The Newsboy Partners: or, Who Was Dick Box?. Webster Frank V.
V.
The Newsboy Partners; Or, Who Was Dick Box?
CHAPTER I
JIMMY IS IN LUCK
"Wuxtry! Wuxtry! Full account of de big f-i-r-e! Here ye are! Wuxtry! Woild, Joinal, Sun, Telegram! Here ye are, mister! Git de latest wuxtry! Wuxtry! Wuxtry!"
Jimmy Small was only one of a dozen newsboys crying the same thing in City Hall Park, New York. The lads, ragged little chaps, were rushing at all in whom they saw possible customers, thrusting the papers in their very faces, a fierce rivalry taking place whenever two of the boys reached the same man at the same time. But of all who cried none shouted louder than this same Jimmy Small, and none was more active in rushing here and there with papers.
"Wuxtry! Wuxtry!" yelled Jimmy, for that was how he and the other boys pronounced the word "Extra."
"What's the extra about?" asked a well-dressed man, stopping Jimmy.
"Wuxtry! Big fire! Dozen people burned to death! Here ye are! Wuxtry! Full account of de big f-i-r-e!"
Jimmy could not stop long to talk. He must sell papers. He snatched one from the bundle under his arm, thrust it into the man's hand, took the nickel the customer gave him, handed the man four pennies in change, and all the while was yelling at the top of his voice his war-cry:
"Wuxtry! Wuxtry!"
Jimmy had secured his bunch of papers from one of the delivery wagons on Park Row – Newspaper Row, as it is sometimes called. He had dashed across the park toward Broadway, selling as he ran. He wanted to reach a certain corner at Broadway and Barclay Street, where he could be sure of finding many customers who would buy papers on their way to take the ferry over to New Jersey. Jimmy usually made that corner his headquarters.
As he hurried on he was stopped several times by men who, attracted by his loud shouts, wanted to buy papers to see what the extra was about. As it happened, there had been a disastrous fire in New York that day in which a number of per-
"Well, I ain't yer son. Ner I ain't no signpost either. D'ye want a pape?"
"I don't know. Perhaps I might take one," was the answer in drawling tones. "Are you selling papers?"
"Naw, I'm here fer me health. De doctor said I had t' stand here t' git fresh air," replied Jimmy with contempt in his tones, for he saw that the young man was from the country, unused to city ways, and, as a boy who had lived in New York all his life, Jimmy had not much use for country folks.
"You're something of a joker, aren't you?" asked the young man, good humor showing in his blue eyes. He did not seem to be offended at Jimmy's answer.
"Naw, I'm a newsie. Want a pape? Sun, Woild, Joinal? Wuxtry! All about de big fire!"
"Which is the best paper?" asked the young man with a smile.
"Aw, g'wan! T'ink I'm going t' play favorites? Dey is all alike t' me. One's de same as de udder. I ain't goin' t' knock any of 'em. I makes me livin' by sellin' 'em all, dat's what!"
"Then I guess I'll take a Sun. But could you tell me the way to the Brooklyn Bridge? I'm a stranger in New York."
"Oh, I kin see dat all right enough," replied Jimmy with a little kindlier feeling toward the man, now that he had proved to be a customer. "Youse from de country all right."
"How can you tell that?"
"'Cause youse talks so slow. Folks here ain't got time t' waste so much talk over deir woids. Ye got t' hustle in N'York."
"I believe you, from what little I have seen. You are right, I am from the country, and I'm on my way to visit an aunt in Brooklyn. I thought I'd walk over the bridge, for I've read a lot about it."
"Well, go up one block," said Jimmy, pointing toward Park Place, "den cut t'rough City Hall Park by de side of de post-office here an' foller de crowd. Youse can't miss it. But youse wants t' look out."
"What for?"
"If ye gits in de push youse'll be squeezed t' death. It's an awful mob dat goes t' Brooklyn dis time o' day."
"Well, I'll be careful. Do you live around here?"
"Who, me? Oh, yes, I lives around here," and Jimmy, with a wave of his hand, included nearly the whole of New York.
"What's your name?"
"Say, who are youse, anyhow?" inquired the newsboy, suddenly suspicious.
"My name is Joshua Crosscrab, and I'm from Newton, Vermont," replied the young man, still good-natured.
"Aw, I mean who be ye? Be youse a detective, er from some society what takes up kids fer sellin' papes on de street?"
"No, I'm not a detective. What makes you think so?"
"'Cause youse asks so many questions."
"I am interested. I never was in New York before, and I see so many things that are strange that I want to know about them. Up our way we believe in getting acquainted, so I thought I'd try it here. Every one I talked to, though, seemed to think I was a swindler, I guess."
"Dat's right. Youse has t' be careful who youse talk to in N'York," said Jimmy with a comical air of wisdom.
"But you haven't told me your name yet," persisted Mr. Crosscrab.
"Sure youse ain't none of them children sasiety detectives?" asked the newsboy.
"Sure. I'll give you my promise."
"Well, me name is Jimmy Small. Here ye are, sir! Paper! Wuxtry! All about de big fire! Thirteen killed!"
Jimmy had interrupted his information to dispose of a paper to a man.
"Jimmy Small," repeated the man. "Where do you live?"
"Oh, I've got a swell joint on upper Fifth Avenoo," replied the boy, with a wink, "but it's rented fer de season, an' I ain't livin' in it."
"No, I am serious," said Mr. Crosscrab. "I would really like to know."
"Honest? No kiddin'?" inquired Jimmy.
"No what?"
"No kiddin'. Is it de real goods? Youse ain't tryin' t' run up an alley on me, is yer?"
"I don't exactly understand you, but I am really asking because I am interested in you. I have a brother about your age, and I was wondering how he would make out if he had to sell papers for a living."
"Say, take it from me, mister," spoke Jimmy earnestly. "Don't let him do it. Dere's too many in de business now. Don't let him come t' N'York an' sell papers!"
"Oh, he's not very likely to. But you haven't told me where you live."
"Aw, most anywheres. Wherever I kin. If I'm flush wid de coin I takes a bed at de lodgin'-house. When I'm busted – on me uppers – cleaned out – nuthin' doin' – why, I takes a chance at a bench in de park when it's warm. If de cop don't see youse it's all right. Sometimes I hits up an empty box, an' I've done me turn in a hallway. Under a dock ain't so bad, only dere's too many rats t' suit me."
"You lead quite a varied sort of life, don't you?" inquired Mr. Crosscrab.
"Youse kin search me. I ain't got it," replied Jimmy with more good humor than he had previously shown. The man's talk was a little above him.
"I suppose you know your way around New York pretty well, don't you?" the countryman went on.
"Dat's right. Ye can't lose me."
"Are you here almost every day?"
"When I ain't in Wall Street investin' me millions I am."
"Still inclined to jokes, I see," murmured the man. "Well, I'd like to know more about you. You seem like a bright lad, and I may want to ask you some directions about getting around New York. I may see you to-morrow. Does your father allow you to work all day?"
"I ain't got no fader," said Jimmy. He did not speak sadly. He took it as a matter of course, for he had been so long without either father, mother or other relatives to care for him that parents were only a dim recollection to him. "I ain't got nobody," he went on. "I'm in business