~~ CIRCUMSTANCE and CHANCE ~~

"Damn him to tell." Jared Harris spat as he stumbled out into the streets. He knew he was hurt bad, but where could he go? What hospital would take in and care for a poor orphan with no more than a buck to his name? "Jest gotta keep movin'."

Stumbling along the icy streets of late November, Jared had no clue where he was going to end up. One thing he knew though. Wherever it was he landed, he would have to find it soon. It was already getting dark and he didn't need to get into another brawl tonight.

Working in the local pub pretty much guaranteed witnessing a knock-down drag-out nightly, but Jared had always tried to stay out of them. Let the patrons beat each other to a pulp. As long as they had paid their tab, it was none of his business. Well, until tonight at least. Wrong place at the wrong time. He cursed silently. Mix two fiesty drunks wid one overly eager bar boy, flavor wid a broken beer bottle or two an' what 'ave ya got?

"Aaagh!" He bit his lip to muffle the scream that threatened to escape. His left eye had sure swollen up in a hurry, he realized as he fingered around it gently. Suddenly something hit him. It hadn't occured to him until now, but allowing his fingers to stray a little north of the swelling confirmed his fears. Pulling his hand away, he stared through his one good eye at it in disbelief. Blood, and lots of it. "'E got my eye. Bastard got my eye." There was no doubt in his mind now that he was going to need medical attention. But where could he go? A minute ago he just needed a bed to sleep in. Now, he not only needed that bed, but preferrably a doctor alongside it. Talk about a tall order. Bitterly, Jared began to wonder if a person could bleed to death from his eye.

A sudden wave of nausea grabbed him. "I'll take dat as a yes." He sank down to his knees and stared up at the sky. Not that he really believed anyone was up there, but if someone just happened to be at home in the heavens, he sure could use a little help right about now. "Guess I get to die right 'ere, den."

"Stop talkin' like an idiot, kid."

"God?!" Jared asked in confusion.

The mysterious voice chuckled. "Now dere's somet'in' I ain't nevah been called. Can't say as 'ow I 'ate it though. 'As a nice ring ta it."

Jared felt a hand tap him on his left shoulder and he turned his head in response. The owner of the voice turned out to be a short kid with dark hair who was wearing a black and gray checked vest with matching cap. Definately not God. God would have white robes... and probably one of those Halo things... and...

"Yeeesh. Yah really must be in bad shape. Look at dat eye." The stranger mused, then realized the stupidity of his statement. "Eh, actually, ya can't really do dat, now can ya?"

An icy glare was the only reply he recieved.

"Weeelll... c'mon, den. Get up. I'se got a friend who owes me a fayvah." Checked Vest motioned for Jared to follow. "We 'urry up an' 'e may jest be able tah save yer eye."

With the last bit of strength he had left, Jared struggled back to his feet. "I can't pay." He explained as the world took a nauseating spin around him.

"Dun worry 'bout dat." The kid looked genuinely concerned now as Jared fought to simply stand up straight. "Dis friend's fayvah involves a horse racin' bet. 'E owes me a pretty penny. I figure, 'e fixes you up an' we're even." He slipped an arm under Jared's and guided him gently around the corner.

In what felt like an eternity to Jared, but was really a matter of minutes, the two boys arrived at a shop that was so small, you'd miss it if you blinked. An oil lamp flickered in the front window, driving back the gathering dusk. Jared felt a bit better when he caught sight of the dancing flame. At least someone was still there. >>>I'd 'ate ta wake dis guy up. Wouldn't be fair ta put 'im out---<<<




Everything was a complete blurr after walking though the front door. Jared wasn't unconcious exactly, but he definately wasn't all there. Visions of Joseph Pulitzer in a pink tutu and horses dancing on their hind legs clouded up his mind.

Finally shaking off the delirium and coming to, Jared realized from a quick glance out the window that it was easily midmorning by now. How long had he been under? And how long had the Doc been working on him? Whatever the case, he had a sick feeling that no debt was large enough to cover this. "Race.... debt...." He managed to mumble incoherently.

"Easy there, kid. The anestetic's still wearing off." A kind faced man, whom Jared could only assume was the doctor himself, smiled down. "That went a little easier than I thought. Had all these visions of you copping out on me for good."

"Huh?" Jared asked numbly.

"In short, I was afraid you might die on me."

"WHAT?"

"Now calm down! It's just my mind. Darn thing does that to me some times. Makes things into a bigger deal than they are. It was just a matter of some stitches, really." The Doctor shuffled about uneasilly.

"No.... Dere's somet'in' dat you ain't tellin' me." Jared slid off the bed when the man's back was turned and headed for a floor-length mirror in the corner.

The Doctor whirled in alarm. "Don't do that. I don't want you to scare yourself---"

Too late. Jared stepped back from the mirror in shock. Ugly gashes crisscrossed over his eyesocket, held together by rows of fresh stitches.

"I'm sorry to be the one to have to say this, but I'm afraid you won't be using that eye.... ever again."

Lord Almighty. 'Ow could dis 'ave 'appened? "Well---" Jared took a shakey breath, "--- t'anks fer da patch-up job anyways, Doc. Ya did whatcha could." The bum who did this to him was gonna pay big time. That was, if he ever saw the guy again. "Guess I better get goin'."

"Oh no you don't!" The doctor slammed the door before his young patient could escape. "Those stitches are still fresh. Get dirt in those wounds and you could find yourself with one major infection."

Jared cursed under his breath. "So 'ow long am I yer pris'nah?"

"At least the next 24 hours." Doc replied and headed toward his desk.

"So what am I s'posed ta do durin' dat time?"

"Rest. And try this on." He tossed an old felt pouch at Jared, who caught it easilly. "Wow. I'm impressed. Even with one eye you have better coordination than I do. That's very encouraging."

"'Ow's dat?" Jared asked as he loosened the drawstring on the pouch and pulled out a leather eyepatch.

"It means you'll be able to take care of yourself. You won't need someone watching you all the time."

"Nevah needed dat ta begin wid. Why start now? I mean, sure, one less eye, but I still see bettah dan halfa da people at da bar." He chuckled as he slipped the string of the eyepatch over his head. "Best dart playah dis side a'Queens." Giving the patch one last adjustment, he turned to face his newfound friend. "So, 'ow do I look?"

Doc chuckled. "Like a pirate. Now sit down matey and take a load off."

Reluctantly, Jared returned to his seat on the tabletop. "Thanks again. I'm not really sure what else tah say to a guy who just saved my life."

"I hope your friends won't tease you. It wasn't your fault. You were just doin' your job." Doc tried to change the subject.

"Ain't any chance of dat happenin'."

He smiled back. "You must have better friends than I did when I was your age."

"Not dat. It's just dat I ain't got friends ta do da teasin'."

"None? I don't believe that."

"None." Jared returned evenly. "Unless ya count da guys who hang off my arm at da bar after deir fourth drink."

"What about Higgins? He brought you in here last night."

Higgins? That stranger! Of course. "I ain't nevah seen 'im before in my life." Suddenly, an idea began to form in Jared's mind. "But now dat we're on da subject, I do wanna thank 'im for what 'e did. 'E didn't 'appen ta mention where 'e was goin' did 'e?"

"No, but Higgins doesn't have to say. We all know that at this time of day you can find him catching the early races. Granted, the best horses come late in the afternoon, but morning runners are always good for a quick buck---"

"Da track. Shoulda figured as much wid da way 'e was dressed." Jared leaned back. "Soon as ya let me go, it's off ta da races, den."




"C'mon Baby's Breath! C'mon! Got next week's bed'n board ridin' on yah!"

Jared's ears picked up the familiar voice of the one Doc had called "Higgins" right away. He might be down 50% of his vision, but his ears were still working fine. "Dat's 'im. Has ta be. Gosh, 'e really is predictable." It had been two days since Doc patched him up, and Jared was afraid that he wouldn't be able to find the kid that probably saved his life.

"Damn!" Jared put a face to the voice as a boy jumped up from his seat and stomped away from the stands. "Dere goes lunch... an' pro'bly dinnah."

The be-patched Jared tried to figure out what he would say, anything preprepared having flown from his mind the moment he heard "Higgins's" voice. He didn't have long to decide though, for, at that moment, Higgins bounded down the last few steps, crashing right into him.

"Geeze. As if dis day couldn't get any worse." The apparently racetrack-savvy Higgins fumed. "Sorry 'bout dat. Didn't see ya dere."

"Hey dere... race-boy..." Jared fumbled with his words like an idiot. Real smooth dere. He adjusted the string on his eyepatch nervously. "'Member me?"

"Race-boy?" Higgins chuckled inspite of himself. "Guess dat ain't da worst t'ing I evah been called." He considered Jared's face for a moment. "Sure! I remembah you! 'Ow's dat eye?"

"Numb. Try not ta t'ink 'bout it an' it goes away. More er less." Jared confessed.

"Ya look fine." The other boy smiled kindly. "Dat patch looks real--"

"Dumb?"

"-- sharp." He continued, making sure that Jared knew he was dead serious about what he had said, "Kinda makes ya look older or somethin' like dat. So, what's yer name, kid?"

"Jared. An' you are?"

"'Iggins. Racetrack, da uddahs call me."

"Can't imagine why dat would be." Jared rolled his eye in amusement. Curious, he continued, "Uddahs?"

"'Business associates' if yah will." Racetrack tossed his useless ticket into the trash and headed towards the main road outside Sheepshead Races.

"Yah mean more gamblin' buddies?"

"No." Race glared. "I act'ully do work fer a livin'... 'ard as dat may be fer yah ta b'lieve."

"S-sorry." Jared wanted to kick himself. Nothing like throwing tact right out the window. Way to go. 'Stead of thankin' 'im an' maybe makin' a new friend, ya insult 'im.

They walked along in silence for a ways until Race asked, "So, where ya live?"

"O'Rourke's Pub near da cornah a'45th." Jared replied. "Work 'ard durin' da day, an' if I'm lucky, old man O'Rourke lets me sleep in da back storage room."

"Ain'tcha got parents?" Racetrack pulled a stubby, musty scented cigar from his shirt pocket and rolled it around between his fingers.

"Dunno. Maybe. Nevah seen 'em m'self. Providin' dey're out dere at all." Jared shrugged. "Ms. O'Rourke claims dat she an' 'er 'usband got me aftah mom an' dad skipped town. Found me in a box wid a bunch a'puppies 'er somet'in'... if ya b'lieve 'er story."

Race grimaced. "Ain't gonna go back are ya?" He lit his cigar and took a long drag, letting out the cloud of smoke slowly, watching it curl and spin into the air. "Cuz dere gotta be a hundred bettah places ta go dan dat." He suddenly became reflective, as if something had just come to mind.

"Well, I ain't no good to 'em now wid one eye." Jared explained.

"Whatcha plannin' ta do fer money?"

"Dunno." He bit his lip and shrugged. "But dere's no way I can go back dere. Dey'd probably kill me fer runnin' off in da first place. Not ta mention all da work I'se missed since I been gone."

With a nod, Race said, "A'right den." He had obviously come to a decision. He switched his cigar to the right hand so that he could clap Jared on the back with his left. "Jest so 'appens dat I know a job perfect fer yah."

"Yeah? What's dat?"

"Evah 'eard of da Newsies?"




Jared caught sight of the faded sign hanging over the Newsboy's Lodging House before Racetrack had the chance to say where they were. "So dis is where ya live."

"Good ol' 'ome sweet 'ome." Racetrack chuckled, tossed the stub of his cigar away, and waved to a black haired boy leaning out the upstairs window. "BUMLETS! Tell Jack dat we gots a new one!"

The kid Racetrack had called Bumlets, nodded and ducked back inside.

"Dis really ain't necessarry..." Jared was beginning to have second thoughts. Was he sure that this was what he wanted to do? The walk back here had been a long one. Long enough so that he had ample time to weigh the pros and cons about what he was about to do. Still, he always came back to the fact that he might not have much of a choice anymore thanks to his handicap. Not many businesses would take a "crippled" kid.

"Ain't necessarry?" Racetrack chuckled. "Ya gotta learn ta make up yer mind, kid."

"S'always necessary." Another voice broke in suddenly. Nodding a greeting to Race, the newcomer turned his full attention on Jared. "So yah wanna sell papes, huh?"

"Well, I s'pose dat I can't do much else on account a'dis." Jared pointed to the leather patch that hid his scarred left eye.

"An' yer t'inkin' dat youse gonna make a lotta cash? People gonna pity da kid wid da bum eye an' buy all 'is papes?"

"No!" Jared bristled defensively.

"Huh." The kid shrugged as if this were the oddest thing in the world. He drew up his wide brimmed, black cowboy hat onto his head by the strings, tugging until it fit snugly under his chin. "Too bad. Ain't a bad idea." He cracked a wide, teasing grin.

"Yer a lot different dan anyone else I'se evah met." Jared mused, extremely relived to know that this other kid appeared to like him well enough. It was probably also a good thing since this kid seemed to be the leader of the Newsies. Wouldn't want to get on the head honcho's bad side the first day. "What's yer name?" He tried to think of what to say next, and that was the only thing that sprung to mind.

"Jack Kelly. Or ya can jest call me Cowboy. Dat's what da uddahs do. I an'sah ta eidah, at any rate. My turn. Whadda dey call you?"

"Jared. Or jest "'Ey you, kid!", if yah count da bar patrons."

Jack laughed. "Dat woikes, Kid."

As the other two carried on a conversation about the merits of paper selling, Racetrack drew his attention to something fumbling around near the trashcans. Moving quietly in hopes of catching whoever or whatever it was that was hiding, Race too crouched low to the ground. As he was about to jump the intruder, a wad of paper crinkled underfoot. This alerted Racetrack's intended target to danger, and Race cursed loosing the element of surprise. Only one option left to him now, and he took it, pouncing on the lump huddled against the brick wall.

"'Ey!" The lump hollared and lashed out at his attacker in self defense. Rolling around wildly, both finally crashed into the opposite wall and managed to break free from each other.

Winded and laying on his back, Racetrack managed to choke out, "Who are yah, an' why were yah hidin' back dere?"

"I ain't 'idin', yah maniac." The other boy openly groaned as he fingered a raised lump forming on his skull, which was poking out from under his curly brown hair.

"Den whaddya call it?!"

"Runnin' away, if yah gotta know. From my dad. 'E came home stone drunk last night, as 'e does most nights. I kinda didn't wanna wait around fer 'im ta beat me in my sleep t'night."

Race tried to rise, but found himself still far too dazed, and lay back down miserably. "How'm I s'posed ta believe that?"

"'E said somet'in' 'bout 'ow 'e already slashed up one kid's eye dis week an' 'ad no problem wid doin' it again. So.. I ran fer it."

Jared gaped in disbelief. It can't be. "Yer father go ta O'Rourke's Pub often?"

"All da time." The kid managed to pull himself into a sitting position. Jared noted the boy's oatmeal-mush colored skin and soft brown eyes, but what caught his attention the most was the cutoffs the boy wore. Not many kids wore them at this time of year. It was getting colder at night and short pants weren't the best of ideas.

Oatmeal-mush skin did a double take when he saw Jared's face. "Yer eye. Don't tell me dat--"

"One an' da same, I'se afraid." Jared offered his hand to the kid, helping him to his feet.

"God. Look, I'se sorry 'bout my faddah. I swear dat I ain't like 'im. I woulda stopped 'im if I coulda."

Jared held up a protesting hand. "Dun worry 'bout it. I knew dat you was different da second ya opened yer mouth. Da fact dat ya appologized fer somethin' dat 'e did shows youse is real responsible an' sensative." He shifted his protesting hand down and gripped the boy's hand firmly. "My name's Jared by da way. Ya can call me Kid, though. Easier ta remembah.. an' I'm used to answerin' to it anyways."

The other boy clearly wasn't going to let go of everything just yet. "My name's Nick Meyers. If dere's anyt'in' I can do ta make it up ta yah, Kid---"

"Didn't I already tell yah dat yer appologisin' was enough?"

"But it ain't!" Nick insisted. "What my pop did ta ya... what 'e took from ya... I mean, yah can't even do somet'in' as simple as blinkin' anymore, Kid!"

"I'm fine. No use gettin' all mushy an' sentimental 'bout it."

Jack finally stepped back in with a broad smile on his face and a twinkle in his eye. Cowboy knew exactly what he was going to call each of them from now on. He slapped both "Mush" and "Kid Blink" on the back. "You guys is gonna fit in jest great 'ere. C'mon inside." He dragged them through the door with Racetrack taking up the rear, to meet the owner of the lodging house. They could pay Kloppman and claim their own personal bunk space upstairs. The sooner settled, the sooner these two Newsies could get on to their first day of work.

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