A/N: Oopsies I'm scared. I heard on another fic mention of the fact that
an article was read containing info on fanfic writers being sued. So I
uploaded a revised version of this chapter with a disclaimer! If you ask
me, suing fanficcers is silly 'cause we all know that they are write
stories based on other peoples ideas… In this case Newsies is owned by
Disney.
Disclaimer: Please don't sue me. I never said I owned newsies. I never will. Disney has that good luck. (I'll buy it! Three pennies!) This disclaimer will count for all my chaps unless I feel like writing another disclaimer. Hehehe… Viva les Bill et Ted! (I do not own Bill and Ted in either of their Adventures)
Life in Black and White
It was rainy, the streets of Manhattan drenched with water. The morn was early; so early that practically everybody of importance and some with none whatsoever were still in bed and asleep. And yet somewhere, in that early drizzly morn, machines were running at full tilt as the printing presses tried to prepare for a wave of young newsies, ready and rested for the day's job ahead. Frantically, workers manned the printers, fighting against time to be finished before the bell rang.
But the bell did ring, and the gates swung open. Newsies from the far corners of Manhattan came rushing in, scrambling around one another to be first to get the daily papes. Cowboy, as usual, got there first.
"How many papes today?" Weasel asked, not in the friendliest manner.
"Let me see the headlines …" Weasel motioned. A girl working at the printing presses brought forward a bundle.
"Lemme guess; a hundred papes as usual, eh?"
"Tanx, Weeeasel. Here's your dough."
"Now scram, and don't call me Weasel again, ya hear?"
Meanwhile, in the presses, workers rushed to meet the demands of the voice below, always shouting "Come on, come on, come on! Keep it comin', keep it comin'! Come on, come on, come on!" Distributors packaged bundles; fifty papes, thirty, twenty, tied in tough twine. Fingers bled, palms were rubbed raw, feet hurt.
The Dulancy brothers came up, and Weasel spotted them an extra five papes apiece. One young girl, infuriated, packaged an extra pape in the next newsie's bundle. After counting 'em, the boy looked up and winked, trying not ta grin. Then he wandered away, assessing the headlines.
Jack Kelly's voice could be heard in the distance, shouting out one or another exaggerated headline; the crowd in the courtyard thinned, and eventually the last newsies wandered out, shouting they're wears.
After a break when the next issue was delivered to the presses, the kids reloaded and started working again. The voices of newsies continued to haunt the streets, fainter and less frequent as last papes were sold or the sellers gave up. All through the late morn to early afternoon, as the rain continued to drop, the kids at the press worked, less rushed for time, preparing the afternoon issue. The afternoon newsies came, got they're papes, and the kids from the presses left.
The last to leave the courtyard were two girls, one draping a shawl over her shoulders to keep her at least a little dry, the other pulling a Jeff cap a little further down over her long, braided hair. The rain wasn't that bad, only a slight sprinkle really, but the walk home was a long one. As they walked, the girls chatted.
"Don't see why ya insist on wearing that Jeff cap, Zelly." One of the girls, with short brown hair and brown eyes, said.
" 'Cause" the other one, obviously Zelly, said back. "It's all I got to cover my head. I'll take that shawl if ya want." And with that Zelly made a pretend grab at her friend's shawl. The young girl ducked away.
"No, thanks anyway," the brunette said.
Zelly shrugged. "Worth a try anyway." A quick grin lit her face then disappeared, as she looked intently at her friend. "Bronx, I heard that ya spotted some newsboy an extra pape …"
It was Bronx's turn to shrug. "Hey, Weasel spotted two boys five each. It's not fair."
"It ain't, but Weasel won't fire himself. He'll fire you if you get caught. Please, Bronxy, don't get on Weasel's bad side.
"Everybody who isn't a scab or a snitch already is." Bronx muttered darkly.
"Who was it, anyway?"
"Who I gave the pape to? Dunno, don' care." Bronx replied.
The young girls passed a newsie on the side of the street. Business wasn't going that well; nobody was even in site in any direction. Bronx pulled to the side.
"Wanna buy a pape?" the boy asked hopefully.
"Nah, thanks," Zelly said, pulling back a little. "Barely gots enough to pay for bread as it is."
"Hey, kid, how's it going?" That was Bronx.
"Not good," the newsboy replied. "Nobody comes out in the rain. An me papes are soaked so bad ye can't read the headlines." He shoved a bleary pape in the girls' faces. "Sure ye don't wanna buy? Help me out lots."
"Sorry, can't," Bronx said. "Gotta go on now anyways."
"Seeya!" the newsboy said after them. Then, as a likely-looking customer came down the street, he started shrieking. "Extry, extry, read all about it! 'Refuge still up and running!' Extry, extry …"
The two girls hurried on their way.
The girls burst into a tall, stark building and, after Bronx hung up her shawl and Zelly her Jeff cap, they headed wearily toward the stairs. A dull thud, thud, thud as both girls walked up to the second story announced their arrival; their mark was left among many other muddy prints covering the old wood floor.
Upstairs was a small landing, then a long, narrow corridor lined with doors. At the far end a faint stream of light poured through the old yellow window, revealing peeling wallpaper and a patch of worn flooring. Other than the stairs the girls had just come up, there was another flight leading to the third floor.
Zelly and Bronx's room was down the corridor and to the left; they shared it with one other girl. This is where they headed. There was still time before dinner and chores; they could change and go downstairs to the lounge.
Each girl had two sets of clothing, one to wear and one to be washed. Then they had socks, undergarments, and if they were lucky, a nun might give them a winter coat. Other then that, they got one light meal a day and free board from the sisters, in exchange for doing chores. It wasn't a bad deal; but most of the girls still did jobs on the side to get a little more food in they're stomachs, or a heavier blanket to sleep under, or boots to wear on their feet during winter. Zelly and Bronx already had boots; they were donated to the nuns by some rich person and they were really too big for the girls feet. But bigger was better than smaller, because at least the girls could grow into they're shoes.
After they had pulled off their outer dresses and pulled on dry ones, they hung their wet clothing over the bunk and went downstairs. In the lounge a fire was lit in the fireplace, and girls were chatting or doing small chores. Younger children ran around the room, playing with some old, much worn rag dollies. Girls sat everywhere, on chairs, the large sofa, the top of the desk in the corner. Zelly chose a spot on the floor and Bronx took a seat on the arm of the chair. Next to them a girl was doing some mending; her chore for the evening. Bronx was on the roster for mopping and Zelly had to help wash dishes after dinner.
The two friends chatted until Bronx went to do chores, then Zelly passed the time with some of her other friends. Several times during the evening girls came running crying over a torn rag doll. Mending Girl fixed all those problems. Then came dinner, then Zelly's chores. Bronx stayed upstairs and played cards with her other roommate; they kept a deck stashed under a loose floorboard. The nuns, of course, prohibited cards and marbles of any sort. Zelly came and they dealt her in, then they hid the cards quickly as a nun came for the nightly check-up. Then the girls went to bed.
The first person to wake up the next morning was Zelly. She roused Bronx and they headed toward the presses. However, neither bothered waking their roommate. The girl's job didn't require getting up so early.
When Lids Conlon first applied for her job, the person who ran the place was a little taken aback. Not much, just a little. After all, female newsies aren't that uncommon on the streets of Manhattan. Just a little unusual. Unusual enough to make Lids a target for some newsies to tease.
But Lids quickly earned her place. On a bad day she could sell thirty-five papes. On a good day, maybe even more.
Lids did finally wake, barely on time to pick up her merchandise. Pulling fifty papes and a loaf of bread's worth of money from her pouch under the loose floorboard, she hopped into her britches and pulled an itchy linen shirt over her head. She left the boarding house barefoot and ran across the street, rushing to get to the courtyard on time. The only stop she made was to grab an apple at a stall and pay her bread coin for it. Then she went her way.
Within good time Lids had made it to the courtyard. She stood at the distributor's window, analyzing the headlines. Finally, taking a large bite of her apple, she turned around and said "Forty papes, Weasel, and I'm counting 'em, so don't do nothing tricky."
Weasel sneered. "Give her forty papes on the dot, kid, and make 'em snappy." A young boy handed Weasel the papes. He tossed them to Lids. "There, girly, now scram!"
Lids didn't "scram," however, until she was sure she had her forty papes. Then she was on her way to her selling spot, screaming her wares all the way there.
It was a good day for Lids Conlon. She sold her papes before noon, and with the money she'd made she got a loaf of bread from a nearby bakery. She sat on the steps of some house, munching away, eyeing a puppet show across the street. Then she got up, brushed the crumbs from her lap, and wandered around the streets of Manhattan. She peeked into shop windows, staring at the tailored boots and pretty dresses that only uptown New Yorkers could afford. She watched the street corner acts. Every now and then she stopped to talk to a newsie she knew.
By three the afternoon papes were out. Lids bought more this time. Seems the stockmarket on Wallstreet had rose. Rich old gentlemen investors would wanna hear about that. Sellings would be good.
When Lids got home that night she followed the regular schedule, doing chores, eating dinner, playing marbles with her roommates and a few other friends. Then the nuns came and lights went out.
Life proceeded same as usual for a few weeks. Then the girls' routine Manhattan world was turned upside down.
Disclaimer: Please don't sue me. I never said I owned newsies. I never will. Disney has that good luck. (I'll buy it! Three pennies!) This disclaimer will count for all my chaps unless I feel like writing another disclaimer. Hehehe… Viva les Bill et Ted! (I do not own Bill and Ted in either of their Adventures)
Life in Black and White
It was rainy, the streets of Manhattan drenched with water. The morn was early; so early that practically everybody of importance and some with none whatsoever were still in bed and asleep. And yet somewhere, in that early drizzly morn, machines were running at full tilt as the printing presses tried to prepare for a wave of young newsies, ready and rested for the day's job ahead. Frantically, workers manned the printers, fighting against time to be finished before the bell rang.
But the bell did ring, and the gates swung open. Newsies from the far corners of Manhattan came rushing in, scrambling around one another to be first to get the daily papes. Cowboy, as usual, got there first.
"How many papes today?" Weasel asked, not in the friendliest manner.
"Let me see the headlines …" Weasel motioned. A girl working at the printing presses brought forward a bundle.
"Lemme guess; a hundred papes as usual, eh?"
"Tanx, Weeeasel. Here's your dough."
"Now scram, and don't call me Weasel again, ya hear?"
Meanwhile, in the presses, workers rushed to meet the demands of the voice below, always shouting "Come on, come on, come on! Keep it comin', keep it comin'! Come on, come on, come on!" Distributors packaged bundles; fifty papes, thirty, twenty, tied in tough twine. Fingers bled, palms were rubbed raw, feet hurt.
The Dulancy brothers came up, and Weasel spotted them an extra five papes apiece. One young girl, infuriated, packaged an extra pape in the next newsie's bundle. After counting 'em, the boy looked up and winked, trying not ta grin. Then he wandered away, assessing the headlines.
Jack Kelly's voice could be heard in the distance, shouting out one or another exaggerated headline; the crowd in the courtyard thinned, and eventually the last newsies wandered out, shouting they're wears.
After a break when the next issue was delivered to the presses, the kids reloaded and started working again. The voices of newsies continued to haunt the streets, fainter and less frequent as last papes were sold or the sellers gave up. All through the late morn to early afternoon, as the rain continued to drop, the kids at the press worked, less rushed for time, preparing the afternoon issue. The afternoon newsies came, got they're papes, and the kids from the presses left.
The last to leave the courtyard were two girls, one draping a shawl over her shoulders to keep her at least a little dry, the other pulling a Jeff cap a little further down over her long, braided hair. The rain wasn't that bad, only a slight sprinkle really, but the walk home was a long one. As they walked, the girls chatted.
"Don't see why ya insist on wearing that Jeff cap, Zelly." One of the girls, with short brown hair and brown eyes, said.
" 'Cause" the other one, obviously Zelly, said back. "It's all I got to cover my head. I'll take that shawl if ya want." And with that Zelly made a pretend grab at her friend's shawl. The young girl ducked away.
"No, thanks anyway," the brunette said.
Zelly shrugged. "Worth a try anyway." A quick grin lit her face then disappeared, as she looked intently at her friend. "Bronx, I heard that ya spotted some newsboy an extra pape …"
It was Bronx's turn to shrug. "Hey, Weasel spotted two boys five each. It's not fair."
"It ain't, but Weasel won't fire himself. He'll fire you if you get caught. Please, Bronxy, don't get on Weasel's bad side.
"Everybody who isn't a scab or a snitch already is." Bronx muttered darkly.
"Who was it, anyway?"
"Who I gave the pape to? Dunno, don' care." Bronx replied.
The young girls passed a newsie on the side of the street. Business wasn't going that well; nobody was even in site in any direction. Bronx pulled to the side.
"Wanna buy a pape?" the boy asked hopefully.
"Nah, thanks," Zelly said, pulling back a little. "Barely gots enough to pay for bread as it is."
"Hey, kid, how's it going?" That was Bronx.
"Not good," the newsboy replied. "Nobody comes out in the rain. An me papes are soaked so bad ye can't read the headlines." He shoved a bleary pape in the girls' faces. "Sure ye don't wanna buy? Help me out lots."
"Sorry, can't," Bronx said. "Gotta go on now anyways."
"Seeya!" the newsboy said after them. Then, as a likely-looking customer came down the street, he started shrieking. "Extry, extry, read all about it! 'Refuge still up and running!' Extry, extry …"
The two girls hurried on their way.
The girls burst into a tall, stark building and, after Bronx hung up her shawl and Zelly her Jeff cap, they headed wearily toward the stairs. A dull thud, thud, thud as both girls walked up to the second story announced their arrival; their mark was left among many other muddy prints covering the old wood floor.
Upstairs was a small landing, then a long, narrow corridor lined with doors. At the far end a faint stream of light poured through the old yellow window, revealing peeling wallpaper and a patch of worn flooring. Other than the stairs the girls had just come up, there was another flight leading to the third floor.
Zelly and Bronx's room was down the corridor and to the left; they shared it with one other girl. This is where they headed. There was still time before dinner and chores; they could change and go downstairs to the lounge.
Each girl had two sets of clothing, one to wear and one to be washed. Then they had socks, undergarments, and if they were lucky, a nun might give them a winter coat. Other then that, they got one light meal a day and free board from the sisters, in exchange for doing chores. It wasn't a bad deal; but most of the girls still did jobs on the side to get a little more food in they're stomachs, or a heavier blanket to sleep under, or boots to wear on their feet during winter. Zelly and Bronx already had boots; they were donated to the nuns by some rich person and they were really too big for the girls feet. But bigger was better than smaller, because at least the girls could grow into they're shoes.
After they had pulled off their outer dresses and pulled on dry ones, they hung their wet clothing over the bunk and went downstairs. In the lounge a fire was lit in the fireplace, and girls were chatting or doing small chores. Younger children ran around the room, playing with some old, much worn rag dollies. Girls sat everywhere, on chairs, the large sofa, the top of the desk in the corner. Zelly chose a spot on the floor and Bronx took a seat on the arm of the chair. Next to them a girl was doing some mending; her chore for the evening. Bronx was on the roster for mopping and Zelly had to help wash dishes after dinner.
The two friends chatted until Bronx went to do chores, then Zelly passed the time with some of her other friends. Several times during the evening girls came running crying over a torn rag doll. Mending Girl fixed all those problems. Then came dinner, then Zelly's chores. Bronx stayed upstairs and played cards with her other roommate; they kept a deck stashed under a loose floorboard. The nuns, of course, prohibited cards and marbles of any sort. Zelly came and they dealt her in, then they hid the cards quickly as a nun came for the nightly check-up. Then the girls went to bed.
The first person to wake up the next morning was Zelly. She roused Bronx and they headed toward the presses. However, neither bothered waking their roommate. The girl's job didn't require getting up so early.
When Lids Conlon first applied for her job, the person who ran the place was a little taken aback. Not much, just a little. After all, female newsies aren't that uncommon on the streets of Manhattan. Just a little unusual. Unusual enough to make Lids a target for some newsies to tease.
But Lids quickly earned her place. On a bad day she could sell thirty-five papes. On a good day, maybe even more.
Lids did finally wake, barely on time to pick up her merchandise. Pulling fifty papes and a loaf of bread's worth of money from her pouch under the loose floorboard, she hopped into her britches and pulled an itchy linen shirt over her head. She left the boarding house barefoot and ran across the street, rushing to get to the courtyard on time. The only stop she made was to grab an apple at a stall and pay her bread coin for it. Then she went her way.
Within good time Lids had made it to the courtyard. She stood at the distributor's window, analyzing the headlines. Finally, taking a large bite of her apple, she turned around and said "Forty papes, Weasel, and I'm counting 'em, so don't do nothing tricky."
Weasel sneered. "Give her forty papes on the dot, kid, and make 'em snappy." A young boy handed Weasel the papes. He tossed them to Lids. "There, girly, now scram!"
Lids didn't "scram," however, until she was sure she had her forty papes. Then she was on her way to her selling spot, screaming her wares all the way there.
It was a good day for Lids Conlon. She sold her papes before noon, and with the money she'd made she got a loaf of bread from a nearby bakery. She sat on the steps of some house, munching away, eyeing a puppet show across the street. Then she got up, brushed the crumbs from her lap, and wandered around the streets of Manhattan. She peeked into shop windows, staring at the tailored boots and pretty dresses that only uptown New Yorkers could afford. She watched the street corner acts. Every now and then she stopped to talk to a newsie she knew.
By three the afternoon papes were out. Lids bought more this time. Seems the stockmarket on Wallstreet had rose. Rich old gentlemen investors would wanna hear about that. Sellings would be good.
When Lids got home that night she followed the regular schedule, doing chores, eating dinner, playing marbles with her roommates and a few other friends. Then the nuns came and lights went out.
Life proceeded same as usual for a few weeks. Then the girls' routine Manhattan world was turned upside down.