I groaned as Kloppman hollered and yelled at us to get up.
"Mmm?" Jack moaned. "Wha's da matta wit ya?"
"Wha's da matta wit me?" Kloppman retorted.
"Wha's da matta wit you? Wanna...go...back...ta…" Jack said, falling asleep again.
"Come on!" Kloppman yelled, shoving him.
"Get away from me," Jack shouted. "Yer're mad!"
"Shuddup Jack!" I screamed, burying my face in my pillow.
"Come on, Spitfire." Kloppman said, taking my pillow from under my face and hitting me with it. "Alright! Carry da bannar! Sell da papes!"
"That's my cigar," I rolled out of bed as Race yelled at Snipeshooter.
"You'll steal anudder!" Snipes replied, blowing out smoke.
"Hey bummers," Kid Blink commented. "we'se got woik ta do!"
"Since when did you'se become me mudder?" I scoffed.
"Aww," Crutchy complained. "stop yer bawlin'."
"Hey," we all countered. "who asked you'se?"
I laughed as Mush made fun of Jack sleeping.
"Yeah, we'se hoid ya, Mush," I replied when he asked if anybody heard him.
"Spitfire, when I'se walk, does it look like I'm fakin' it?" Crutchy asked.
"No," I replied, taken aback. "Who says you'se fakin' it?"
"I dunno. It's just dere's so many fake crips on da street taday, a real crip ain't got a chance. I'se gotta find me a new sellin' spot where dey ain't usin' ta seein' me."
"Try Bottle Alley or da harbour," Mush commented.
"Try Central Park," added Race. "it's guaranteed."
"Try any bankah, bum, or barbah." stated Jack.
"Dey almost alls knows how ta read." sang out Skittery.
"I smell money," shouted Blink as he walked out of the stall.
"You smell foul!" retorted Crutchy. I laughed as I tied my hair back with a dull green ribbon.
"Met dis goil last night." declared Mush.
"Move your elbow!" avowed Crutchy, shoving a random limb out of his way.
"Pass da towel!" demanded Race, wandering around, blinded by shaving cream.
"For a buck I might!" hollered Skittery, waving a cloth above his head.
"Ain't it a fine life," all of us sang. "carryin' da bannah through it all? A mighty fine life, carryin' da bannah tough and tall. Every mornin', we goes where we'se wishes! We'se as free as fishes, sure beats washin' dishes. What a fine life, carryin' da bannah home-free all."
The boys ran down the stairs. I followed, jumping over the banister, and almost landing on Race. I laughed as he waved his fist at me.
"Summah stinks and witah's waitin'," we sang as we ran towards the Newsie Square. "Welcome ta New Yawk. Boy, ain't nature fascinatin', when you'se gotta wawk? Still, it's a fine life. Carryin' da bannah wit me chums. A mighty fine life, blowin' every nickel as it comes!"
"I'm no snoozer, sittin' makes me ansty." announced Crutchy.
"I'se likes livin' chancy," I confessed, doing a back handspring roundoff across the square.
We walked up to the nuns as they remarked; "Blessed children, thought you wonder lost and depraved. Jesus loves you, you shall be saved!"
A pretty woman walked through us, singing for her lost son as we asked for food.
"Just give me half a cup," pleaded Racetrack, reaching out for a drink.
"Somet'ing ta wake me up," Blink asked.
"I'se gotta find an angle," Mush expressed.
"I'se gotta sell more papes," Crutchy registered.
"Sure hope da headlines hot," I speculated.
"If I hate da headline," us newsies recited. "I'll make up da headline. And I'll say anyt'ing I'se hafta. 'Cause it's two fer a penny, if I'se take too many, Weasel just makes me eat 'em afta."
"We'se need a good assassination," we bellowed, yelling at the World building. "We'se need an earthquake or a war!"
"How 'bout a crooked politican?" implored Snipeshooter.
"Hey, stupid, dat ain't news no more!" we proclaimed, throwing our hats at him. "Uptown ta Grand Central Station, down ta City Hall. We improves our circulation, walkin' till we'se fall!"
"Look," I said, pointing and directing Race's vision to the billboard. "dere puttin up da headline. Dey call dat a headline? Da idiot who wrote it must be woiking fer da Sun. Didja hear 'bout da fire?"
"Hoid it killed old man Maguire!" declared Boots.
"Hoid da toll was even higher," scoffed Racetrack.
"Why do I'se miss all da fun?" I inquired. Then, from the around the corner, walked the Delancey brothers.
"Dear me," Race exclaimed. "What is dat unpleasant aroma? I fear da sewer may have backed up durin' da night."
"Nah," said Boots. "too rotten ta be da sewers."
"It must be da Delancey brudders," Crutchy crowed.
"Hiya boys!" I called, waving at them cheerily.
"In da back, you'se lousy liddle shrimp," Oscar said, throwing Snipeshooter to the ground.
"It's not good ta do dat," Race explained, as I walked forward and helped Snipes up and asked him if he was okay. "Not healthy."
"Ya shouldn't call people lousy liddle shrimps, Oscar," Jack remarked. "unless, you'se refering ta da family resemblance in you brudda here."
"5-1 dat Cowboy skunks 'em. Who's bettin'?" Racetrack offered. I hit him in the back of the head as the others shot him down.
"Dat's right." Cowboy acknowledged. "It's an insult. So's dis."
Jack grabbed Oscar's hat and started to tear through the crowd of newsies. I laughed as the Delancey's chased him. Jack bumped into two boys, and the older asked; "What do you think you're doing?"
"Runnin'!" Jack responded.
"Go!" We cheered Jack on as he fought the brothers. I scoffed as Oscar and Morris tried to threaten Jack. I stepped into line right behind him as he taunted Weasel.
"Don't rush me." Jack patronized, "I'm perusin' da merchandise Mr. Weasel. Da usual."
"100 papes fer da wise guy!" Weasel called. "Next!"
"Hiya, Weasel!" I said, cheerfully.
"Oh," he said, scowling. "It's you."
"Aw," I pouted. "You'se sound sad. Ain't we'se foiends, Mr. Weasel?"
"No." Weasel stated dully. "Now, how many?"
"Fine," I declared. "Hurry up and get me my 100 papes, ya scumbag."
Jack laughed as I sat down next to him. "He hates you'se even more den he hates me." he said. "and dats sayin' somet'ing."
"Shuddup," I laughed, "I'se a very likeable person. Weasel just nevah had a foiend before so he don't know how ta react ta me."
"See anything good dis mornin'?" Racetrack asked as he sat on my otherside. "Look at dis, "Baby Born with Two Heads.'"
"Must be from Brooklyn," I remarked.
"I paid for twenty," I turned to see the boy from before standing in front of the window. "I only got nineteen."
"Are you accusin' me o' lyin' kid?" Weasel implored.
"No," the boy replied. "I just want my paper."
"He said beat it!" Morris shouted, pressing his face against the bars.
"No, it nineteen," said Jack, who had gotten up and started to count the papers. "It's nineteen. But don't worry 'bout it. It's an honest mistake. I mean, Morris 'ere can't count ta twenty wit his shoes on. Hey Spitfire, will ya spot me two bits? Anudder fifty for my foiend."
I obliged as the boy said; "I don't want another fifty."
"Sure ya do. Every newsie wants more papes." Jack responded.
"I don't," said the boy. "I don't want your papes. I don't take charity from anyone. I don't know you. I don't care to. Here are you papes."
"Cowboy," said the little boy next to the older one. "They called him Cowboy."
"Yeah," answered Jack, looking at the kid. "I'm called dat and a lot o' udder t'ings, includin' Jack Kelly, which is what me mudder called me. What do dey call you'se, kid?"
"Les," responded the little boy. "and this is my brother, David. He's older."
"No kiddin'." I said, standing next to Cowboy. "So, how old are ya, kiddo?"
"Me?" replied Les. "Near ten."
"Near ten?" asked Cowboy. "Well, dat's no good. If anyone asks, you're seven. You'se see, younger sells more papes and if we're gonna be partners, we wanna be da best."
"Wait," exclaimed David. "Who said anything about being partners?"
"Well," Jack started to explain. "you'se owe me two bits, right?"
"Wrong," I emphasised. "He and you'se owe me two bits."
"Right, sorry," Jack apologized. "You'se owe Spitfire, 'ere two bits. Well, we'll considah dat an investment. You'se, me, and Spitfire, sell togeder, we split 70-30, plus you'se get da benefit o' observin' me and Spitfire, no charge."
David scoffed, and Jack mockingly scoffed after him.
"You're gettin' da chance o' a lifetime 'ere, Davey." Crutchy said. "You'se loin from Spitfire and Jack, you'se loin from da best."
"Well, if they're the best, then how come they need me?" David quizzed.
"Listen," Jack proposed, starting to get annoyed. "We'se don't need you'se, pal. But we'se ain't got a cute liddle brudder like Les 'ere to front fer us. Wit dis kid's puss and our God-given talent, we'se could move a thousand papes a week. So, what do ya say Les? You'se wanna sell wit me and Spitfire?"
"Yeah!" Les cheered.
"So," I insisted. "we'se gotta deal?"
"Wait" said David. "It's gotta be at least 50-50."
"60-40," I suggested. "We'se forget da whole thing."
David held out for us to shake. However, when Jack spit into his hand and reached out to shake his, David pulled away.
"What'sa matta?" Jack asked, taken aback.
"That's disgusting!" David retorted. I laughed as the four of us walked out of the Distribution Center, Les riding on my back.
"Da name o' da game is volume, Dave," Jack explained. "You'se only took twenty papes. Why?"
"Bad headline." David stated, causing me to snort.
"Dat's da foist ding ya gotta loin." I scolded, still trying to hold back my laughter at his blunt reply. "Headlines don't sell papes, newsies sell papes. You know, we're what hold dis town togethah. Witout newsies, nobody knows nothin'."
A girl ran past and I rolled my eyes as the boys removed their hat and made comments.
"Baby born wit t'ree heads." Specs hollered.