Into the telephone, he says, “Mr. Yost, someone to see you, sir.” To the gent, he says, “He’ll be down shortly, sir.” The guy goes off.
Trevor glares at Maks. “Go sit over there,” he says, pointing to a bench where another bellboy is sitting. Maks is reminded how schoolteachers used to send him out of the room. But he does as he’s been told.
“Hey,” he whispers to the kid on the bench, “my name is Maks. I’m new here.”
“Not supposed to talk,” the kid says without even looking at him.
Nothing for it, Maks just sits there, gazing at everything. All he can think ’bout is Emma’s trial in two days. Time ain’t just tight, it’s squeezing all the air out of him. He’s tense. How’s he gonna get clues just sitting there?
57
As Maks is sitting there, the kid he’s next to is called to do an errand. That leaves Maks alone. Knowing he’s gonna be called soon, he’s more nervous than ever.
Sure enough, a few moments later he hears, “Boy!”
Maks jumps up and goes to the desk. Mr. Trevor is looking over a big book, running his finger down his list of names.
“Here it is,” he says. “Mr. Coogan. Room six twelve.” Trevor hands Maks a big key. Attached to it is a short length of chain, linked to an oval metal disk engraved with the number 612.
He says, “The gentleman left a pair of eyeglasses on his bed. Fetch them and bring them here.”
“Excuse me, sir,” says Maks. “Where is that?”
“Sixth floor.”
“Where the steps?”
“Steps? Use the elevator.”
Maks looks at him. “What’s a . . . L-vator?”
“Good Lord,” Mr. Trevor mutters, and stands up. “Come with me.”
Maks trots after the bell captain through the lobby, round a corner, and into a hallway. On one side of this high hall are four—he don’t know what they are, ’cept they look like cages, with crisscrossing bars on them. Reminds him of the cells in The Tombs.
Even as he’s standing there, a tiny room drops in behind the bars. Maks has no idea where it came from.
Inside the little room are people, along with a young man in a hotel uniform. The young man slides the cage bars to one side. The people step out.
Maks, not sure what to do, just stands there.
“Take him to the sixth floor,” Mr. Trevor tells the elevator operator, tapping Maks on the back.
Maks, baffled, doesn’t move.
“Let’s go, boy!” calls the man inside the little room.
Maks steps forward nervously. Soon as he gets into the little room—it’s like a big box—the guy slides the gate closed, actually two gates, one outside the room, one inside the room. Grabs a bar sticking out of the wall, shoves it to the right.
With a sudden jerk that makes Maks almost fall, the little room jumps straight up, pushing at the bottom of his feet. The box clicks and clacks, wobbling slightly, as does the wall in front of him, which Maks can see through the cagelike door. It looks as if it’s going down, but he feels like he’s going up. I’m flying! he thinks.
Maks is so mixed up and shaky, his stomach so topsy-turvy, he’s got to put his hand to the wall to keep himself steady.
The operator grins. “First time in an elevator?”
Maks nods. Maybe he shouldn’t ever fly.
“The day they opened this place,” he says, “back in March, a girl got killed by this elevator.”
That don’t help.
“You’ll get used to it.”
The operator shifts the handle, and the little room slows down till, with a sudden jerk, it stops. Reaching out, the young man pulls the inner gate open, then the outer one. Beyond is a hall. Maks can see it’s different than the one where he was before.
“Hey, kid, thought you wanted the sixth floor.”
“Yes, sir.”
“This is it, pal,” the man says, and makes a motion with his head that tells Maks he’s to move.
Maks steps out of the box. Soon as he does, the L-vator gates shut. As Maks watches it drops away, he don’t know where he is or where to go.
58
Only when Maks looks round does he realizes there’s a sign that says FLOOR 6. Sitting under it is a guy wearing a uniform like the one he’s got on. “What you looking for?” the guy calls.
Maks holds up the key.
“Six twelve? That way.”
Maks starts down a long hallway, which has a whole row of doors. Next to each door is a number. He checks the key he has, and it’s nothing to find the door with the same number. Unlocks the door and steps inside.
He can’t hardly believe what’s there: It’s a room so big, Maks could take his family’s three rooms on Birmingham Street and fit ’em all into this one.
A couple of big, squashy chairs. A telephone on the wall. A fireplace. A gigantic bed heaped with blankets and pillows. Maks figures his whole family could sleep in that bed. It even has a cloth roof over it, held up by four poles, one each corner.
The eyeglasses are right there.
Maks is so amazed, he can’t help himself. He wanders, finds another room, smaller than the first. It’s bigger than the one where his parents and Agnes sleep, only it has nothing but closets and drawers.
Then there’s a bathroom with a window and a bathtub so big, Maks figures it must be for a horse. There’s a sink, too, and a white toilet such as Maks has seen in a few places.
Maks knows there are rich people in the world, but what he’s seeing astounds him. He’s staring so, he’s got to remind himself he shouldn’t be taking all this time.
He goes back out into the hall, locking the door behind him.
“Find what you want?” the guy sitting by the elevator asks.
Maks holds up the eyeglasses. “Hey,” he says, “I’m new here. Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“If a guest wants to give you a compliment—you know, to the boss—who’d he give it to?”
The bellboy grins. “You expecting one?”
“Maybe.”
“They give it to Mr. Trevor. Or, if you’re a chambermaid, to the lady in charge. Miss Foley.”
“Thanks,” says Maks. “How do I get that L-vator to come back?”
“Push that button.”
Maks does, and from somewhere far off, he hears a bell.
Minutes later the caged room pops up, only it’s different from the one he came up on. Maks has no idea where that other one went, but he goes down. The trip makes him queasier than going up did.
He brings the eyeglasses to Mr. Trevor. The guy says, “Take them to the Men’s Club. Call out the guest’s name, Mr. Coogan. He should be there.”
By asking a couple of bellboys for directions, Maks finds the place quick enough. Turns out the Men’s Club is a gigantic room, full of tables and chairs, three big fireplaces with logs burning in them. A bunch of chandeliers with fringes. A big, square bar where they’re serving drinks.
Being morning, it ain’t very crowded. Just a few customers are smoking cigars, reading papers. Waiters weaving among the tables serving food. Each table is topped with a placard reading:
Supper: Steak, Potatoes, Bread & Butter
83¢
Expensive.
In his best, loud newsie’s voice, Maks shouts, “Mr. Coogan!”
A man lifts his hand. Maks gives him the eyeglasses.
“Thanks, boy.” To Maks’s surprise, the guy gives him a ten-cent tip. That’s more than he makes selling papers most afternoons. He’s thinking, This ain’t half bad.
Feeling pretty good, he turns toward the door. That’s when he sees Willa’s father.
59
When Willa and Mama reach The Tombs, they get their entry tickets and make their way to Emma’s cell. Soon as they get there, Emma hurries up to the bars. Her first words are, “Mama, they’re gonna put me on trial in two days.” She so upset, she’s out of breath.
“Two days? God have mercy! Are you su
re? Where?”
“Here. In The Tombs. Saturday. Is Papa finding a lawyer?”
“I don’t know what Papa will do,” says a flustered Mama. She pulls Willa close. “You need to meet Willa. She’s Maks’s friend. She’s living with us now. She can tell you what Maks is doing.”
Emma turns to Willa. Too upset to care ’bout the girl, all she says is, “Is Maks getting that detective to help?”
“Mr. Donck told Maks what to do. He’s at the Waldorf right now.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“He’s trying to find things to help you. And I’m supposed to ask you a question.”
“What?” Emma says with frustration.
“You told Maks a man said nice things to you at the hotel.”
Emma turns away. “Mama, what does it matter? This isn’t gonna help me!”
Willa persists. “Mr. Donck wants to know what room you were cleaning—where the man spoke to you.”
“Why?”
“I’m not sure,” Willa admits.
“I don’t know.” Thinking hard, Emma says, “Maybe nine twelve. Yeah, that’s it. Room nine twelve. Is that what he needs to know?”
“I think so,” says Willa. Feeling dismissed, she steps back. “I’ll tell him.”
“Emma,” says Mama, “I brought some food.”
Emma begins to talk to Mama in Danish. Willa, not wanting to be in the way, goes and stares over the balcony at the people milling down below. “Nine twelve,” she tells herself. “Nine twelve.” She needs to tell Donck.
As Willa and Mama walk back to the tenement, neither of them talks much. It’s Mama who says, “It’s terrible. She didn’t do anything. Going to prison. Willa . . . do you think your . . . detective can help?”
“I’ll tell Donck what Emma said.”
When they get back to the tenement rooms, Willa leans her stick in a corner while Mama cuts her a piece of bread. Seated at the table, Mama, all upset, begins to describe to Willa what her life was like in Denmark, the family who’s still there, her own mother. “Sometimes I think we should go back. Lots do.”
Willa tries to listen but keeps glancing up at the clock. Close to noon, she stands up.
“I think I better go to Mr. Donck,” she says. “Then I’ll get Jacob so we can do Maks’s papers.”
“Tell that Mr. Donck he must help Emma. Promise him money. I don’t know how, but we’ll find a way.”
Willa goes to the cigar box and gets the newspaper pennies, puts them in her dress pocket.
Mama asks, “Are you going to bring Eric and Ryker home?”
Willa, glancing again at the clock, thinks for a moment. “If it’s all right, it would be better if Jacob and I went right to the newspaper place.”
“That’s fine. I’ll iron the shirts, then fetch the other boys,” says Mama. “They always like that. You don’t know when Maks will get home, do you?”
Willa shakes her head.
As she walks uptown, Willa keeps thinking of Maks and what he might be doing. It’s only when she’s gone seven blocks that she remembers: She’s left her stick behind. Worried about time—seeing Donck, fetching Jacob, getting the papers, selling them—she looks up and down the street to see if there’s any danger. Seeing none, she keeps walking.
I’ll be all right.
60
Back to Maks.
The man who Maks is staring at, the one who looks like Willa’s father, is sitting at a table with two other people. Maks knows one of them for sure: It’s Joe Gorker, the big political boss whose face is peppered all over The World. The guy the paper is always thumping, ’specially now that he’s been accused of stealing city money and is ’bout to go on trial. Even as Maks watches, the guy’s reading the paper and frowning.
The other person at the table is a woman. She’s dressed in fancy clothing, complete with a big hat. A veil covers her eyes. It’s hard for Max to know which man she’s with.
But the mug Maks keeps looking at is the one who looks so much like the face on Willa’s family photograph. Fact, it’s such a shock, Maks can’t believe it is him.
Hey, Willa told him she thought her father was dead. Maks has this creepy feeling he’s looking at a ghost. Which is to say, he don’t really believe what he’s seeing. Who is this guy? Why’s he here? He a guest at the hotel? A visitor? Why’s he with Joe Gorker? Who’s the woman? Who’s she with? What’s going on?
As the questions pop, Maks keeps gawking at the man, scared to think what he’s thinking: This ain’t right. This don’t work!
Next moment, the man turns round, so Maks can’t see his face no more.
Maks circles round the room to get another look. Same time, he’s trying to remember the picture Willa showed him—trying to match it with this man’s mug.
When Maks gets to the other side of the room, he stares at the guy. He sure looks the same. And Maks ain’t got no doubt, whoever he is, he’s cozy with Joe Gorker.
Same time, Maks keeps telling himself it can’t be Willa’s father. He’s dead. Must be someone who just looks like that picture of Willa’s father.
Flustered, Maks takes himself back to the hotel lobby, tells Mr. Trevor he delivered the eyeglasses. The bell captain gives him nothing but a nod, sends him back to the bench.
Maks is glad he’s sitting there so he can try to figure out what seeing the guy who looks like Willa’s father means. Keeps telling himself he’s probably wrong, that he’s making a mistake. Because if it is Willa’s father—what she gonna do?
Then he starts asking himself if he should tell her what he seen or not? It don’t seem right to say, “Hey, Willa, guess what? I seen your dead pa today. Over at the Waldorf. He’s with this crook, Joe Gorker. And a lady.”
See, Maks is also thinking, what if it ain’t him? Be awful to tell her when it ain’t.
So Maks decides ’fore he says something, he’s got to be sure it’s Willa’s father. Thing is, the only way he can be sure is by looking at that picture of Willa’s family again. Course, that picture is back home, in Willa’s tin box. And Maks has to stay at the Waldorf.
Next moment, he reminds himself he’s really here for Emma and her trial is in two days! Gotta stay. Gotta find something to help her.
He’s being yanked two ways at once. Same time, he ain’t moving anywhere.
61
On Delancey Street, Willa makes her way to Donck’s rooms. Knocks on his door. As usual, no answer. After a few moments she pushes the door open. The rooms are as cluttered and dirty as ever.
She goes up to the dim, front room and looks in. Donck is bent over his desk, writing. Every once in a while he puts a cloth to his mouth. It’s spotted with red.
Willa waits for him. Finally, she says, “Mr. Donck?”
He keeps writing.
“Mr. Donck?” she shouts.
The detective looks round. “Ah, you!” he says, throwing down his pen. Then he aims his listening tube at her. “Have you learned something?”
“You wanted me to ask Maks’s sister a question.”
“And?”
“It’s the room number, at the Waldorf, the one where Maks’s sister got a compliment.”
Donck coughs and pats his mouth with a rag. Says, “I’m listening.”
“It’s number nine twelve.”
Donck just stares at her.
“The other thing is,” Willa continues, “she’s going on trial in two days.”
“Two days!” he cries.
“Yes, sir.”
“Then we had better hope your brother finds something,” says the detective, and he turns back over his papers and continues with his writing.
Willa watches him. “Mr. Donck?” she says. “Are you writing ’bout Emma?”
Donck shakes his head. “Your Emma is real. What I write is nonsense.”
Willa waits for him to say something more. When he don’t, she shouts, “Do you need me to do anything else?”
“Nothing. We must wait and see if Maks fin
ds something.”
Frustrated, Willa leaves the room.
She heads back downtown, head crowded with worries. She’s thinking ’bout Emma and Donck, ’bout selling the papers. Keeps wondering, too, what Maks is doing, if he’s found anything to help Emma.
By the time she gets to the school, Jacob is waiting for her outside. He gives Willa a big smile and asks, “Where’d Maks go?”
“He’s at the Waldorf.”
“What’s he doing there?”
“Trying to help Emma.”
“How?”
“Not sure.”
As they walk toward Newspaper Row, Jacob looks up at Willa and says, “You really gonna live with us now?”
She nods.
“What happened to your mother and father?”
“They died.”
“Sorry. But you know what?”
“What?’
“Glad you’re living with us.”
Willa takes his hand.
62
Willa and Jacob reach the area behind The World building. Right off, a few of the guys ask Jacob where Maks is.
Jacob lets Willa answer.
“He had to do something,” she says.
When the bell rings and the newspapers are set out, Jacob and Willa stand in line with the other newsies.
Willa taps the shoulder of the boy in front of her. “What’s the headline?”
“Pretty good,” says the kid. “ ‘Ship Fire on the Hudson. Boat Sinks. Three People Drown.’ ”
When Willa and Jacob get to the table where the papers are bundled, the man looks at Jacob and says, “Where’s Maks?”
“Had to do something,” Jacob says, looking to Willa. “We’re gonna sell ’em.”
“Got your money?”
Willa dumps the pennies into the scale bowl. The man checks the weight, rakes the coins with his fingers, slides the papers over. Willa wraps two arms round the heavy bundle, then she and Jacob head uptown.
“Can you read headlines?” Willa asks him.