In 1899, the streets of New York City echoed with the voices of newsies
peddling the papers of Joseph Pulitzer, William Randolph Hearst, and other
giants of the newspaper world. On every corner you saw them carrying the
banner, bringing you the news for a penny a pape. Poor orphans and
runaways, the newsies were a ragged army, without a leader. Until one day,
all that changed.
"Carryin' the banner! C'mon! Wake up!" Smudge gave a little shriek of surprise and tumbled out of her bunk.
"Real smooth there, Smudge," Snitch smirked. She grabbed the edge of the bunk and pulled herself up.
"Yeah, well, I don't listen to criticism from thumb suckers," she tossed out. Snitch pulled a face at her. She grabbed her clothes off the bedpost and slid her wire-rimmed glasses on her face.
"Move it, Mush," she groused.
"Aw, c'mon, Smudge, lighten up!" he grinned. She stepped on his foot. "Ow!"
"I said move it!" But she winked at him and slipped into one of the changing stalls.
"You smell bad," Crutchy complained.
"Hey!" Kid Blink protested.
"Guys, listen," Mush butted in. "Met this goil last night."
"Aw, ya meet a goil every night," Bumlets kidded. Smudge finished buttoning up her shirt and opened the door.
"Kloppman's gonna be mad if ya don't hurry," she singsonged.
"Won't he get mad at you too?" Robby asked, confused. Smudge pinched his cheek playfully.
"'Course not. I'se too cute!" she smirked.
"C'mon, Smudge," Jack groaned. "Come down from your little pedestal there." He slung her over his shoulder and started to carry her out of the lodging house.
"I'm a little big for ya ta do this," she objected.
"You're nothin' but a midget."
"Am not!"
"Are too."
"Am not! I'se just, eh, kinda short." Jack set her down on her feet.
"Yeah, real short," he grinned. Then he rolled his eyes. "Hey, look, it's da Pity Brigade."
"Free food," Mush reminded him.
"Yeah, well, I don't take charity," Jack retorted. The others shrugged and got in a somewhat orderly line for the nuns handing out bread and water. Smudge tapped her foot impatiently.
"Robby, c'mon!" she urged. "We'll miss the show."
"Hold it," he crabbed. He took off his black cap and held out his hand for the bread, then ran to catch up.
"Ya happy now?" she asked. Robby nodded, chewing fast. Smudge squeezed his skinny shoulder. "Youse too thin anyway, kid."
"Dear me!" Racetrack called. "What is that unpleasant aroma? I fear the sewer may have backed up durin' the night." Robby cracked up.
"Nah, too rotten ta be the sewer."
"Yeah!" Crutchy jumped in. "It must be the Delancey bruddahs!" The newsies started laughing. Oscar and Morris, however, were not amused. The bullies smiled tolerably for a moment. Then Oscar jumped Snipeshooter.
"In the back, ya lousy little shrimp!" he hissed. He shoved Snipes to the ground. Jack glared at the Delanceys, then reached out to help Snipes to his feet.
"Ain't good ta do that," Race murmured. "Not healthy." Jack looked at Oscar.
"Shouldn't be callin' people lousy little shrimps, Oscar, unless you're referrin' to the family resemblance ta yer bruddah here."
"Hey, five ta one Cowboy soaks 'em! Who's bettin'?" Racetrack hollered.
"Nah, bum odds," the others answered cheerfully.
"That's right. That's an insult," Cowboy said, grinning. "So's this!" He knocked Oscar's hat off and darted through the crowd. Morris and Oscar took off after him in a second. The others followed, egging them on. Smudge stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled appreciatively. Jack was the only one who could keep irritating the Delanceys and still live. The pursuers flagged behind, and Jack bumped square into two other boys.
"What do you think you're doing?" the older one asked, perplexed. Jack glanced behind and saw the Delanceys pushing their way through the crowd.
"Runnin'!" he shrieked, and he ran off again. Morris and Oscar plowed right through, knocking into the older boy.
"Wimp!" Smudge called when she saw him wince.
"Hey! I can't see!" Robby complained.
"Welcome to the club," Smudge groused. Jack climbed easily up the cast iron gate of the distribution offices and grinned cheekily. Froggy came out the door of the building with the fist load of papes.
"This is for the newsies!" he called, and the gates creaked open. Jack swung down.
"Aw, we'll get ya tomorrow, Cowboy," Morris threatened. Jack waved it off.
"Better'n yesterday!" Race cackled.
"Thank ya! Thank ya!" Jack said. Smudge poked him.
"If I get off my pedestal, will you get off your high horse?" she joked. Jack rolled his eyes and stepped up to the grate. He swung the clapper of the bell a few times.
"Mistah Weeeeaaaa-sel," he called teasingly.
"I'm comin'!" Weasel complained as he lifted the grate. "I'm comin'."
"Did ya miss me, Weasel? Did ya? Did ya miss me, Weasel?" Jack brown- nosed.
"Told ya a million times. The name is Weisel. Mistah Weisel to you." Jack grabbed a pape and the fat man glared at him. "How many?"
"Don't rush me, I'm perusin' da merchandise, Mistah Weasel," he said. Crutchy snorted. Jack slammed a coin down on the desk. "The usual."
"Hunnert papes for the wise guy," Weasel grouched. "Next!" Race wrestled a cigar and a match out of his pocket and stepped up.
"Mornin', yer Honor," he said. "Listen, will ya spot me fifty papes, huh? I got a hot tip on the fourth; won't waste your money."
"Sure thing?" Weasel asked skeptically.
"Oh, yeah. Not like last time." Weasel still looked dubious.
"Fifty papes," he said finally. Race grabbed the papers and plopped down next to Jack on the boardwalk.
"Leave your money in your other pants, Race? The ones that match?" Smudge teased.
"Anythin' good this mornin'?" Racetrack asked, purposefully ignoring her. Jack glanced up. A little boy was staring at him.
"Hey, ya wanna sit down?" Jack offered. The kid nodded, wide-eyed. Smudge grinned, remembering another little kid Jack had taken in. She'd been just a little older, but scared of everything. She glanced up at the boy at the head of the line. "Twenty papes, please," he said. "Never say please to Weasel," Smudge snorted. "An' twenty papes? He's new at this."
"Hey, look at this," Race said. "Baby born wit' two heads. Must be
from Brooklyn."
"What is this with you and Brooklyn?" Smudge asked.
"Spot Conlan," Racetrack said, raising an eyebrow. Suddenly Weasel
started yelling.
"Are you accusin' me of lyin', kid?" he threatened. The object of his anger, the wimpy one Oscar had plowed over, looked a little nervous.
"No, I just want my papers," he stammered. Jack, who had been paying attention, sauntered over and flipped nonchalantly through the pile of papes.
"It's nineteen, Weasel. Nineteen. But don't worry about it; it's an honest mistake." He leaned against the grate and jerked his thumb at Morris. "I mean, Morris here, he can't count ta twenty wit' his shoes on." Morris lunged for Jack. The little boy laughed. "Hey, Race, spot me two bits?" Racetrack, forgetting his supposedly penniless situation, dug a quarter out of his pocket and flipped it to Jack. "Thanks. 'Nother fifty for me friend here."
"I don't want more papers," the boy objected.
"Sure ya do; every newsie wants more papes." Jack handed the stack to the boy and started to walk away.
"I don't take charity from anyone, I don't even know you, I don't care to, so here are your papes," the boy said, thrusting them in Jack's face. The smaller boy darted up.
"Cowboy! They call him Cowboy," he chirped.
"Yeah, that an' a lotta other things, includin' Jack Kelly, which is what me muddah called me."
"Liar," Smudge said under her breath as Weasel handed her forty papes. She went over to join them.
"What do they call you, kid?" Jack asked.
"Les," the little boy answered. "And this is my brother David. He's older."
"Yeah, no kiddin'," Jack replied, handing his stack of papers to Mush. "How old are you, kid?"
"Uh, near ten," Les said.
"Eh, that's no good." Les' face fell. "If anyone asks you, say you're seven. See, younger sells more papes, Les, an' if we're gonna be partners, we've gotta be the best-"
"Wait a minute," David broke in. "Who said anything about being partners?"
"Well, you owe me fifty papes, right?" David nodded, a little confused. "Still, I'll consider it an honest investment. We sell tageddah, we split.seventy-thoity, plus you get the benefit of workin' for me no charge."
"That's fair," Smudge chimed in. David laughed and Jack imitated him. Davy looked perturbed.
"You're gettin' the chance of a lifetime here, Davy. Ya learn from Jack, ya learn from the best," Crutchy encouraged.
"If he's so good, how come he needs me?" David responded. Jack was starting to look exasperated.
"Listen, I don't need you, pal. But I ain't got a cute little brother like Les here ta front for me. Wit' this kid's puss, an' my God-given talent, we could be movin' thousand papes a week. So whaddaya say, Les? Ya wanna sell papes wit' me?"
"Yeah!" Les said, excited.
"So it's a deal?"
"Hold it," David argued. "It's got to be at least fifty-fifty." Jack stopped to think.
"Sixty-forty, I forget the whole thing," he offered. David sighed and reluctantly put out his hand. Jack spat in his and reached out to shake. Hurriedly Davy withdrew his hand.
"'Smattah?" Jack demanded.
"That's disgusting!" David said in revulsion. The veteran newsies cracked up. Smudge shook her head.
"Jack, you've got your work cut out for ya," she sighed.
"Aw, he might be good," he shrugged. "Eventually." Smudge snorted as Jack took his papes back from Mush. "Name of the is volume, Dave. Ya only took twenty papes. Why?"
"Bad headline," David said.
"That's the foist thing ya gotta learn," Jack told him. Dave looked crestfallen. "Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes. Wit'out newsies, nobody knows nothin'."
"That's us," Smudge reaffirmed. Just then a pretty girl walked by. The newsies started whistling.
"Look at dat angel! I'm in heaven!" Mush drooled.
"Why don't you guys ever do that ta me?" Smudge demanded.
"You ain't a goil! Youse just.youse just a newsie," Kid Blink shrugged. Smudge whapped him with her cap.
"Baby born wit' three heads!" Specs hollered, waving one of his papes. Smudge waited a bit for the stampede to subside.
"C'mon, Robby," she said. "Let's go down to Central."
"Whaddaya think of the new kids?" he asked.
"The Davy guy's got a lot ta learn," she smirked. "Give him two weeks."
"D'ya like him?" Robby asked slyly.
"'Course not," Smudge scoffed. "Stop tryin' ta play matchmaker!"
"Okay, okay," Robby said, waving his hands in surrender. "Whaddaya think about the headline?"
"Lousy," Smudge confessed. "Who wants ta read about a trolley strike that's been goin' on for three weeks? We gotta come up wit' somethin' better. What can we fix up?"
"There's a trash fire on page nine," Robby suggested.
"Nah, Jack's prob'ly got that one covered. How 'bout page twelve, the horse ?"
"What can we do to a horse ?"
"Eh.I don't know. Maybe one of 'em bolted or somethin'. You think it up."
"You came up with the idea!"
"Well.I don't know!" Smudge sputtered. "Make it up as we go along."
"That's what we do every day," Robby reminded her.
"Oh, well. Tough bananas," Smudge retorted.
"What's a banana?" Robby asked.
"Somethin' they gave us on Christmas in the orphanage. It's this sort of fruit thing. The outside's kinda tough, an' some little kid tried chewin' on it. So we used ta say 'tough bananas' at Saint Patrick's."
"Oh," Robby said, still not understanding. "So we can make up somethin' 'bout tough bananas?"
"No," Smudge said. "You're really dumb sometimes, Robby. Why do I even keep an eye on you?"
"Because of my dashing good looks?" Robby suggested. Smudge whacked him upside the head.
"Stop it. Go annoy Kid Blink."
"Okay!" Robby chirped, running off. Smudge shook her head. Robby was a handful, but if she didn't look out for the twelve-year-old boy, no one else would. She sighed and started shouting out headlines. A few people strolled up and bought papers.
"Runaway horse bolts at !" she shrieked. "Tramples two-year- old!" She paused. "This ain't workin'. Eh.Mrs. Astor's cat disappears! Reward offered!"
"Mrs. Astor's cat?" Snoddy snorted. She whirled around.
"Well, what did you come up with?" she demanded.
"Eh..nothin' yet," he admitted. Smudge elbowed his side.
"So I'm doin' better'n you. Sold six already," she said smugly.
"Outta what?"
"Forty," she confessed. Snoddy shook his head.
"Where'd Robby go?"
"He was startin' ta get all hyperactive on me, so I sent him off ta annoy Kid Blink," she told him.
"Help me sell, then," Snoddy asked. "Let's see if people will actually buy papes about Mrs. Astor's missing cat."
"Don't mock me," Smudge pouted.
"I ain't. People are prob'ly dyin' ta know 'bout Mrs. Astor's cat." Snoddy winked at her.
"Yeah. Sure. Go away, Snoddy," she retorted. "I c'n sell better wit'out ya." He tugged on her long braid, then sauntered away whistling. She shook her head and went back to work. The headline weren't the best, but she sold thirty-eight by the end of the day. She started back to the distribution center.
"How many d'ya gotta eat?" Bumlets asked.
"Two," she told him. "You?"
"Eleven," he said unhappily. "Don't think I have enough." She patted his arm.
"I'll help ya out if ya need it," she promised. "I did pretty good taday." He grinned a little.
"Hey, Smudge, seen Race?" Crutchy asked.
"Not since this mornin'," she told him. "I heard there was a good race taday. Prob'ly still at Sheepshead. Where's Jack an' the new kids?"
"Don't know," he shrugged. "Ain't seen 'em." Suddenly Smudge felt someone grab her from behind.
"Robby," she screeched. "Are ya tryin' ta choke me ta death? I can't breathe!"
"He's been like that all day," Blink moaned.
"That's why I made him go annoy you," Smudge smirked. Blink kicked her playfully.
"I'm hungry," Robby announced.
"Youse always hungry," Crutchy retorted.
"C'mon, kid," said Smudge. "We'll head back to the lodging house. It's gettin' dark. Jack should be comin' home soon, an' I want ta talk to him." However, it was long past dark when Jack and Race finally came home.
"Good day at Sheepshead?" Mush inquired.
"Can it," Race sulked.
"That's a no," Bumlets affirmed.
"Where've ya been, Jack?" Itey asked.
"Jacobs' apartment," he replied.
"Jacobs?"
"That's the new guy. David Jacobs." Jack started upstairs.
"You're late," Smudge frowned.
"Yeah, well, I had dinner over at Dave's house," Jack told her.
"What was it like?" she asked him, sitting up on the bunk. Jack flopped down on his back next to her.
"Aw, just soup. And a cake."
"Don't make me jealous," Robby shouted from under the covers.
"Go to sleep, Robert Caraway," Smudge told him. "They got a family?"
"Yeah. Faddah, muddah, an' a sister." She started running her fingers through his light brown hair.
"She pretty?"
"Yeah," he whispered. "Her name's Sarah."
"Think you'll see her again?" Smudge asked.
"You get made if I try gettin' you interested in guys, Julia Caraway," Robby scowled.
"Go to sleep, Robby," she threatened. "Jack needs a goil."
"Aw, I got me a li'l sis," he grinned. "Youse good enough."
"I ain't your real sister," she reminded him.
"Yeah, an' Robby ain't your real brother," Jack countered. "We's all the family we need." He looked up at her. "Saw Warden Snyder taday." "He see you?"
"Eh.he started chasin' after me," Jack mumbled.
"Jack!" "'Sokay; I'll just lie low for a while," he shrugged. "Some other kid'll get in the Refuge an' he'll forget." Smudge shoved his battered hat over his eyes.
"Go to bed, Jack Kelly," she said. "And kindly get off my bunk." Jack lazily peeked at her under the brim of his black cowboy hat and dragged himself over to his own bed.
"Hey, I saw the trolley strike. Looks like we'll be gettin' a good headline tomorrow. They's beatin' up the bulls an' everythin'."
"Anythin' would be better than the headline we had today," Bumlets groaned.
"Lights out!" Kloppman hollered. "And I want everybody in by ten tomorrow. Understand?"
"We understand, Kloppman!" Jack yelled.
"Just making sure." Smudge unhooked her glasses and set them on the nightstand. She had just closed her eyes when she heard Kloppman yelling in her ear.
"Caraway!" he bellowed. She cracked open one eye.
"I'm awake," she mumbled.
"Just making sure. Get up!" Smudge dragged herself up and got dressed. She was still trying to button up her vest when she reached the distribution offices. Several of the boys were standing in front of Weasel's little grate, screaming at him.
"Carryin' the banner! C'mon! Wake up!" Smudge gave a little shriek of surprise and tumbled out of her bunk.
"Real smooth there, Smudge," Snitch smirked. She grabbed the edge of the bunk and pulled herself up.
"Yeah, well, I don't listen to criticism from thumb suckers," she tossed out. Snitch pulled a face at her. She grabbed her clothes off the bedpost and slid her wire-rimmed glasses on her face.
"Move it, Mush," she groused.
"Aw, c'mon, Smudge, lighten up!" he grinned. She stepped on his foot. "Ow!"
"I said move it!" But she winked at him and slipped into one of the changing stalls.
"You smell bad," Crutchy complained.
"Hey!" Kid Blink protested.
"Guys, listen," Mush butted in. "Met this goil last night."
"Aw, ya meet a goil every night," Bumlets kidded. Smudge finished buttoning up her shirt and opened the door.
"Kloppman's gonna be mad if ya don't hurry," she singsonged.
"Won't he get mad at you too?" Robby asked, confused. Smudge pinched his cheek playfully.
"'Course not. I'se too cute!" she smirked.
"C'mon, Smudge," Jack groaned. "Come down from your little pedestal there." He slung her over his shoulder and started to carry her out of the lodging house.
"I'm a little big for ya ta do this," she objected.
"You're nothin' but a midget."
"Am not!"
"Are too."
"Am not! I'se just, eh, kinda short." Jack set her down on her feet.
"Yeah, real short," he grinned. Then he rolled his eyes. "Hey, look, it's da Pity Brigade."
"Free food," Mush reminded him.
"Yeah, well, I don't take charity," Jack retorted. The others shrugged and got in a somewhat orderly line for the nuns handing out bread and water. Smudge tapped her foot impatiently.
"Robby, c'mon!" she urged. "We'll miss the show."
"Hold it," he crabbed. He took off his black cap and held out his hand for the bread, then ran to catch up.
"Ya happy now?" she asked. Robby nodded, chewing fast. Smudge squeezed his skinny shoulder. "Youse too thin anyway, kid."
"Dear me!" Racetrack called. "What is that unpleasant aroma? I fear the sewer may have backed up durin' the night." Robby cracked up.
"Nah, too rotten ta be the sewer."
"Yeah!" Crutchy jumped in. "It must be the Delancey bruddahs!" The newsies started laughing. Oscar and Morris, however, were not amused. The bullies smiled tolerably for a moment. Then Oscar jumped Snipeshooter.
"In the back, ya lousy little shrimp!" he hissed. He shoved Snipes to the ground. Jack glared at the Delanceys, then reached out to help Snipes to his feet.
"Ain't good ta do that," Race murmured. "Not healthy." Jack looked at Oscar.
"Shouldn't be callin' people lousy little shrimps, Oscar, unless you're referrin' to the family resemblance ta yer bruddah here."
"Hey, five ta one Cowboy soaks 'em! Who's bettin'?" Racetrack hollered.
"Nah, bum odds," the others answered cheerfully.
"That's right. That's an insult," Cowboy said, grinning. "So's this!" He knocked Oscar's hat off and darted through the crowd. Morris and Oscar took off after him in a second. The others followed, egging them on. Smudge stuck her fingers in her mouth and whistled appreciatively. Jack was the only one who could keep irritating the Delanceys and still live. The pursuers flagged behind, and Jack bumped square into two other boys.
"What do you think you're doing?" the older one asked, perplexed. Jack glanced behind and saw the Delanceys pushing their way through the crowd.
"Runnin'!" he shrieked, and he ran off again. Morris and Oscar plowed right through, knocking into the older boy.
"Wimp!" Smudge called when she saw him wince.
"Hey! I can't see!" Robby complained.
"Welcome to the club," Smudge groused. Jack climbed easily up the cast iron gate of the distribution offices and grinned cheekily. Froggy came out the door of the building with the fist load of papes.
"This is for the newsies!" he called, and the gates creaked open. Jack swung down.
"Aw, we'll get ya tomorrow, Cowboy," Morris threatened. Jack waved it off.
"Better'n yesterday!" Race cackled.
"Thank ya! Thank ya!" Jack said. Smudge poked him.
"If I get off my pedestal, will you get off your high horse?" she joked. Jack rolled his eyes and stepped up to the grate. He swung the clapper of the bell a few times.
"Mistah Weeeeaaaa-sel," he called teasingly.
"I'm comin'!" Weasel complained as he lifted the grate. "I'm comin'."
"Did ya miss me, Weasel? Did ya? Did ya miss me, Weasel?" Jack brown- nosed.
"Told ya a million times. The name is Weisel. Mistah Weisel to you." Jack grabbed a pape and the fat man glared at him. "How many?"
"Don't rush me, I'm perusin' da merchandise, Mistah Weasel," he said. Crutchy snorted. Jack slammed a coin down on the desk. "The usual."
"Hunnert papes for the wise guy," Weasel grouched. "Next!" Race wrestled a cigar and a match out of his pocket and stepped up.
"Mornin', yer Honor," he said. "Listen, will ya spot me fifty papes, huh? I got a hot tip on the fourth; won't waste your money."
"Sure thing?" Weasel asked skeptically.
"Oh, yeah. Not like last time." Weasel still looked dubious.
"Fifty papes," he said finally. Race grabbed the papers and plopped down next to Jack on the boardwalk.
"Leave your money in your other pants, Race? The ones that match?" Smudge teased.
"Anythin' good this mornin'?" Racetrack asked, purposefully ignoring her. Jack glanced up. A little boy was staring at him.
"Hey, ya wanna sit down?" Jack offered. The kid nodded, wide-eyed. Smudge grinned, remembering another little kid Jack had taken in. She'd been just a little older, but scared of everything. She glanced up at the boy at the head of the line. "Twenty papes, please," he said. "Never say please to Weasel," Smudge snorted. "An' twenty papes? He's new at this."
"Hey, look at this," Race said. "Baby born wit' two heads. Must be
from Brooklyn."
"What is this with you and Brooklyn?" Smudge asked.
"Spot Conlan," Racetrack said, raising an eyebrow. Suddenly Weasel
started yelling.
"Are you accusin' me of lyin', kid?" he threatened. The object of his anger, the wimpy one Oscar had plowed over, looked a little nervous.
"No, I just want my papers," he stammered. Jack, who had been paying attention, sauntered over and flipped nonchalantly through the pile of papes.
"It's nineteen, Weasel. Nineteen. But don't worry about it; it's an honest mistake." He leaned against the grate and jerked his thumb at Morris. "I mean, Morris here, he can't count ta twenty wit' his shoes on." Morris lunged for Jack. The little boy laughed. "Hey, Race, spot me two bits?" Racetrack, forgetting his supposedly penniless situation, dug a quarter out of his pocket and flipped it to Jack. "Thanks. 'Nother fifty for me friend here."
"I don't want more papers," the boy objected.
"Sure ya do; every newsie wants more papes." Jack handed the stack to the boy and started to walk away.
"I don't take charity from anyone, I don't even know you, I don't care to, so here are your papes," the boy said, thrusting them in Jack's face. The smaller boy darted up.
"Cowboy! They call him Cowboy," he chirped.
"Yeah, that an' a lotta other things, includin' Jack Kelly, which is what me muddah called me."
"Liar," Smudge said under her breath as Weasel handed her forty papes. She went over to join them.
"What do they call you, kid?" Jack asked.
"Les," the little boy answered. "And this is my brother David. He's older."
"Yeah, no kiddin'," Jack replied, handing his stack of papers to Mush. "How old are you, kid?"
"Uh, near ten," Les said.
"Eh, that's no good." Les' face fell. "If anyone asks you, say you're seven. See, younger sells more papes, Les, an' if we're gonna be partners, we've gotta be the best-"
"Wait a minute," David broke in. "Who said anything about being partners?"
"Well, you owe me fifty papes, right?" David nodded, a little confused. "Still, I'll consider it an honest investment. We sell tageddah, we split.seventy-thoity, plus you get the benefit of workin' for me no charge."
"That's fair," Smudge chimed in. David laughed and Jack imitated him. Davy looked perturbed.
"You're gettin' the chance of a lifetime here, Davy. Ya learn from Jack, ya learn from the best," Crutchy encouraged.
"If he's so good, how come he needs me?" David responded. Jack was starting to look exasperated.
"Listen, I don't need you, pal. But I ain't got a cute little brother like Les here ta front for me. Wit' this kid's puss, an' my God-given talent, we could be movin' thousand papes a week. So whaddaya say, Les? Ya wanna sell papes wit' me?"
"Yeah!" Les said, excited.
"So it's a deal?"
"Hold it," David argued. "It's got to be at least fifty-fifty." Jack stopped to think.
"Sixty-forty, I forget the whole thing," he offered. David sighed and reluctantly put out his hand. Jack spat in his and reached out to shake. Hurriedly Davy withdrew his hand.
"'Smattah?" Jack demanded.
"That's disgusting!" David said in revulsion. The veteran newsies cracked up. Smudge shook her head.
"Jack, you've got your work cut out for ya," she sighed.
"Aw, he might be good," he shrugged. "Eventually." Smudge snorted as Jack took his papes back from Mush. "Name of the is volume, Dave. Ya only took twenty papes. Why?"
"Bad headline," David said.
"That's the foist thing ya gotta learn," Jack told him. Dave looked crestfallen. "Headlines don't sell papes. Newsies sell papes. Wit'out newsies, nobody knows nothin'."
"That's us," Smudge reaffirmed. Just then a pretty girl walked by. The newsies started whistling.
"Look at dat angel! I'm in heaven!" Mush drooled.
"Why don't you guys ever do that ta me?" Smudge demanded.
"You ain't a goil! Youse just.youse just a newsie," Kid Blink shrugged. Smudge whapped him with her cap.
"Baby born wit' three heads!" Specs hollered, waving one of his papes. Smudge waited a bit for the stampede to subside.
"C'mon, Robby," she said. "Let's go down to Central."
"Whaddaya think of the new kids?" he asked.
"The Davy guy's got a lot ta learn," she smirked. "Give him two weeks."
"D'ya like him?" Robby asked slyly.
"'Course not," Smudge scoffed. "Stop tryin' ta play matchmaker!"
"Okay, okay," Robby said, waving his hands in surrender. "Whaddaya think about the headline?"
"Lousy," Smudge confessed. "Who wants ta read about a trolley strike that's been goin' on for three weeks? We gotta come up wit' somethin' better. What can we fix up?"
"There's a trash fire on page nine," Robby suggested.
"Nah, Jack's prob'ly got that one covered. How 'bout page twelve, the horse ?"
"What can we do to a horse ?"
"Eh.I don't know. Maybe one of 'em bolted or somethin'. You think it up."
"You came up with the idea!"
"Well.I don't know!" Smudge sputtered. "Make it up as we go along."
"That's what we do every day," Robby reminded her.
"Oh, well. Tough bananas," Smudge retorted.
"What's a banana?" Robby asked.
"Somethin' they gave us on Christmas in the orphanage. It's this sort of fruit thing. The outside's kinda tough, an' some little kid tried chewin' on it. So we used ta say 'tough bananas' at Saint Patrick's."
"Oh," Robby said, still not understanding. "So we can make up somethin' 'bout tough bananas?"
"No," Smudge said. "You're really dumb sometimes, Robby. Why do I even keep an eye on you?"
"Because of my dashing good looks?" Robby suggested. Smudge whacked him upside the head.
"Stop it. Go annoy Kid Blink."
"Okay!" Robby chirped, running off. Smudge shook her head. Robby was a handful, but if she didn't look out for the twelve-year-old boy, no one else would. She sighed and started shouting out headlines. A few people strolled up and bought papers.
"Runaway horse bolts at !" she shrieked. "Tramples two-year- old!" She paused. "This ain't workin'. Eh.Mrs. Astor's cat disappears! Reward offered!"
"Mrs. Astor's cat?" Snoddy snorted. She whirled around.
"Well, what did you come up with?" she demanded.
"Eh..nothin' yet," he admitted. Smudge elbowed his side.
"So I'm doin' better'n you. Sold six already," she said smugly.
"Outta what?"
"Forty," she confessed. Snoddy shook his head.
"Where'd Robby go?"
"He was startin' ta get all hyperactive on me, so I sent him off ta annoy Kid Blink," she told him.
"Help me sell, then," Snoddy asked. "Let's see if people will actually buy papes about Mrs. Astor's missing cat."
"Don't mock me," Smudge pouted.
"I ain't. People are prob'ly dyin' ta know 'bout Mrs. Astor's cat." Snoddy winked at her.
"Yeah. Sure. Go away, Snoddy," she retorted. "I c'n sell better wit'out ya." He tugged on her long braid, then sauntered away whistling. She shook her head and went back to work. The headline weren't the best, but she sold thirty-eight by the end of the day. She started back to the distribution center.
"How many d'ya gotta eat?" Bumlets asked.
"Two," she told him. "You?"
"Eleven," he said unhappily. "Don't think I have enough." She patted his arm.
"I'll help ya out if ya need it," she promised. "I did pretty good taday." He grinned a little.
"Hey, Smudge, seen Race?" Crutchy asked.
"Not since this mornin'," she told him. "I heard there was a good race taday. Prob'ly still at Sheepshead. Where's Jack an' the new kids?"
"Don't know," he shrugged. "Ain't seen 'em." Suddenly Smudge felt someone grab her from behind.
"Robby," she screeched. "Are ya tryin' ta choke me ta death? I can't breathe!"
"He's been like that all day," Blink moaned.
"That's why I made him go annoy you," Smudge smirked. Blink kicked her playfully.
"I'm hungry," Robby announced.
"Youse always hungry," Crutchy retorted.
"C'mon, kid," said Smudge. "We'll head back to the lodging house. It's gettin' dark. Jack should be comin' home soon, an' I want ta talk to him." However, it was long past dark when Jack and Race finally came home.
"Good day at Sheepshead?" Mush inquired.
"Can it," Race sulked.
"That's a no," Bumlets affirmed.
"Where've ya been, Jack?" Itey asked.
"Jacobs' apartment," he replied.
"Jacobs?"
"That's the new guy. David Jacobs." Jack started upstairs.
"You're late," Smudge frowned.
"Yeah, well, I had dinner over at Dave's house," Jack told her.
"What was it like?" she asked him, sitting up on the bunk. Jack flopped down on his back next to her.
"Aw, just soup. And a cake."
"Don't make me jealous," Robby shouted from under the covers.
"Go to sleep, Robert Caraway," Smudge told him. "They got a family?"
"Yeah. Faddah, muddah, an' a sister." She started running her fingers through his light brown hair.
"She pretty?"
"Yeah," he whispered. "Her name's Sarah."
"Think you'll see her again?" Smudge asked.
"You get made if I try gettin' you interested in guys, Julia Caraway," Robby scowled.
"Go to sleep, Robby," she threatened. "Jack needs a goil."
"Aw, I got me a li'l sis," he grinned. "Youse good enough."
"I ain't your real sister," she reminded him.
"Yeah, an' Robby ain't your real brother," Jack countered. "We's all the family we need." He looked up at her. "Saw Warden Snyder taday." "He see you?"
"Eh.he started chasin' after me," Jack mumbled.
"Jack!" "'Sokay; I'll just lie low for a while," he shrugged. "Some other kid'll get in the Refuge an' he'll forget." Smudge shoved his battered hat over his eyes.
"Go to bed, Jack Kelly," she said. "And kindly get off my bunk." Jack lazily peeked at her under the brim of his black cowboy hat and dragged himself over to his own bed.
"Hey, I saw the trolley strike. Looks like we'll be gettin' a good headline tomorrow. They's beatin' up the bulls an' everythin'."
"Anythin' would be better than the headline we had today," Bumlets groaned.
"Lights out!" Kloppman hollered. "And I want everybody in by ten tomorrow. Understand?"
"We understand, Kloppman!" Jack yelled.
"Just making sure." Smudge unhooked her glasses and set them on the nightstand. She had just closed her eyes when she heard Kloppman yelling in her ear.
"Caraway!" he bellowed. She cracked open one eye.
"I'm awake," she mumbled.
"Just making sure. Get up!" Smudge dragged herself up and got dressed. She was still trying to button up her vest when she reached the distribution offices. Several of the boys were standing in front of Weasel's little grate, screaming at him.
