oh the thinks you can think {mb/s}

newsies christmas on tumblr

Most of the boys know the story and what to expect—Skittery's smiling a little, waiting, and Tumbler looks about to burst, and Ten-Pin's got his mouth open, trying to remember. Dutchy knows perfectly well what'll happen, but he's hanging on every word anyway.

"But a miniature sleigh, and eight tiny reindeer.

With a little old driver, so lively and quick,

I knew in a moment it must be St. Nick."

(The boys start to chatter as soon as they hear that name, and it takes Cowboy yelling "Hey!" and Racetrack's "Hey, can it, ya bums!" to quiet them down.)

"More rapid than eagles his coursers they came,

And he whistled, and shouted, and called them by name!

'Now Dasher! now, Dancer! now, Prancer! now Vixen!

On, Comet! On, Cupid! on, on Donder and Blitzen!'"

Tumbler turns to Jack and whispers, "Have you ever driven a reindeer?"

And Jack laughs. "I ain't never seen a real reindeer, Tumbs."

"'To the top of the porch! to the top of the wall!

Now dash away! Dash away! Dash away all!'"

(Boots has been pretending to hold the reins, punctuating each "dash" with a pull to the right or left.)

"As dry leaves that before the wild hurricane fly,

When they meet with an obstacle, mount to the sky."

These lines have always, always reminded me of the newsboys. Even before any of this group lived here. They're all the same.

"So up to the house-top the coursers they flew,

With the sleigh full of Toys, and St Nicholas too.

And then, in a twinkling, I heard on the roof

The prancing and pawing of each little hoof."

I don't think there was a boy around who wasn't thinking of Winston at that moment. I could go the rest of my life satisfied not to hear hooves above me again, but I suppose I'd rather have reindeer on the roof than a colt in the dining room.

"As I drew in my head, and was turning around,

Down the chimney St Nicholas came with a bound."

Itey jumps off his bunk and lands with a thump, grinning.

"He was dressed all in fur, from his head to his foot,

And his clothes were all tarnished with ashes and soot."

One of the younger boys holds out a stained shirttail. His friends nod—he's just like St. Nick.

"A bundle of Toys he had flung on his back,

And he looked like a peddler, just opening his pack.

His eyes-how they twinkled! his dimples how merry!

His cheeks were like roses, his nose like a cherry!

His droll little mouth was drawn up like a bow,

And the beard of his chin was as white as the snow."

This is an excuse for the boys to make the most ridiculous faces possible. (Last year they decided that Santa would have Jake's nose, Racetrack's eyes, Itey's smile, and Kid Blink's cheeks when he was mad. Blink got mad when he heard it.)

"The stump of a pipe he held tight in his teeth,

And the smoke it encircled his head like a—"

"Boys!" I holler. Because Cowboy, Skittery, Racetrack and Blink just turned around and lit cigarettes, puffing the smoke like a...

...Well, it does encircle their heads like a wreath.

"Out," I command. And they must know that they're beat, or else they think Santa Claus is watching, because they hop down and march to the washroom, where they snub their cigarettes in the sink.

And save them for later, of course.

"He had a broad face and a little round belly,

That shook when he laughed, like a bowlful of jelly!"

Crutchy laughs. Ten-Pin pokes at his own belly, but it doesn't shake.

"He was chubby and plump, a right jolly old elf,

And I laughed when I saw him, in spite of myself!

A wink of his eye and a twist of his head,

Soon gave me to know I had nothing to dread.

He spoke not a word, but went straight to his work,

And filled all the stockings, then turned with a jerk."

I catch quite a few glances at the stockings. The older boys will have their work cut out for them, sneaking around this crew.

"And laying his finger aside of his nose—"

No newsboy ever seems to understand that the line isn't "laying his finger inside of his nose." Blink slaps Racetrack's hand down, but of course one of them hits his nose and it starts to bleed. And again—the same thing happens nearly every year, though not always to Racetrack. I glare until he goes back to the washroom, returning with his face buried in a towel.

"You look like Santa," Mush comments.

"I am Santa," Racetrack grumbles, climbing back onto Cowboy's bunk and shoving Ten-Pin aside.

"Santa wouldn't shove little kids," Ten-Pin tells him.

"That's right," says Cowboy, and punches Racetrack. (Not too hard, though. It is Christmas Eve.)

"And giving a nod, up the chimney he rose!

He sprang to his sleigh, to his team gave a whistle—"

Bumlets can whistle sharper and louder than anyone, and this is always his job. It's the loudest thing we hear out of him all year.

"And away they all flew like the down of a thistle.

But I heard him exclaim, 'ere he drove out of sight—"

And finally it's the famous last line, ready to send the boys off to sleep, repeated over and over all through the city for years and years and years to come...

"'Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good-night!'"