All ages from five to twenty were represented, and big boy and infant sat side by side in perfect comradeship, since age counts for little in the[Pg 179] freemasonry of the street. Some pinched, white little faces there were, but not many, to set off by comparison the wind reddened cheeks of most of the throng. None had an overcoat; some were even without jackets, but they all looked warm. One young man of six marched in with a drum, which matched his countenance for expansive roundness and noisy Christmas cheer. He sat down with it strapped to his side, which crowded his neighbor somewhat, but there was no complaint, for not even a “newsy” could entertain the thought of separating him for a moment from such a present.
The feast started at 7 o’clock, but at 8 o’clock there were many places still empty and waiting, for the late “extras” with news of the Johnson-Burns prizefight detained many of the older boys who had important stands. And for the same reason there was little of the organized cheering of former years for the benefactor and for Superintendent Heig, since “Chicago Tom,” “Wise Joe” and other leaders were still selling “papes” at the bridge entrance. But it was a “handout till midnight,” and time enough to “stick on de job” and “get in on de feed,” too.
It was hard, though, on the shivering, shuffling line of beggared outcasts which hugged the Brace Memorial building on three sides, waiting until all the “newsies” had got “theirs.” Here was no Christmas buoyancy, only hopeless patience in wasted faces, in huddled forms, in gnawing hunger which sprang not from red blood. That dim, silent fringe which pressed tight up against the brick walls, as if seeking warmth and sustenance from the contact, expressed the antithesis of the scene within. Emphasis of this was not wanting as groups of boisterous “newsies,” clattering down the stairs[Pg 180] and bursting out of the door, haled different members of the company.
“Hungry, Bill?”
“Wait till next Christmas.”
And the replies, accompanied by wan smiles:
“Say, kid, what dey handin’ out?”
“Are ye leavin’ enough fer us?”
These men were to get what the “newsies” left, and yet not all either, for following them would come the women, the tattered hags of the night. And so the feast, begun in brightness, would end with the saddest chapter of civilization.
The women did not line up. They shrank from the stares of passersby, and waited until the last before crawling forth from their lairs.