Spring, 1899
Jack blew a clump of hair out of his eye as he hoisted Crutchie down the last rung of the fire escape. He needed a trim, soon. Usually Crutchie would've been able to get down the ladder just fine on his own, but he'd had to do a surprising amount of walking the previous day to sell the last of his papers, and his good ankle was a bit too numb to be reliable on the narrow metal rungs that were often slippery with morning dew. The boys congregated with the others who camped on the fire escapes and started on their way towards The World's office building, grabbing tough, dry pieces of toast from the nuns for breakfast as they passed the cathedral. There was minimal conversation, a lot of shouting 'hello's to familiar faces in the street and skipping around a bit in childlike submission to the early-morning jitters. The group collected a few other newsies as they walked, assimilating into the small throng of twenty-or-so boys gathered in the space behind the skyscraper that housed The New York World.
The headline that morning was "Spring Rains Cause Flood Damage in Business District", which was less than exciting, but relevant enough for any lower- or middle-class person to care enough to spend a penny. While the factories got off easy, lots of the smaller businesses had suffered from flooded cellars due to poor drainage, and two butchers and all of the florists had been hit the worst. Jack stretched his arms as he waited in line to purchase the day's papers, working up a little spiel in his head that would sell the headline better.
Some new face had managed to duck in line in front of him. Jack couldn't tell if he was actually quite so short, or if it was just because the kid was hunched over in attempt to look small. The nervous, invisible kind weren't hard to find in the streets of New York City, and Jack found them a tad more tolerable than new boys who were too loud and confident for their own good. The boy seemed to want to be ignored, and so Jack ignored him, digging a pair of quarters out of his pocket. The kid in front of him slapped down thirty-five cents on Wiesel's coin box, collected a stack of seventy newspapers, and slid them into the sling over his shoulder, shuffling away.
Jack stared after the boy with a critical eye as he purchased his own hundred papers. The new kid could barely carry seventy papers in such a small bag, much less sell them all in a day. Crutchie caught Jack's eye, having noticed the strange sight as well, and the two followed the crouched boy a few scene swiftly snagged the attention of Racetrack and Romeo, who crept over to see what was going on.
"Hey, Dumpy," shouted Race. The boy hesitated a moment and glanced up, unsure of who was being addressed.
"Yeah, he's talkin'a you." Jack strode up to the boy. "What's a newbie like you doin', buyin' up so many papes? You know they won't buy back the ones you can't sell, right?"
The new face made no response, either out of choice or out of an inability to move that came from fear. Not that the other boys were being explicitly intimidating or threatening; they were just curious, really. Jack scrutinized the boy's face a bit closer. Something about him seemed...off.
"Hold up a minute." The tall brunet snatched at the brim of the newcomer's newscap. "You ain't no newsboy."
The kid clawed for the hat like a cat for a ball of yarn, but the attempt was in vain. With a tug, the cap came off and two straw-colored braids dropped out from under it. The other boys clamored.
"What's this miss doin' mooching offa our papes?" cried Romeo incredulously.
"Yeah, you should be in the shirtwaist factory with the other working girls," said Crutchie. The girl stretched up on her toes as she unsuccessfully tried to grab her hat back from Jack.
"I'd like to see you boys try your luck at that factory. It's longer, harder work for far less pay. My cousin died from working in a factory like that too long." She glared sourly, but the shaking in her arms as they hugged the bag of papers to her chest revealed that she was pretty well terrified of the street boys that towered over her, however well she masked it with words.
Jack rolled his eyes, tossing the hat back into the girl's face. She spluttered as she fumbled to grasp it. "Look, all the same, there's plenty 'a work for a little girl in this city, no need to barge in here and invite your factory friends to steal our jobs."
"I'm not here to bring in other girls and take your papers," insisted she. "My pa's sick with somethin' and he hasn't been able to work the past couple of days. I just need to sell a few day's worth of papers for grocery money. I promise I won't stick around once he's better, so please don't tell anyone and just let me sell these."
The other boys looked reluctant. Jack pursed his lips. "Where you from, girlie?"
"Scots-Irish tenement. The one near the fire escapes you newsies sleep on."
"And what's ya name?" prodded Race.
She hesitated with a frown, but replied, "Siobhan."
Jack crossed his arms with a sigh. "Alright, Ireland. You can sell papes for three days, including this one, and no longer. Now put that hat back on and skedaddle before Weisel finds out he's been lettin' a girl buy papes."
The girl nodded, yanked her cap back over her braids, and scurried off down the street all in the same breath. She slowed as she reached the corner, messily stuffing her hair back up into the hat. Jack shook his head. A kid could never catch a break. At least he was never bored, selling papes, that was for sure.