Chapter 1

A young man pensively blew out a wreath of cigarette smoke. He looked about seventeen, with a set jaw, careless slouch, filthy clothes, and brooding brown eyes. He leaned against a post on the porch of a building, while night fell silently around him. New York City – somehow the bustle always seemed to go away when night came. All the carriages and horses took their passengers to their last stops, and as people began to settle into their homes for the night, the only people left awake in the world were the poorest workers finishing up their tasks. This young man fell squarely into that last category. He was a Newsy, peddling the paps and headlines every day since he was eight. Not that he ever minded, much. Another young man, perhaps fifteen, wandered up slowly, as if it took all his energy to put on foot in front of the other.

"Hey, Skittery," the newcomer greeted the other. The first nodded politely, and took another slow, long drag. The second pulled a worn cigarette from his pocket. "Got a light?"

The first wordlessly held out the end of his smoldering smoke. The other young man puffed away until it caught. He too took a long drag and, satisfied that his cigarette was properly lit, he also slouched against a pole.

"So I met this girl last night," began the second, as if the conversation he now started had really been going on this whole time, "and I sees her again today. I think she kinda's takin' a shine to me, Skittery. I just doan' know what to do next."

Skittery chuckled faintly, took one last, loving drag, and stubbed his cigarette out on the ground, grinding it into the pavement.

"You know I'm the last person you oughta ask about this kinda stuff, Mush," he rejoined.

"Ain't you ever been interested in girls before?" Mush broke out incredulously.

"I ain't never seen one that I like that much yet."

"You sure are a hard one," came another voice from the darkness. A third young man, perhaps a little older than Skittery, strolled out of the street. For the first time during this whole interlude, Skittery gave a light smile.

"Hey, Cowboy. How's business?"

"Not too shabby, if it's any 'a your concern." He had the thickest of all the New York accents present, and Skittery vaguely wondered if his friend knew what an art it must be to talk like that. "I agrees with Mush. Ya oughta find y'self a pretty girl. Then, you wouldn't feel so hard and lonesome anymore, ya know."

"Who says I'm lonesome, even if I am hard? And anyway, not everyone can find a beautiful dame to help 'em get through the days like you, Jack."

Jack smiled and shook his head, as if to say his friend was missing out.

"It would help if you looked," a fourth voice called. Tones of good humor laced the words, and everyone looked up expectantly.

"Hey, Race," they all greeted simultaneously. The new boy, who looked young and old beyond his years at the same time, puffed away at a dwindling cigar and pulled at his cap.

"How're the tracks today?" Mush asked.

"Ah, you know . . . unlucky."

A few of them chorused that it was too bad to have such a streak of bad luck, especially what with his brains for races. Race spit a piece of disintegrated cigar onto the pavement, made a clucking noise of dismissal, and sat down on the curb. He peered through the gloom of the smoggy New York City night, already poorly lit by sputtering gas lamps, at the surrounding scenery. Something caught his attention, and he raised his head.

"Now see, you's oughta get yourself a dame like that one," he remarked, pointing down the street at a young woman.

"Hoowee, ya really oughta," cried Mush, slapping Skittery on the back and grinning broadly. Skittery rolled his eyes, but looked dutifully across the street. There, with an air of one familiar with the dark streets, somberly walked a young beauty. Her hair, a light, long brown, was curled into cascading ringlets covered by the most diminutive of hats. Her skirts flowed around her in a frothy mixture of lace, frills, and ruffles, and her cinched bodice showed off all the elegant curves her young figure could muster. Feeling herself scrutinized, she turned her head slightly to glance at the party of ill-dressed, dirty Newsies. All of them wore broad, knowing smiles, except for one. She narrowed her eyes and glanced at him closer. He followed her every movement, but his eyes were a dark blank. When admiration and lust shone in the eyes of the others, she could discern nothing from his face. Almost as if he had offended her, she hitched her chin and her skirts, and began to march down the street. Her boots made a smart clicking noise as she radiated her disapproval. The others laughed and slapped each other.

Cowboy turned to Skittery.

"She would be a fine dame to go with, but I think she's outta your price range," he commented, screwing up his face like he was breaking bad news. The others laughed.

"Why should I care? She's nothing but a broad," Skittery intoned, his voice detached.

"Ah, you're right, Skittery. Don't bother with her, and you won't get your heart broken, anyhow. Le's go in; I'm bushed," Race suggested, concluding the meeting for tonight. He and Jack headed inside. Mush took one last drag on his cigarette, then followed suit into the building. On the threshold, he turned. Skittery was still leaning, his expression inscrutable, against the porch post.

"Ain't you coming?" Mush asked.

Skittery shook his head slowly.

"Nah, I'm not tired yet. I think I'll stay out for a while longer."

Mush, long used to his friend's moods and manners, merely shrugged and headed back into the boarding-house where all the Newsies lived when they weren't slogging away at their occupation. Alone now, Skittery watched the street where the young woman had disappeared. Somewhere, some memory of home life and proper behavior and obligations nudged him angrily out of his seat, and, after a minute of inner struggle, he headed off in the same direction, his hands shoved resolutely in his pockets.