t able ter pass fer ten, but them fact’ry bosses never even arsk you ter prove yer readin’ an writin’ if they wants you bad ’nough. They wanted Piggy, ’cause he used ter be like a monkey way he got ’round. Then he felled inter this m’chinery which ruint his leg. Fact’ry didn’t want him no more, but his pa thinks it ain’t so bad, ’cause he’s still good fer goin’ beggin’ on the streets. Only jist like when he was sellin’ papers, if he never brought in wot his pa thought he ought ter, he got beat jist like b’fore. His pa’d say he weren’t beggin’ good ’nough.”
This was turning into a long story, and Duck had to stop to take a deep breath before going on. “Well, seein’ poor Piggy got us all thinkin’ as how we’d had ’nough o’ the beatin’s, so we runned off an’ joined up with boys wot live under the pier near the big fish fact’ry down by the river. Went on sellin’ papers, but never took none o’ it home no more. All o’ us but Piggy was savin’ ter git boxes, an’ brushes, an’ blackin’ ter go inter the biz o’ shoe shinin’. Piggy had ter go on beggin’ ’cause he ain’t able ter do much else yet.”
“Didn’t anybody’s mama or papa go looking for them?” asked Robin, knowing how distraught his own would have been had he just disappeared into thin air like that.
All four boys shrugged. “Maybe they did, or maybe they never did. We never arsked,” Spider said. “All we knowed were nobody come lookin’ fer us, which never surprised us none. We heard ’bout a boy we knowed wot sold papers an’ got drownded. When he got found, we was telled, nobody knowed as how he’d even been missin’. With so many in the family, one more nor less don’t mean nothin’. So go on with yer story, Duck.”
“Well,” Duck said, “knowin’ as how we was all goin’ ter have ter find places ter set up our biz, an’ how s
treets wot looked richer’n others might be jist the right places, I come up on this here church. It were gettin’ on dark, but outside I seed this pretty lady talkin’ ter a ol’ man wot she were havin’ ter shout at ’cause he were hard o’ hearin’. He had a eye patch an’ kep’ puttin’ his head for’ard like a old rooster, which said as how he couldn’t see too good neither, the lady was comin’ from the church an’ was carryin’ some flowers wot had their heads droopin’. I follered the ol’ man ter the back o’ the church, thinkin’ as how I’d bring them flowers back ter the pier.
“The ol’ man put the flowers on the steps, then like ter o’ broke his neck climbin’ down ’em. I waited an’ I waited. Then he comes back, an’ if he don’t go an’ pick up them flowers, keepin’ them fer hisself. But wot I seed was he fergitted an’ lef’ the key in the door. So I jist let meself in, an’ lighted me candle. Liked wot I seed. Couldn’t b’lieve my eyes, but seed a bunch o’ keys hangin’ on the wall, an’ one were jist like the big one in the door. Then I figgered as how a ol’ man wot fergits a key in a lock, likely’s fergitted one he had hangin’ on the wall. So I helps myself ter it. An’ here we is.”
“You telled it good, Duck,” Mouse said. “But you never telled wot you telled us ’bout the Landlord.”
“Landlord?” asked Robin, landlords as of that very morning being greatly on his mind.
“Tell it!” said Spider and Piggy.
“Aw,” said Duck, “it’s jist when I thought as how I’d like fer us ter be movin’ in here, I ought ter be askin’ a landlord. Then it come ter me as how the Landlord o’ this here place’d be Him wot were ’bove me. Telled Him how good we’d be if He made it so’s we c’d come live here. Which says why were sittin’ roun’ a table proper ’stead o’ jist sittin’ any ol’ place an’ shovin’ in the food like we all done when we was livin’ under the pier.”
“We all aim ter be havin’ a warsh at the sink too,” said Mouse. “Outside it ain’t noticed much, but inside we probable smell bad as cabbage cookin’.”
“Anyways,” said Duck. “Maybe it’s why we never got a mind ter turn you out when you showed up. It … it ain’t wot the Landlord would o’ done.”
“Aw, c’mon, Duck, you know as how we wanted ter do it,” said Piggy. “We wouldn’t o’ turned ’im out with Danny anyways. But now it looks like we got way off from wot we was talkin’ ’bout, an’ that’s how it’s me wots goin’ ter take care o’ Danny whilst you goes out, Robin.”
“Are you certain, Piggy?” Robin asked.
“I ain’t never wanted ter go back beggin’,” Piggy said. “Now I don’t got ter do it. My job’s takin’ care o’ yer Danny. Yers is earnin’.”
“But what can I do?” asked Robin. “None of you think I’d be much good at selling newspapers. Could … could I do shoe shining?”
“Don’t see why not,” said Duck. “It ain’t so easy’s sellin’ papers, but ain’t so dangerous neither. You c’n take a bit o’ yer money ter buy yer box an’ brushes. An’ oncet you git ’em, you don’t never need ter git ’em agin.”
“How will I learn what to do?” asked Robin.
“Come roun’ with one o’ us,” said Mouse. “We’ll see you learn good an’ proper.”
Piggy grinned. “You’ll be the pa goin’ out ter make money. I’ll be the ma stayin’ home ter look after the baby. Ain’t that somethin’?”
“It’s somethin’, all right,” said Duck. “But we got ter git goin’, an’ you got ter be gittin’ out fer Danny’s milk, Robin. The ol’ man’ll probable be here when you git back, an’ have the lamp on in the hallway, so sneak in real careful.”
“I will,” said Robin. “And you might as well know I am going to get the other food. I’ll be making all the money back in a hurry. You’ll see.” Then he added proudly, “I’m going to be a shoe-shine boy with the rest of you now!”
“The Serciety o’ Shoe-shine Boys o’ St. Somethin’,” said Spider. “Now that’s somethin’ else, ain’t it?”
“Is that really the name of this church?” Robin asked. “St. Something?”
“Nah!” said Duck. “We don’t know wot it is, none o’ us bein’ able ter read the sign wot’s in front. But most o’ the churches wot we know ’bout’s called St. Somethin’ or other. So we jist calls this one St. Somethin’.”
St. Something! Well, it could have been St. Anything for all Robin cared. What difference did the name make? He had found a home for himself and Danny. He had found friends. He was even going into business for himself as a member of the Society of Shoeshine Boys of St. Something. And Hawker Doak’s “scrawny little weasel” had done this all in the space of only a few hours. It was, as Spider would have said, “somethin’ else”!
Chapter IX
A Disappointing
Discovery
That night, courtesy of a trip by Spider to a dump, a fifth place setting appeared on their “table.” The plate was, if possible, more chipped than the others, and the cup was missing a handle entirely. But who was there who noted these things? Certainly not Robin. For courtesy of himself, the boys were enjoying the feast of their lives!
There was more sausage, with some to spare, and bread actually bought fresh rather than from the stall of the stale-bread lady. There was a grand wedge of cheese, some sweet biscuits, and an apple each, with hardly enough worm holes to raise a single eyebrow. There was even a pound of tea leaves, for tea to be made on the gas burner down the hall, served with a liberal pouring of sugar from a paper sack, and then stirred with the only utensil available, the black, bent knife. And, of course, there was fresh milk for Danny.
Emboldened by his successful shopping venture, and by making it safely back ito their cellar room, Robin had actually gone back out again and returned with a box, brushes, and blacking, ready for his first lessons in shoe shining. This latter, unfortunately, what with his extravagant spending on food, had dangerously depleted his money supply.
“You shouldn’t o’ ought ter done all this,” Duck said, with a worried frown.
Robin knew full well he “shouldn’t o’ ought ter.” He had less than a dollar left! Still, he was not going to spoil everybody’s good time by remarking on this. And after all, he was sure that he would make the money back in a hurry. Right now, he would try to overlook the queasy feeling he had in the pit of his stomach that he might have been dipping into Danny’s milk money.
When the enormously successful supper ended, the boys lounged about sipping their cups of sweet tea, and discussing the events of the day. Business had not been very good for any of them. But what with their full stomachs and the warming effect of cups of well-sugared tea, nobody seemed much bothered by it. Tomorrow was another day, an opportunity to do better.
Piggy then had the grand idea that Danny ought to be started on his “porritch” along with his milk. So Robin went down the hall to prepare a bit from the sack of cereal he had brought with him. Of course, he had to use the same battered black saucepot in which tea had been brewed. He vowed to himself that one day, after he had made all that money he was preparing to make, he was going to buy the boys a brand new shining saucepot.
At any rate, another entertaining event was added to the evening as they all sat with eyes glued to Piggy holding Danny while Robin fed him with his tiny tin spoon. More of the “porritch” ended up outside Danny than inside him, but everyone generally approved the performance.
“Keep him sleepin’ later,” said Mouse, certainly a good thing to remember considering the hollering that had greeted them early that morning.
The next suggestion, one made by Robin, was not so successful. He asked if he could have a shoe-shine lesson, now he was all ready with his box and brushes.
“On wot?” asked Duck. “Ain’t you never took a good look at wot we got on our feet? Yer own shoes ain’t too great, but nex’ ter ours, yers might o’ comed off’n a store shelf.”
There was no arguing with what Duck had said. Robin’s shoes were such that all the blac
king and polishing in the world could have done little to improve them, but at least they covered all of his feet. The boys’ shoes were no better than the torn rags they wore on their backs. Besides being layered with filth from the streets, the shoes had soles so separated from the tops they flapped as the boys walked. Their bare toes poked from holes cut out in front, for the shoes had long since been outgrown, and dirty pieces of string served as shoelaces.
Anything Robin might have wanted to say lay stuck in his throat.
“No need ter say nothin’,” said Duck. “But how you’ll get teached is by hangin’ roun’ one o’ us all day an’ watchin’. Tomorrow you come with me. Nex’ day maybe Mouse. Nex’ maybe Spider. You c’n try a hand with proper shoes. Never you mind. You’ll learn.”
“Duck,” Mouse said, “if Robins goin’ out in the streets, shouldn’ we ought ter tell ’im ’bout our danger sign?”
“Yer right, Mouse,” Duck replied. “He ought ter know it. Robin, it’s jist that if yer ever in trouble, an’ one o’ us is near ’nough ter see it, you jist hold a hand by yer side an’ curl up yer fingers inter a fist. That’s if it ain’t safe ter holler at us. None o’ us is ever had a need o’ usin’ it, but you never know. You jist never know. Now, let’s see you doin’ it.”
“Hey, I got a idea,” said Mouse, after they had all approved Robin’s efforts at making a fist. “Wot ’bout dice? We ain’t played ’em since we done left the pier.”
“Nah,” said Duck. “We ain’t goin’ ter do that no more. Promised the Landlord. No stealin’. No cheatin’. No gamblin’.”
“Aw, sounds like no nothin’,” grumbled Mouse. “Wot a life!” But he must have agreed with Duck, because there was “no arguin’” either!
“I got a idea,” said Spider. “How’s ’bout we have a worsh? We said we was goin’ ter.”
“That’s some bleedin’ idea, Spider,” said Mouse. “Yuck!”
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it,” said Duck. “Spiders right. It’s wot we said. But no need ter do all top an’ bottom o’ us at one time. Ternight we c’n do tops. Bottoms nex’ time. I’ll go first ter show you I ain’t goin’ ter get kilt doin’ it.”
Secret in St. Something Page 6