Morning light now coming through the small window high in the wall also fell on the cardboard box that had held the sausage and bread, three wood boxes no more than a foot tall with brushes and rags stuffed in them, four mismatched cups, with broken handles, four mismatched, chipped plates, and a saucepan, a blackened, impossibly dented affair that could only have been salvaged from some city dump. But these items, all lined up neatly against the wall, gave every evidence that the boys had set up housekeeping there in earnest.
What very nearly brought tears to Robin’s eyes, however, was the sight of the tiny tin spoon and bowl, and four empty baby bottles lined up along with the rest. This was as good as any other promise the boys could have made, that Danny was here to stay. And so, for that matter, was his big brother!
“Wot we got ter eat, Mouse?” Duck asked. “Got any o’ that sausich left?”
“Aw, don’t go eatin’ when I ain’t back yet,” complained Piggy. “You all seed I were feedin’ Danny an’ ain’t been ter the terlit. ’Sides, nobody as wot I c’n see took the saucepot ter git the drinkin’ water.”
“Git goin’ and stop mewlin’ ’bout it, Piggy. We ain’t even set the table yet. We’ll wait fer you an’ the holy water,” Duck said with a grin. It did look as if that joke was not going to die in a hurry.
Mouse, in the meantime, was rummaging around inside the cardboard box. “Yeah, we got ’nother lump o’ sausich,” he said. “Got some bread. Got a couple o’ apples left.”
“Them with all the worm holes?” asked Spider, wrinkling his nose.
“We an’t never had no other kind, jackass,” replied Mouse proudly. “You c’n spit out the worms like we always done.”
This kind of conversation continued for a round or two before they were all seated on the floor in a circle, including the by-now-returned Piggy. Danny was already asleep peacefully on his rag cot. In front of the boys were the ragged assortment of cups and saucers, and in the center of the “table,” set on a scrap of brown paper, were the sausage, bread, apples, and a bent knife about as black as the saucepan.
“I’ll share a cup an’ plate with Robin,” Spider said, as Duck cut chunks of sausage with the unwieldy knife, and passed them around.
“Don’t ’spect good eats like this here every time,” Duck said as he handed Robin his chunk of sausage. “This here’s bought special ’cause we was havin’ a party ’bout movin’ here. Never ate nothin’ like sausich when we was livin’ under the pier. Had mostly bread. Taters when we was lucky. If we c’d git a fire goin’, we cooked ’em in the saucepot.”
“Jist like we c’n cook ’em here on the gas burner,” said Spider. “We c’n cook here jist ’bout any ol’ time, an’ jist ’bout any ol’ thing we want. Even make usselves a cup o’ tea when we git a rainy day,” he ended dreamily.
“We can’t cook nothin’ like cabbages,” said Mouse, bringing Spider back down to earth. “Somebody’ll be lookin’ in every room ter see wot might o’ died if we done anythin’ jackassy stoopid like that.”
“No use talkin’ ’bout wot we’re goin’ ter eat and wot we’re not goin’ ter eat if they ain’t nothin’ ter eat, which right now they ain’t,” Duck said. “Not even no bread. One o’ us is got ter go git somethin’ after we’re done workin’.”
Go get something, Robin thought. Milk! There was not only no food left for all the boys, there was nothing for Danny either, and he would have to have his milk by the middle of the morning. There could be no waiting until after work, whatever that work was.
“I’ll go,” Robin said quickly. “I’ll take Danny with me and go. I can carry things in my shopping bag. But … but he has to have milk this morning.”
“If you want ter do that,” Duck said. “Wot we c’n do is all put in maybe three cents, an’ you c’n get wot yer able fer that.”
“Oh, you don’t need to put in anything,” Robin said at once. “I’ll pay for it all. I … I’d like to.”
“You got the money?” Duck’s eyebrows went sailing up his forehead. “Where’d you git it? We ain’t got round ter askin’ wot you do fer work, but wotever it was, didn’t yer step-pa take it all ’way from you?”
“I never worked,” said Robin, feeling his face redden. “I … I just went to school and then helped my mama with Danny. She hid some money in the kitchen, and told me about it before she died. That’s what I have now.”
“How much you got?” asked Mouse.
What, tell street boys how much money he had in his pocket? What kind of madness would that be?Yet had they not already had the opportunity to take everything he had, including his watch? And were they not trusting him with their hard-earned money to go shopping? But more than anything, there were the baby bottles and the tiny tin spoon and bowl lined up against the wall with probably all the boys had in the world. What, tell these street boys how much money he had in his pocket? Yes, of course! Why would he not do it?
“I …I have two dollars and fifty cents,” he said.
Two dollars and fifty cents? A fortune by the sound of the collective whistles around the breakfast table.
But Piggy then frowned and shook his head. “Sounds like a heap, but you can’t be spendin’ it on us. You got ter save it fer Danny. Milk don’t come cheap. Right?”
“Right!” they all agreed.
“An’,” said Duck, “’pears as how you ain’t earnin’ nothin’ neither. You jist been goin’ ter school. You was goin’ ter leave yer baby brother on the steps o’ this here
