The Brooklyn dock and water were usually crowded with newsboys, but this day, as was becoming usual since the strike, the dock was crowded with girls.
Not news girls, dirty-faced and plaintive, hoping to bum a few bits off the boys there, or to go through the pockets of castoff shirts while the shirts' owners were in the water; but glamourous girls, gorgeous even underneath all the bruises and welts their cruel step-fathers and fiancés had given them.
These girls were crowding the dock for one reason and one reason only: to break Spot Conlon's cold exterior and make him fall for them.
Looking at the crowd of girls, and then at the small, proud figure on the stack of boxes that formed his 'throne', it might have crossed your mind that it was not quite fair, all of them against the one. But if you continued to observe, you would have seen the King of Brooklyn begin to hold court for the day.
Two burly newsboys came and stood, one on each side and a little in front of, the throne.
His Majesty nodded and a girl came forward, giggling and walking like a barmaid. In a breathless, titteringvoice she began to tell her story. She had had a cruel father, he kicked her out, she had no place to go, she had been lost and starving on the streets, she wanted to become a newsie, etc, etc, etc.
Half-way through her (obviously memorized) speech, Spot nodded to his boys and they picked the girl up, clonked her on the head, and threw her out to sea.
The exact same thing happened with the next six girls, with very little variation. All of whom were shocked and astonished that their idol's "cold, steel blue 'Squee!' eyes" had not immediately softened at the sight of them in their pitiable (and yet still stunningly gorgeous) state. The seventh girl Spot allowed to stand to one side for further interrogation later.
Another twelve or so girls went into the water, and then a rather different looking girl came forward.
Spot had, in fact, noticed her earlier: it was his business to notice anything and everything that went on in his territory, and he had marked her when she first appeared among the crowd of girls.
She was not dressed like the other girls were, in alternately scabber or strange tight fitting clothing, but was dressed in loose fitting shirt and pants, dark suspenders, and a cap like all newsies wore. Looking closer, Spot could see at least one knife, if not more, concealed about and in her clothing.
As with many of the girls, she had long hair, but unlike them, it was not up in some ridiculous fashion that wouldn't stay up in a fight, nor was it down in an equally ridiculous fashion, always getting in the way, but back in a sensible braid.
In fact, were it not for the fact that she appeared, like the other girls, out of nowhere, Spot might have taken her for a newsie.
As she came forward, she did not try and launch herself at him, or hold a staring contest: facts Spot appreciated enormously (though he did like winning the staring contests). Instead, she came to a stop two feet in front of him, took off her hat, bowed, and replaced it.
He nodded for her to begin her story. She glanced back at the squee-ing crowd of females, and then again at the King of Brooklyn.
"My name is Jeans. I have a business offer to make." Spot, although, of course, his face showed none of it, was slightly startled. He was not used to business offers. Other offers, yes. He motioned for her to continue.
"My offer is this. You take me in and show me all the tricks and schemes of the newsie trade, and I make all these-" with a disgusted jerk of her thumb at the girls behind her - "disappear, and not come back. What do you say?"
Spot leaned forward.
"Prove it."
Jeans grinned, suddenly looking like a hungry wolf just about to eat a plump rabbit.
"It would be my pleasure." Then she turned, (so her back was to a pile of boxes and not to him, he noted) and addressed the girls.
"By the power vested in me by the Sue Hunters United, I will now proceed to defenestrate you." And with that Jeans pulled a book out of the bag on her back. At the sight of it, all the girls on the dock, save two, moaned, yelled, and disappeared.
With a triumphant smirk, Jeans turned to Spot. He smirked back, then spit in his hand and held it out. (This was a sort of test, as over half the girls that made it past the first test were grossed out by spit shaking) Jeans spit in her own and clasped the leader's in it.
Then Spot stood up and turned to the two girls beside Jeans. One was looking rather dazed; the other merely impatient.
"Yeah, Dash, what is it?"
"Jacky-boy want youse ta go help him. He's got 'bout thoity. Ise told him you had at least fifty of youse own, but he was near desperate, so Ise told him I'd see 'bout it. Now youse goils is gone, youse gonna help him?" Spot nodded.
"Take her over dere-" he indicated Jeans- "git the goils out, an den bring her back here. She'll bunk wid youse. Ise'll take dis one wid me now." And motioning the other girl to follow him, he started off the dock, when Jeans broke in.
"Excuse me, and I don't mean to be rude, but I was wondering how me helping this Jacky-boy is part of our deal." Spot slowed and turned.
"Foist, youse my newsie now, and Ise youse leadah. Dat means youse'll do what Ise say." His face broke into his famous smirk, "De moah favors Ise do foah Jacky, de moah he owes me. And dat'll come in very handy when Ise need some help."
"Help? Mr. Conlon, I had no idea that word was in your vocabulary. Unless, of course, you were using it to taunt someone who was in need of it."
Spot merely shot her another smirk and replied, "Ise was usin' Ise collectively, meanin' me boys too. And-" he added as Jeans smirked back and turned to follow Dash, who was restless: "None of me newsies call me Mistah Conlon. Just Spot." Jeans nodded and hurried to follow Dash.
At the Manhattan Newsboys Lodging House (a seemingly undeserved title), Jeans repeated her defenestration performance, with the same results, but before she left she handed Cowboy a book identical to hers and told him something in a low hurried voice, something that he brightened immensely on hearing.
After they finished, the two girls headed back to the Brooklyn Lodging House. Taking Jeans upstairs, Dash opened the door on the left. Going in and flopping down on a bunk, the Newsie put her hands behind her head and looked up at Jeans, who was lounging against the bedpost.
"So. Where're youse from?"
Jeans shrugged. "I've moved around a lot. How long did it take Spot to realize there was something wrong with all the girls that kept showing up?"
Dash shrugged in turn.
"Afta de foist two goils de rest of us figured out sumtin' was up, and afta we ditched de goils Spot recovahed and caught on, and so we'se started clonkin' em on de head. I'se done some of dat myself." And she smiled reminiscently.
"Which bunk can I have?" Asked Jeans, changing the subject a little abruptly.
Dash waved a hand airily.
"Oh, any one youse want. 'Cept mine."
Jeans turned and dumped her stuff on a bed.
"So," Inquired Dash as she watched lazily, "Why is youse called Jeans?" Said girl replied,
"Because I'm tough like them. How many girls are there here? And whose bunk am I taking?"
"One, youse'll have to prove dat. Two, besides us, and de goil wid Spot, dere's four others. Three, youse'll have to figure dat one out on youse own." And the grin that accompanied this statement was not particularly comforting.
Then Dash closed her eyes and went to sleep.
Jeans headed downstairs, there to meet eight or ten boys hanging around playing games and smoking. There was an awkward pause after the preliminary introduction, then Jeans offered to teach them how to play a new card game. They accepted and she sat down and began to shuffle the cards.
Upstairs the girls' room window swung open. Without opening her eyes Dash asked,
"What'd youse do wid the other goil? She a fake?"
Spot dropped to the floor.
"Nah, she went in downstahs. Jeans is teachin' de boys a new card game."
"Dat's good. Pokah was gettin' old, wid Sharp winnin' all de toime."
Spot nodded and came to lean against the post of Dash's bed.
"So whaddya think 'bout Jeans? We'se gonna have to ditch her soon?"
Dash shook her head. "We'll have to see, but a lot is gonna depend on herself. Youse know, wether she gets along or if youse is gonna halfta be pullin' her outa foights all da toime. Ise nevah figured out why dose goils seemed to think gettin' into foights was da way to impress youse. Dey weren't very broight."
Spot took off his hat and wiped his forehead.
"Ise nevah figured it out neither. Afta all, I ain't the sort dat gets ito unnecessary foights, and whoile fightin' scabbahs is one thing, foightin odah newsies and even youse own mates is too much."
Dash nodded assent. They were silent together for a while, then a slam of the downstairs door told them that the rest of the newsies were back from selling.
In unspoken agreement the two leaders moved to the door and downstairs.
"Youse da goil leadah, youse introduce da goils." Spot muttered.
"Naw, youse da leadah of all of us, it's yoah job." Dash shot back. Spot grunted reluctant acquiescence, but on reaching the bottom of the stairs found the job being done for him.
Under the guise of introducing the other new girl to the Brooklyn Newsies, Jeans was meeting them herself.
Glancing at each other, Spot and Dash moved closer. Hearing what Jeans was saying as she introduced the other girl (and incidentally herself), they exchanged another glance, this one amused.
"Vade, this is - what is your name? Rock, Rock, this is Vade. Short for Evade. She's new.
Vade, this is - remind me of your name?- Sharp. Sharp is one of the six girl newsies here, so I'm sure you'll be seeing a lot of each other. Now, you are? Ah yes, Pinch. Pinch, this is Vade, and don't even think about stealing her purse, for one because it hasn't anything in it - I already checked - and two because we're going to sell together and you don't want to mess with my partner."
"Well." Dash remarked, "She shuah fits in good. DId youse see Pinch's face? I give da goil a point foah dat. Any one dat can upset dat smooth talker is woith keepin'.
Spot nodded agreement and watched, tapping his cane end gently on the floor as Dash moved off into the crowd of newsies. He would have labeled Jeans as different if his experience with girls-that-appeared-out-of-nowhere had not given that word a derogatory tilt. Most of the girls he had called different had ended up falling in love with him and consequently expecting him to rescue them and soften up around them and crazy things like that. He would have liked them better if they could have been more like Dash. Dash was a great sister and a great newsie.
As Spot marked the way Dash was fully in control of herself and everyone else even while mingling, he reflected that it really made things much easier that Dash was his sister. Her pride in her big brother prevented her natural ambition from taking over and making them rivals, even though as a Conlon, she probably could succeed as well as he at being a leader.
With a shrug the Brooklyn leader roused himself and banged the end of his stick against the floor for attention.
"Now, we'se got two new goils. Da tall dark one's Vade and da short blond's Jeans. I'se expect youse all to treat 'em wid respect and youse'll all help 'em loin (learn) fast. Roight?"
With a rousing cheer the newsies agreed and then went back to their games and cigars.
After the mad rush called supper, Jeans headed up to the bunkroom, fully intending to flop down on her bed and get all the sleep she could before her first day selling in Brooklyn. As she entered the room, however, she found a slight complication. There was a girl standing beside her bunk with her arms folded and a scowl on her face.
Jeans turned and looked at Dash, who suddenly decided the ceiling needed inspection. Jeans sighed and turned back to the girl.
"Hi. I'm Jeans. It would seem you would like to say something to me, and I guess we might as well know each others' names before anything explosive happens. What is your name?"
The other girl's scowl deepened. "Ise Fire, but I ain't interested in sayin' nothin' 'cept wid me fists." And she held up one said fist threateningly.
Jeans didn't seem to see it. "Really? How very skilled you must be, I find it hard to say things with my fists. I generally have to use my mouth. Why did your fists need to say something to me, exactly?"
"'Cause youse trash is on my bunk." Fire said, disregarding the former part of Jeans sentence.
"Oh! Well, there is a very simple solution. I'll move my trash. Could you direct me to an open bunk?"
Somewhat caught off guard by the non-combative acceptance of her attempt to start a fight, Fire answered warily,
"Yeah, but dere's just one. Youse and da odah (other) new goil is gonna hafta foight ovah it."
"No, I don't think that will be necessary, Vade," Turning to the taller girl, "Do you mind sharing a bunk with me? I promise I don't kick." Vade shrugged.
"If you don't mind me kicking a bit, no."
Jeans nodded. "Good, that's settled then." As she dumped her stuff on the empty bunk Fire asked with a sneer in her voice,
"Youse afraid of a foight?"
The smaller newsie straightened slowly. "No, but I don't see the point of a fight, unless you want to make Spot mad. From what I've heard he isn't fond of his newsies getting into fights, especially with their own borough."
Dash stood up from her bunk and stopped whatever sneering remark Fire had been about to make by saying,
"Jeans is right, Fiah. Youse know Spot don't like foights in his borough. Now get to bed and let dat tempah of yoah's simmer down a bit."
Fire scowled, but obeyed. The rest of the newsies soon followed suit, and there was silence.