"Hey, hey, break it up! Break it up!" Grabbing their collars, the cop yanked the two newsies apart to the jeers of the crowd. Both boys struggled to break his iron grasp, fists and curses flying at each other and at him. The crowd that had surrounded the fight sighed and began to dissolve as they realized it was over, muttering how the "damn copper" had spoiled their fun. The two boys stopped struggling as the people vanished, and an eerie silence punctuated only by the rumble of the city in the blocks around them filled the newsprint-strewn alley where the three stood. The man dropped his hold on the two and stepped back, surveying them with steely gray eyes. His moustache, dark brown and perched pristinely beneath his nose, twitched as he looked the street rats over: One was tall and thin, with messy, tan hair and a brown patch over his left eye; the other, short and stocky, had dark brown hair and nursed a bloody nose.
"What happened here?" he asked angrily. The boys exchanged worried glances before staring at their feet as if hoping the explanation would be spelled out for them in the dusty tiles.
"Well, uh, yer honah…" the Italian boy on his left stuttered.
"Spit it out." The policeman ordered.
"See, uh, we was playin' craps, an' see, I caught 'im playin' with faulty dice…" The other boy interrupted the one with the eyepatch.
"Yeah, but he had 'em too, an' I caught 'im first..."
"Why, you..." they lunged at each other again, stopped from further carnage only by the officer's quick thinking. Both began telling their stories vehemently at once, each tale gaining power and energy as they struggled to break free. The cop held up a hand and both fell silent and limp, glaring at each other.
"So, you were fighting over a lousy game an' some cheep loaded dice?" he clarified skeptically. The boy addressed as Race grinned sheepishly.
"Kinda funny, huh, officer?" The policeman glowered at him.
"If it was funny, I'd be laughing. Am I laughing, boys?"
"Don't look like it." The boy with the eye patch replied. A brief silence ensued before the next inquiry.
"How'd these newspapers get here?" The sergeant asked, letting go of their collars again and gesturing to the state of the alley. The two newsies looked at the ground, looked at each other, then looked at the policeman.
"Well… That's kinda a long story..." The boy on the right began. "Guess they just got pulled inta the fight with us."
"Gawd, didn't realize all dat stuff was torn." Race groaned, and the policeman saw his expression change to one like he'd lost a bet. "Guess we're sleepin' on the streets tonight, Blink…" His expression changed suddenly, as if he'd had an idea. "Unless, of course, we could find a kind, carin' person ta buy 'em from us." He looked hopefully at the policeman. The cop hesitated.
"Yeah, officah, please? Ya wouldn't want two more kids on the streets causin' trouble for ya, would ya?" the newsboy named Blink pleaded. "Just this once, an' we'll try nevvah to bother you again." Race nodded.
"An' we'll help ya pick 'em all up an' everythin'.." he added. The policeman considered it for a moment. If he just let them go, the streets would be trashed. But by buying them and getting the street cleaned up because of it…
"Alright. It's a deal." The boys grinned.
"About a hunn'red, officah. A dollah, that's all." He dug a bill out of his pocket and handed it over to Race's outstretched fingers. The two boys thanked him and darted around, grabbing the sheets of crumpled paper and handed them carefully to the policeman before grabbing their hats off the ground and, thanking him, dashing off. The sergeant smiled. Litter off the streets, a fight broken up, a hundred crumpled copies of the New York World, and two repentant street rats. With this new effort, he almost had enough credit for that promotion, and it had only cost him a dollar and five minutes. The sergeant glanced briefly at the front page of the top paper, then suddenly did a double take. The date next to the banner: June 5th, 1899. But today's the 6th, he realized. Flipping through the rest, he found other dates: June 3rd, 1899. June 4th. He swore violently, then, throwing the stack in disgust, stomped off. The most recent papers were already a day old.
Meanwhile, a long ways away, the two boys stood on a street corner and counted their earnings. A dollar from the cop, plus fifty cents the other papers they had actually sold…
"We're rich!" declared Blink.
"So long as dat copper doesn't find out we faked that fight an' that story.." Race reminded him, gingerly making sure his nose was still in one piece. "Gawd, didn't know you could punch that hard."
"Sorry… Thought you'd dodge it." Both grinned, all injuries forgiven as they looked back at the pile of money.
"Think all that was worth it?" Race asked.
"Bettah believe it." And they headed off in the direction of Irving Hall for the 5:00 show.