like thin oatmeal into his bowl. One ladle full barely covered the bottom. But that was all each boy got before she moved on to the next one.
“Get used to it,” the boy said, spooning some into his mouth. “It’s breakfast. It’s lunch. And it’s dinner.”
Another boy was so thin and sallow-complexioned that Felix wondered if he had quinsy, too, whatever that was. His large brown eyes were sunk deep into his head and when he smiled he showed a mouth of rotten teeth.
“Don’t lie to the new boy, Johnny,” the sallow boy said. “Sometimes we get meat or potatoes thrown in.”
“Practically never,” Johnny said.
“Sweeps!” someone bellowed, and boys rushed to their feet.
Johnny tugged on Felix’s collar.
“That’s us,” he said, pulling him from his seat.
Felix followed Johnny to the door where boys were lining up. He craned his neck, still searching the girls’ side of the cafeteria for Maisie. Just when he thought he glimpsed her tangle of blond hair, the boys began to move out. He stood on tiptoe and waved his hand in her direction.
But as soon as he did, a stick came out of nowhere.
Smack!
Right down on his shoulder.
“Move it, sweep,” one of the guards bellowed at him.
And in an instant, Felix was out in the rainy, foggy, stinking London air again.
CHAPTER 8
CHIMNEY SWEEPS AND ORANGE SELLERS
S
weeps
.
Felix mulled over the word as he and a few dozen other boys left the workhouse—the
parish
—and stood in the still-dark early-morning light. The smell of manure and sewage and smoke filled the air.
Sweeps
.
He finally supposed that he would be handed a broom and taken to some dirty house or building and made to sweep up.
Like a janitor
, Felix decided.
That isn’t too bad
, he told himself. He’d swept up at home before. Why, he had experience as a sweep!
Felix didn’t notice the skinny, bent man in the dirty coat arrive.
But Johnny did. He nudged Felix in the ribs and whispered, “’ere we go now, mate.”
The man spit an address at Johnny, but Felix didn’t understand him.
Johnny let out a low whistle.
“May Fair,” Johnny said, picking up a broom from a wheelbarrow the man had parked on the street corner. “Posh.”
The man asked Johnny a question. Again Felix didn’t understand him.
“My new climbing boy,” Johnny told him, slapping Felix on the back.
As they walked off, Felix imagined that as the climbing boy he’d have to clean the second floor of these…what had Johnny called them?
Posh
. Posh apartments. That was all right. He held tight to the broom he’d taken from the wheelbarrow.
“You’re not afraid of small places?” Johnny asked at one point.
Felix thought of the dumbwaiter back in Elm Medona.
“Well, I don’t like them much,” he said. “Especially if it’s dark inside.”
“
Hmmm
,” Johnny said.
They kept walking, Johnny whistling softly as they did.
“Where is this May Fair?” Felix asked after some time. His eyes had started to tear from the smoke and soot in the air.
“Almost there,” Johnny said.
But they weren’t. They just kept walking through streets much like the one near the train station the day before.
Had that only been the day before? Felix thought sadly. A warm fire. Tea and sandwiches. His stomach grumbled. The gruel this morning had been thin and meager. He wished he had some of that gray meat with green jelly now. The relentless noise of the city pounded in Felix’s head.
It would actually be nice to get into someone’s posh house and sweep up their dusty floors
, he thought.
Finally Johnny came to an abrupt halt.
“It’s this row,” he said, pointing to a block of identical row houses.
“All of them?” Felix said. The houses were tall and skinny. He counted eight on the block.
“’fraid so,” Johnny said cheerfully.
Each house had a wrought iron gate in front ofsteep steps leading to the front doors, double-glass affairs with lace curtains hanging on them. There were lace curtains in all
“Get used to it,” the boy said, spooning some into his mouth. “It’s breakfast. It’s lunch. And it’s dinner.”
Another boy was so thin and sallow-complexioned that Felix wondered if he had quinsy, too, whatever that was. His large brown eyes were sunk deep into his head and when he smiled he showed a mouth of rotten teeth.
“Don’t lie to the new boy, Johnny,” the sallow boy said. “Sometimes we get meat or potatoes thrown in.”
“Practically never,” Johnny said.
“Sweeps!” someone bellowed, and boys rushed to their feet.
Johnny tugged on Felix’s collar.
“That’s us,” he said, pulling him from his seat.
Felix followed Johnny to the door where boys were lining up. He craned his neck, still searching the girls’ side of the cafeteria for Maisie. Just when he thought he glimpsed her tangle of blond hair, the boys began to move out. He stood on tiptoe and waved his hand in her direction.
But as soon as he did, a stick came out of nowhere.
Smack!
Right down on his shoulder.
“Move it, sweep,” one of the guards bellowed at him.
And in an instant, Felix was out in the rainy, foggy, stinking London air again.
CHAPTER 8
CHIMNEY SWEEPS AND ORANGE SELLERS
S
weeps
.
Felix mulled over the word as he and a few dozen other boys left the workhouse—the
parish
—and stood in the still-dark early-morning light. The smell of manure and sewage and smoke filled the air.
Sweeps
.
He finally supposed that he would be handed a broom and taken to some dirty house or building and made to sweep up.
Like a janitor
, Felix decided.
That isn’t too bad
, he told himself. He’d swept up at home before. Why, he had experience as a sweep!
Felix didn’t notice the skinny, bent man in the dirty coat arrive.
But Johnny did. He nudged Felix in the ribs and whispered, “’ere we go now, mate.”
The man spit an address at Johnny, but Felix didn’t understand him.
Johnny let out a low whistle.
“May Fair,” Johnny said, picking up a broom from a wheelbarrow the man had parked on the street corner. “Posh.”
The man asked Johnny a question. Again Felix didn’t understand him.
“My new climbing boy,” Johnny told him, slapping Felix on the back.
As they walked off, Felix imagined that as the climbing boy he’d have to clean the second floor of these…what had Johnny called them?
Posh
. Posh apartments. That was all right. He held tight to the broom he’d taken from the wheelbarrow.
“You’re not afraid of small places?” Johnny asked at one point.
Felix thought of the dumbwaiter back in Elm Medona.
“Well, I don’t like them much,” he said. “Especially if it’s dark inside.”
“
Hmmm
,” Johnny said.
They kept walking, Johnny whistling softly as they did.
“Where is this May Fair?” Felix asked after some time. His eyes had started to tear from the smoke and soot in the air.
“Almost there,” Johnny said.
But they weren’t. They just kept walking through streets much like the one near the train station the day before.
Had that only been the day before? Felix thought sadly. A warm fire. Tea and sandwiches. His stomach grumbled. The gruel this morning had been thin and meager. He wished he had some of that gray meat with green jelly now. The relentless noise of the city pounded in Felix’s head.
It would actually be nice to get into someone’s posh house and sweep up their dusty floors
, he thought.
Finally Johnny came to an abrupt halt.
“It’s this row,” he said, pointing to a block of identical row houses.
“All of them?” Felix said. The houses were tall and skinny. He counted eight on the block.
“’fraid so,” Johnny said cheerfully.
Each house had a wrought iron gate in front ofsteep steps leading to the front doors, double-glass affairs with lace curtains hanging on them. There were lace curtains in all
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