Dusk was settling in, and Serce still had a handful of papers to sell.
People were starting to go home, the working day coming to an end for most
of them. She let out a sigh. I can't do dis, she thought, sellin' my own
papes is hawd enough with da shoitage of money goin' around. "Extra extra!
Read it in da Woild! New buildings built on an old cemetery!". She was
becoming desperate. Nobody was buying, her creativity had just about been
drained out of her. Sighing again, she made a decision. Tamorrow, Glittah
will hafta woik da streets wid me. If she ain't good at bein' a
newsie…well, we'se gonna have to git her some oddah job.
The prospect of another job for these kids was practically impossible, though. With no qualifications, hardly any schooling and not a trace of references, who would hire them apart from sweat shops and factories? Even there, they preferred the stronger, more well-built children. Glitter wouldn't fit in either category. And Serce didn't want her to have to hang around with the flash-men. Stealing wallets was a really risky business. Of course, the earnings were far better than more other jobs, but being caught and sent to the refuge was always a powerful menace.
Is Medda hirin'? Serce asked herself, continuing her train of thought. Nah, I doubt it. She just got herself a coupla new waitresses. "Serce!" suddenly she was jolted out of her mind wanderings. Turning her head, she saw Jack walking towards her. "Heya Cowboy," she answered quietly. "Still sellin', huh?" he asked pointlessly, just trying to make conversation; it was a hasty attempt though, one that obtained a glower and no reply from Serce. He made a face. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, "I know it's been a tough sellin' day. No one's got a penny ta spare." Serce accepted this cover-up, and acknowledged his comment with a nod. "True. I'se makin' up da weidest headlines in me life, and dey still ain't buyin'." Jack was reluctant to offer to help her again. So he decided to do something easier. "We can trade 'em back in, ya know. Aftah da strike, we don't hafta eat what we don't sell." Serce smiled; Jack Kelly and his newsboys could never resist a chance to remind themselves and anyone around of the strike they had won. It was an honorable accomplishment, though; she had to hand them that much.
Jack waited for her answer. Although knowing papes could be traded back gave them more sense of security, none of them liked doing it. It was like admitting you couldn't sell as much as you took, admitting your eyes had been larger than your stomach, your pride had been larger than your capacity. Realizing this, he shuffled his feet and turned his eyes away from her. "Hey. Don't worry 'bout it. Ya sold more den yer share of papes today." Serce knew what he was saying was right. She still didn't like the idea of giving back anyone's papers at the dc, though. She heaved another sigh; knowing she had no other options, she gave a quick nod. Jack answered with a nod of his own. "Great. I'se on me way ta da lodgin' house," he said. It was her call whether she wanted his company or not. Serce pondered the situation for a moment. She'd rather do this on her own, she decided. Turning to look at him, she said, "Alright. I'll see ya dere den." Hesitating, she added a quick, "Thanks" before turning and walking away.
Although the newsies were constantly in need of help, asking for or accepting it was never really an explicit deal. They all liked to think they could make it on their own. Relationships weren't permanent, and someday they'd all have to venture out into the world alone. Openly depending on one another wasn't very recommended. Every group has their own conscious or unconscious moral codes; it was no different with the newsies. Truth was, everyone needed to watch their own backs and get used to doing so; they knew they could count on each other, but they also knew they couldn't do it forever.
The prospect of another job for these kids was practically impossible, though. With no qualifications, hardly any schooling and not a trace of references, who would hire them apart from sweat shops and factories? Even there, they preferred the stronger, more well-built children. Glitter wouldn't fit in either category. And Serce didn't want her to have to hang around with the flash-men. Stealing wallets was a really risky business. Of course, the earnings were far better than more other jobs, but being caught and sent to the refuge was always a powerful menace.
Is Medda hirin'? Serce asked herself, continuing her train of thought. Nah, I doubt it. She just got herself a coupla new waitresses. "Serce!" suddenly she was jolted out of her mind wanderings. Turning her head, she saw Jack walking towards her. "Heya Cowboy," she answered quietly. "Still sellin', huh?" he asked pointlessly, just trying to make conversation; it was a hasty attempt though, one that obtained a glower and no reply from Serce. He made a face. "Sorry," he said sheepishly, "I know it's been a tough sellin' day. No one's got a penny ta spare." Serce accepted this cover-up, and acknowledged his comment with a nod. "True. I'se makin' up da weidest headlines in me life, and dey still ain't buyin'." Jack was reluctant to offer to help her again. So he decided to do something easier. "We can trade 'em back in, ya know. Aftah da strike, we don't hafta eat what we don't sell." Serce smiled; Jack Kelly and his newsboys could never resist a chance to remind themselves and anyone around of the strike they had won. It was an honorable accomplishment, though; she had to hand them that much.
Jack waited for her answer. Although knowing papes could be traded back gave them more sense of security, none of them liked doing it. It was like admitting you couldn't sell as much as you took, admitting your eyes had been larger than your stomach, your pride had been larger than your capacity. Realizing this, he shuffled his feet and turned his eyes away from her. "Hey. Don't worry 'bout it. Ya sold more den yer share of papes today." Serce knew what he was saying was right. She still didn't like the idea of giving back anyone's papers at the dc, though. She heaved another sigh; knowing she had no other options, she gave a quick nod. Jack answered with a nod of his own. "Great. I'se on me way ta da lodgin' house," he said. It was her call whether she wanted his company or not. Serce pondered the situation for a moment. She'd rather do this on her own, she decided. Turning to look at him, she said, "Alright. I'll see ya dere den." Hesitating, she added a quick, "Thanks" before turning and walking away.
Although the newsies were constantly in need of help, asking for or accepting it was never really an explicit deal. They all liked to think they could make it on their own. Relationships weren't permanent, and someday they'd all have to venture out into the world alone. Openly depending on one another wasn't very recommended. Every group has their own conscious or unconscious moral codes; it was no different with the newsies. Truth was, everyone needed to watch their own backs and get used to doing so; they knew they could count on each other, but they also knew they couldn't do it forever.